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man being from 97° to 99°. This use of down is strikingly shown by contrasting aquatic birds, and particularly those of our cold northern climates, with those of warmer regions. In the various kinds of divers, for example, the body is very thickly covered beneath the more superficial feathers, by a kind of soft wadding; and this is more abundant on the breast, exposed to the water, than on the back: eider-down and swan's-down consist of this kind of feathers.

Here, then, is a beautiful and effective provision for keeping the animal warm; and now we shall find there is a contrivance, as perfect for defence against moisture. Lying over the down and covering all the exposed parts of the body are feathers, which so far resemble those of the wings, as to have the barbs of their vane held together by barbules, so that the whole exterior is protected by a kind of horny tunic, impervious to wet. In order to render this covering yet more effective, all birds, but especially the aquatic tribes, as the natatores (swimmers), and the grallatores (the waders, as the heron), are provided with a supply of oil, prepared in a particular gland placed on the back near the rump. We constantly see birds engaged in arranging and oiling their feathers-carrying the beak to the oil-gland-passing each individual feather through the bill-rubbing the back over with the oil, and then carrying the head and neck, which the beak cannot reach, in that direction.

And here let us pause to admire the beneficence of the Almighty: these birds are engaged in an occupation which is essential to their well-being, and which therefore must be performed; but it is apparent that this essential office is also one of pleasure and delight. No one can have seen a water-fowl preening its feathers-ruffling them-flapping the wings in the water-diving here and again, without being pleasingly convinced that the creature is entirely enjoying itself. Then consider how the water runs off, not a drop touches the skin; so that we have here the instance of an animal whose dwelling is in the lake, the river, and the ocean, and yet preserved by the providence of God, as dry as if it were the constant inhabitant of the sunny glade or the verdant meadow.

The economy of feathers is, perhaps, as strikingly displayed in the young of different orders. In gallinaceous birds, such as the common fowl, pheasant, quail, partridge, &c. the young are able to run as soon as they quit the egg; they are also, to a certain extent, able to maintain the animal heat required for the support of life, partly in consequence of the activity of their respiration, which process is immediately connected with the production of warmth, and partly because they are provided with a covering of down. But there are others, as the blackbird, thrush, titmice, and other insectivorous birds, in which the callow brood are hatched nearly naked, and, in consequence of this, and their imperfect respiration, are unable to support the animal heat. In these cases, the parent birds, by the instinct with which they are provided, construct those beautiful nests we so much admire, and which form a perfect defence against the cold and rain.

If we turn to another class, more strictly aquatic, namely, fishes, we shall find all their wants equally well supplied, but evincing the evervarying modifications of animal organization in a manner totally different. Fishes being cold-blooded animals, do not need the same provision for warmth, and therefore they do not possess the mechanism for its production; for, although Nature deals with a liberal hand, nothing is given in excess. But the creature must be defended from the contact of the water,

so it is covered by a beautiful species of enamel, consisting of horny,

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SKETCHES OF ENGLISH SCENERY.-No. III.

NETLEY ABBEY.

"Hail to thy pile! more honoured in thy fall
Than modern mansions in their pillar'd state."

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NETLEY ABBEY, the vastest of our abbey ruins, is situated in the most beautiful part of Hampshire, about four miles from Southampton. It stands on the declivity of a hill, rising gently from the water, but is so environed by thickly-wooded scenery, that a distant view is altogether shut out. This structure is supposed to have been founded by Henry III. about the middle of the thirteenth century. Its inmates were of the Cistercian order, and had been originally brought from the Abbey of Beaulieu, in the New Forest They were only thirteen in number, and we may infer that the revenue of the abbey was proportionably small, as the library consisted of one book only, viz., the Rhetorica Ciceronis. As in other monkish establishments, much hospitality was exercised towards strangers, who were received here and entertained as if the abbey had been an hotel; but such ill-judged benevolence disappears as civilization increases, and we might travel far in the present day without finding so convenient an institution. One estathis kind, however, still exists near Winchester, where any

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traveller has a right to claim bread and beer gratis, which are given "without grudging," in memory of the founder, De Blois. In the reign of Henry VIII., Netley Abbey shared the fate of the other religious houses, and although the building fortunately was not destroyed, yet it was converted into a residence for one of the tyrant's favourites. It passed afterwards into the hands of the Marquis of Huntingdon's family, and about the beginning of the last century, Sir Bartlet Lucy, to his eternal disgrace, sold the abbey, till then uninjured, to a Mr. Walter Taylor, a builder at Southampton, for the purpose of destroying it, and applying the materials to other purposes. After Mr. Taylor had signed the contract, some of his friends told him that they would never be concerned in the demolition of holy and consecrated places. These words so strongly impressed his memory, that he dreamed that, in taking down the abbey, the keystone of the arch over the east window fell from its place and killed him. He persevered, however, in his intention, but the dream was singularly verified, for, in assisting his workmen to demolish that very window, a stone fell on his head, and after a few days, death terminated his existence. This accident occasioned a direct stop to be put to the demolition of the abbey, and the superstitious gloom which it generated has had an evident tendency to the preservation of the ruins in more modern times.

The remains of this venerable edifice are very extensive, and rendered extremely magnificent by their size and architectural beauty, by the effect of the trees and shrubs which have sprung up within, and now overshadow them, and by the mantle of ivy which

"creeps from stone to stone,

And of the garish day shuts out the view;
O'er the worn ruins throws its tracery green,
And fondly clasps them with a last adieu."

No pen can do justice to the air of solemn grandeur and religious melancholy reigning within its desolated cloisters, and inspiring that mysterious sentiment of awe, with which we gaze on an inanimate body, from which the soul has departed. The form still appears in its beauty, but the life and animation which have reigned within, are now extinct for ever. How grand must the anthem of many hundred voices formerly have sounded, awakening the distant echoes as it arose, and dying away beneath the vaulted arches, while every mouldering arch glittered with the paraphernalia of torches, burning incense, and processions, and all the splendid ceremonial of the Catholic faith!

This abbey was composed of a mass of buildings, encircling a quadrangular court, the north side of which was bounded by the chapel. This is built in the form of a cross, and was originally a very elegant structure, in the English style of architecture; but its beautiful roof, richly adorned by ramifications spreading from the interior of the groins, has fallen in; its north transept is destroyed; most of its windows are bereaved of their tracery; and many other parts are completely demolished. The southern transept and the east end are the most perfect; the columns and arches which remain are beautifully light and elegant. The stone work of the grand eastern window still remains uninjured, as if to assert the supremacy of art, while nature has mounted her colours to the summit of every pillar, and waves her long pennons of ivy over the windows and doors.

Several other parts of the monastic buildings remain, but all of them are dilapidated, and the devices and armorial insignia, which once decorated

their walls, may be traced on the ruins that strew the ground. The Abbot's kitchen is a curious vaulted apartment, about 50 feet in length. The chimney or fire-place is of a very singular form, and nearly opposite, is a dark vault or aperture, which terminates in a coppice some little distance from the abbey. The other buildings, which are yet to be traced, are all but obliterated, with the exception of the massive side walls, 200 feet in length, and 60 feet in breadth, which still remain intact. A large moat that surrounded the abbey is yet discernible; and, at a short distance, overhung with trees and underwood, are two large ponds, which supplied the monks with fish.

On contemplating this vast memorial of by-gone ages, the mind is overcome with emotions partly of a painful, but partly of a pleasing character. It is saddening to reflect on the fact that structures, so grand and so beautiful as Netley Abbey, were erected for purposes so unworthy; on the useless if not vicious lives of too many of their mistaken inmates; on the intolerance and bigotry which they generated; and on the superstitious ceremonial observed within their walls. But, on the other hand, monastic establishments are not destitute of pleasing associations. In their secluded cells was preserved, through the dark ages, the ray of religion and learning again to illumine the world. In their cloisters were sometimes found men of learning, wisdom, and may we not add, piety; and from their open portals a generous, if not a judicious hospitality, was freely afforded to those who needed it most.

REMARKS ON SOUND.

THERE is scarcely any subject exercising an equally important influence upon man, of the nature and operations of which entire ignorance so generally and extensively prevails, as the phenomena of sound. Sound is caused by the parts of a body being put in rapid motion, producing a collision and percussion of the particles of air, and causing a vibration in the atoms of the surrounding atmosphere, which is transmitted and diffused through space, until it meets with some resisting body. Sound is not perceptible to the ear, unless there is a proper medium of communication between the sounding body and the auditor; some medium of communication is absolutely necessary, which under ordinary circumstances is supplied by the air. If a bell is rung in the exhausted receiver of an airpump, and every condition necessary for its sounding be complied with, except its being surrounded by the air, its sounds are scarcely perceptible; and even the small portion of sound it does emit may be altogether destroyed by lining the receiver with wool, or some similar substance. A scratch made with a pin on one end of a piece of timber fifty feet long, may be distinctly heard at the other end. A bell rung under water has been plainly heard at a distance of 1200 feet by a person whose head has been immersed in the same body of water. Miners, in the pursuit of their dangerous avocation, are sometimes made aware of their vicinity to workmen in another vein, by the sound of the pickaxe transmitted through the

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