its path, it turns off, as it were, at a side-station, and returns by the shortest route with its message undelivered.

Owing to this hinderance, Electrical Telegraphy remained at a stand-still for half a century. But in 1800 the Voltaic Battery, already some years in use, was ascertained to produce a continuous stream of electricity, far less impetuous and reluctant to travel than the electricity of the friction-machine. We had to wait, however, twenty years longer, till two famous additional discoveries were made: the one, that the electric current deflects the compass needle; the other, that the electric current develops magnetism. Our earliest Electric Telegraph was electro-magnetic; and to this day the majority of Telegraphs employ electricity to produce signals, either by moving a permanent magnet, or by making a temporary one.

The land Telegraph was now in essentials complete; but a subaqueous Telegraph was still impossible, for want of a good insulator. Great historical importance, accordingly, attaches to the importation, in 1843, of gutta-percha, which enabled us to have a submarine cable as early as 1850; and although the peculiar electrical difficulties of traversing the Atlantic have not yet been overcome, there can be no doubt that, sooner or later, an effective Atlantic cable will be laid. We need not be surprised nor lose heart, if we have to make as many voyages as Columbus did, before we rival him in bringing the Old and New Worlds together.

In spite, however, of all difficulties, we have done wondrous things already. Telegraph lines now stretch from Norway to the shores of Africa; from Nova Scotia to the Gulf of Mexico; from Great Britain to Constantinople :—the greater part of Europe and of North America is netted over with them; a considerable part of Asia and Australia; and a portion of Africa. The lines already finished extend over more than a hundred thousand miles, and include many hundred thousand miles of wire. The metal in them would constitute, if massed together, a mountain weighing more than fifty thousand tons.

THE CANTATA FOR THE OPENING OF THE GREAT EXHIBITION.

(1862.)

UPLIFT a thousand voices full and sweet,

In this wide hall with earth's inventions stored, And praise th' invisible universal Lord, Who lets once more in peace the nations meet,

Where Science, Art, and Labour have outpoured

Their myriad horns of plenty at our feet.

Oh, silent father of our kings to be,
Mourned in this golden hour of jubilee,
For this, for all, we weep our thanks to thee!

The world-compelling plan was thine,
And, lo! the long laborious miles
Of Palace; lo! the giant aisles,
Rich in model and design;—
Harvest-tool and husbandry,
Loom, and wheel, and engin'ry;
Secrets of the sullen mine,

Steel and gold, and corn and wine;
Fabrics rough, or fairy fine,

Sunny tokens of the line;

Polar marvels, and a feast

Of wonder, out of West and East;

And shapes and hues of art divine!—

All of beauty, all of use,

That one fair planet can produce;

Brought from under every star,
Blown from over every main;

And mixt, as life is mixt with pain,—

The works of peace with works of war.

O ye, the wise who think, the wise who reign!
From growing Commerce loose her latest chain,
And let the fair white-winged peacemaker fly
To happy havens under all the sky,

And mix the seasons and the golden hours,
Till each man find his own in all men's good,
And all men work in noble brotherhood,—
Breaking their mailed fleets and armed towers,
And ruling by obeying nature's powers,

And gathering all the fruits of peace, and crowned with all her flowers.

TENNYSON.

Decked with flags and streamers gay,
In honour of her marriage day,

Her snow-white signals, fluttering, blending,
Round her like a veil descending,

Loud and sudden there was heard,

All around them and below,

The sound of hammers, blow on blow,
Knocking away the shores and spurs.
And see! she stirs !

She starts, she moves,-she seems to feel
The thrill of life along her keel,

And, spurning with her foot the ground,
With one exulting, joyous bound,

She leaps into the Ocean's arms!

LONGFELLOW.

THE EDDYSTONE LIGHT-HOUSE.

"Far in the bosom of the deep,

O'er these wild shelves my watch I keep;

A ruddy gleam of changeful light,

Bound on the dusky brow of night;

The seaman bids my lustre hail,

And scorns to strike his tim'rous sail."-SCOTT.

THERE are few enterprises more heroic or beneficent than those connected with the construction and management of light-houses. From first to last-from the rearing of the column on the rock to the nightly vigil in attendance on the lamps-the intrepidity and endurance of all concerned are called into play; and the awful perils and stirring adventures they experience impart to the story of their labours a thrilling and romantic interest. Most sea-girt beacons