The dome is "but the vestibule of the most magnificent of all the temples which Nature has built for herself in the region of the night." Rude steps cut in the rock lead down the sloping sides of this chamber to the level of the river, which is crossed by a wooden bridge; and the opposite wall is scaled by means of a similar flight of steps. Here the visitor enters the newly-discovered part of the cavern, consisting of a range of chambers varying in size, but by far the most interesting, from the variety, beautiful purity, and quantity of their stalactites. Sometimes uniting with a stalagmite below, they form a pillar worthy to support a cathedral; at others, a crop of minute spiculæ rises from the floor; now a cluster of slender columns reminds one of the tracery of the Gothic chapel, or of the twinings and interlacings of the ascending and descending branches of the banyan-tree. The fantastic shapes of some masses have given rise to various names applied by the guides, according to the likeness which they imagine they can trace in them to real objects-such as the throne, the pulpit, the butcher's shop, the two hearts, the bell, which resounds almost like metal, and the curtain, a very singular mass about an inch thick, spreading out to an extent of several square yards, perfectly resembling a piece of drapery, and beautifully transparent. The stalactical matter pervades almost every part of the cavern; it paves the floor, hangs in pendants from the roof, coats and plasters the wall, cements together fallen masses of rock, forms screens, partitions, and pillars. The only sound in the remote chambers is produced by the fall of the drops of water charged with lime, which is found to tip each hanging mass, forming an ascending spire or stalagmite on the spot where it descends. One of the long suite of chambers, larger and loftier than the rest, and with a more even floor, is converted once a year into a ball-room. On that occasion the peasant lads and lasses assemble from miles round, and the gloomy vaults re-echo with sounds of mirth and music.* Many caverns of volcanic origin exist in Iceland. The most remarkable of these is called Surtshellir, or the Black Cavern. It is also called the Cave of the Robbers, from a tradition, that it was formerly occupied by successive bands of robbers. It was situated towards the west of the island, in a valley which has been filled up with molten lava: the approach to it is by a large chasm, formed by the falling in of the crust of the lava. The mouth of the cavern appears as a dark opening: it is thirty-six feet high and fifty-four feet wide; which dimensions the cavern retains for more than two-thirds of its length, which is upwards of five thousand feet. When Dr. Henderson visited this place it was filled to a considerable height with snow, beyond which extended a rugged tract of large angular pieces of lava which had fallen from the vault. The darkness was so great, that, with all the light afforded by two large torches, the cave could not be surveyed distinctly, yet beautiful black volcanic stalactites could be discerned hanging from the spacious vault. The sides of the cave had run into vitrified stripes, apparently formed by the flowing of the stream of lava. Farther on in the cave were entrances to other subterranean passages of an immense size, which, it is supposed, had formed the asylum for banditti in ancient times. About ten feet from the bottom of the cave was a long stone wall, visibly made by the hand of man. Within its enclosure was a room of thirty feet in length by fifteen feet in breadth, the floor of which was strewed with the finest volcanic sand. * Murray's 'Hand-book for Travellers in Southern Germany.' 66 This probably formed the sleeping-place of the inhabitants of the cave The vault was hung with beautiful stalactites, reflecting the light in a splendid manner. One of the divisions of this cavern represented in the preceding view produces a very striking effect. It is an ice-grotto, and is thus described by Dr. Henderson :-" The roof and sides of the cave were decorated with the most superb icicles, crystallized in every possible form, many of which rivalled in minuteness the finest zeolites, while from the icy floor rose pillars of the same substance, assuming all the curious and fantastic shapes imaginable, and mocking the proudest specimens of art." WILD FLOWERS. GERMANDER SPEEDWELL-(Veronica chamædrys). THIS flower is often, by persons little acquainted with plants, called the forget-me-not. In some places it is called cat's-eye; but it is one of the numerous family of the speedwells. These plants, whether growing in field or garden, may all be known from many others by this peculiarity, that the blossom, which is cleft into four segments, has always the lower segment narrower than the rest. We have no less than eighteen wild kinds. They are all blue or flesh-coloured flowers; but the germander is the largest of all the common species. Among our spring flowers it is most conspicuous, its brilliant blue blossoms lying like gems among the bright May grass. At that time "The gorse is yellow on the heath, The hawthorn soon will wear the wreath, Though an early-blooming flower, yet some of its tribe are earlier still. Thus the ivy-leaved speedwell, with light blue blossoms, and leaves shaped like those of the ivy, is very common in cultivated lands and among hedges, and, if March is fine, it may be found then, while it is sure to be abundant in April. Country people call it winter weed; but the procumbent speedwell, a plant with very small blue blossoms, and stems which lie along the ground, is the first of all the speedwells, and comes amidst the winds and rains of early spring-time. The speedwells are not now considered to possess medicinal properties; but they were once believed to yield valuable remedies, and were called by the Dutch Honour-and-praise. Several of the species grow in streams and water-courses. That common flower of the stream-side, the brook-lime speedwell, with its smooth fleshy leaves and brilliant blue flowers, was formerly eaten in salads. Its pungent leaves are still mingled with water-cresses, and sold in Scotland. This plant is called by botanists Veronica beccabunga, and appears to have derived its name from the Flemish beck-pungen-mouth-smart. BOOKS. MANY books require no thought from those who read them, and for a simple reason they make no demand upon those who wrote them. Plays and romances, says T. Browne, sell as well as books of devotion, but with this difference-more people read the former than buy them, and more buy the latter than read them. He who loves not books before he comes to thirty years of age, says Lord Clarendon, will hardly love them enough afterwards to understand them. There is most profit, and truly most pleasure also, to be gained from the books which make us think the most: and where the difficulties have once been overcome, these are the books which have struck the deepest root, not only in the memory and understanding, but likewise in the affections. THE DEATHBED. "We watch'd her breathing through the night, As in her breast the wave of life Kept heaving to and fro. "So silently she seemed to speak, So slowly moved about, As we had lent her half our powers "Our very hopes belied our fears, Our fears our hopes belied We thought her dying when she slept, "For when the morn came dim and sad, Her quiet eyelids closed-she had HOOD. THE HOME FRIEND; A WEEKLY MISCELLANY OF AMUSEMENT AND INSTRUCTION. MOWSOOM EL ANEEB-THE GRAPE HARVEST. THE wheat fields are a desolation-the village is deserted, and the birds have taken wing and flown to the mountains, where the wild berry is plentiful, and the brooks flow noiseless in chasm and ravine shaded by stately trees, from whose boughs the Arab bulbul twitters forth its love ditties. "Let us get up early to the vineyards; let us see if the vine flourish, VOL. II. 2 A whether the tender grape appear, and the pomegranates bud forth." (Cant. vii. 12.) With such a resolution we wake up on a fine September morning, and mounting our horses, ride off for a sojourn of a fortnight or three weeks' duration amongst the pleasant kunus, or vineyards, which are plentifully planted up the mountain side upon the hills, now ten miles distant from where we start. Truly, autumn is a lovely season in the East; there is all the freshness of the mild gentle spring in the breeze, and the clear unclouded sky gives full assurance that no rain yet threatens to saturate the earth with moisture. No gusty winds come to enviously disrobe the trees of the bright summer mantle with which they are yet decked; fruit hangs temptingly in rich clusters from overburthened boughs, and the deep green foliage of the pomegranate tree is thickly bespangled with vermilion blossoms. As we ride along and leave the plains behind, mounting gradually one slope after another, the sun bursts forth from over the topmost mountains, lighting up the plains with intense brilliancy of colour, and changing into gold the lofty topmost branches of the wild trees that grow to stately heights up the deep declivities of the hills; the heavy tread of our horses' hoofs is caught up and echoed from dell to dell, startling the timid hare from its lair, whilst the shrill note of the partridge warns its straying brood of the vicinity of danger, and covey after covey rise and sweep rapidly over us in tempting proximity to our heads, disappearing behind the sharp projection of yon sombre-coloured stone, suspended midway in yonder yawning precipice, whose frightful depths are black with mist and densely-platted foliage, sending up ever and anon the discontented roar of the restless cataract that leaps from rock to rock, or foaming rushes wildly over its shingle bed till, mingling with the gentle stream that intersects the plains, its waves are soothed, its anger fled, and calmly it too ripples with the river's waves, sporting with sunbeams, or the pleasant soft sand that line the river's banks on either side; just as a man, tossed to and fro by the tumultuous rocks and cataracts of life, meets some fond sympathising heart, and so, forgetful of the furrows grief has painted on his brow, mingles with the gentler joys of those whose kindly care have pointed out the beacon light from which shines hope, and he, regardless of the world around, flows on the tranquil stream of well-placed faith, and mingles with the ocean of eternity. Exactly four thousand two hundred years ago, according to Scripture, "Noah began to be an husbandman, and he planted a vineyard." (Gen. ix. 20.) Doubtless this was just such another vineyard as any one of these through which we find ourselves riding eighteen hundred and fifty-two years after Christ. The vineyards are carefully separated from each other by rough walls constructed of loose stones, piled one above another, of a sufficient height to prevent cattle from striding over, and in many places piled up with thorn bushes to check the depredations committed by wild boars and jackals, both of which animals evince an amazing partiality to grapes; to get at which they oftentimes resort to wonderful artifices-the wild boar being capable of undermining the walls, and the jackal possessing all the climbing capabilities and agility of the panther. Some few of the vineyards are in a neglected state, the walls broken down, the vines trailing on the ground, and choked with briars and thistles; but the greater portion are kept in excellent order, the husbandmen repairing to the vineyards, before the young grapes are firmly set, to clear away the ground, and to repair the rents and heavy damage done to temporary walls by the winter and equinoxial gales, which in these high parts blow with unchecked fury and |