tide, and which was now covered by a plantation of evergreens. Harry persuaded Lucy to put off unpacking their trunk till morning, and to go out with him in search of the sea. He led the way, and, as they went round the little lawn, she, delighted with the new place, and with every new flower and shrub, would have often stopped to admire, 'O, Harry, look at this myrtle, taller than I am! O, Harry, this myrtle, taller than mother!'

Harry looked back, but ran on to find the way down to the seashore. 'This is the way, this is the way he shouted joyously to Lucy, bidding her, Follow ! follow! follow!'

6

But suddenly he stopped, and was silent, struck by the first sight of the ocean. Lucy followed, and, turning abruptly the corner of the rock which had hid the view from her, exclaimed, 'The sea! the sea!'

She stood for some moments in silence, beside her brother, looking at the vast extent of water, far as her sight could reach, bounded only by the sky. They were now standing on the sands of the shore. It was a still evening, the tide was ebbing, the sun setting, and there was a long bright light upon the water; while the green and white waves, curling gently over each other, moved on continually.

'How beautiful it is!' exclaimed Lucy. 'How grand! Harry, is not it more beautiful and grander than you expected? Is not it, Harry?' 'Infinitely,' said Harry. 'But hush, I want to look, and to listen to it.'

Lucy stood beside her brother a little while

longer, and then ran back to the house to cal her mother to look at it, before the red sun should be quite set. Her mother came, and they found Harry still on the same spot fixed in admiration. His mother seemed to know what he felt and thought, and to sympathize with him just as he wished. At first in silence, then expressing for him in words, that for which he could not find utterance. The idea of boundless extent, duration, power; the feelings of admiration, astonishment, and awe, which create the sense of the sublime. While his soul was under this strong impression, his mother seized the proper moment to raise his thoughts still higher, from the ideas of immeasurable extent, duration, and power, to that Power by which the ocean, the sun, the earth, and we ourselves were created, and are preserved.

The impression made on the minds of Harry and Lucy was never effaced.

By sunrise next morning, Harry was on the seashore. At the stated hours he was constantly there to watch the coming in and going out of the tide. This regular ebbing and flowing of the sea excited such astonishment in his mind that it seemed insatiable. A fisherman, who lived by the seaside, asked him if he had never before heard of the coming in and going out of the tide every day.

'Yes, I had heard of it, but I never saw it before,' said Harry. That was quite another thing.'

The sea and the tides took such possession of his imagination that he could think of noth

ing else, not even of steamboats and steamengines. During the first day, he did not even think of crossing the sea in a steam vessel: he was completely absorbed in viewing this great spectacle of nature, and in considering its wonderful phenomena.

His mother was surprised to find that he was susceptible of this kind of enthusiasm, of which she had not till now seen in him any symptom. All his enthusiasm had seemed to be for mechanics; his mind had indeed opened during his travels to other objects, but still these had been introduced, or had interested him by their connection with the steam engine, to which he had traced every thing good or great. So that, as she had once told his father, she was afraid that Harry's head would be qnite turned by his dear steam-engine, or at best that it would leave no room in his imagination for the beauties of nature, or for anything else. But his father had answered, that there was no danger in letting the boy's enthusiasm take its course, especially as it was a means of collecting all the knowledge he could upon one subject. His father said, it was of little consequence to which science he first turned his attention; the same thirst of knowledge, when satisfied on one point, would turn to new objects. The boy, who was capable of feeling such admiration for the ingenious works of art, could not fail, as he thought, to admire with still greater enthusiasm the beauties of nature. He would have probably disliked them if they had been pressed upon

his attention, and yet he would have felt pain from not being able to sympathize with the admiration of his friends. His father was justified in his opinion, and his mother was now quite satisfied.

But on the evening of the day after their arrival, Lucy came to Harry with no face of rejoicing. O! my dear Harry, here you are standing on the seashore, looking at the tide very happily; but you do not know what a misfortune has happened to you.'

'What misfortune can have happened to me without my knowing it?' said Harry.

'I have been unpacking our trunk,' said she. 'The glass of my camera obscura is broken, I suppose,' said Harry.

'You suppose, so calmly!' cried Lucy. 'Perhaps it can be mended,' said Harry. Impossible!' said Lucy: come and look at it, my dear Harry, it is broken into a hundred pieces.'

Then there is no use in looking at the hundred pieces,' said Harry.

'But if you will come in and look at it,' said Lucy, 'I can show you just how it happened.'

'I cannot help it now,' said Harry, 'so it does not much signify to me how it happened. I will look at it when I go in, but I want to stay here just to see how high the waves come at full tide.'

'I am glad your head is so full of the tide, Harry,' said Lucy; I was afraid that you would be extremely vexed, as I was when I opened the box and saw it. Besides I was

afraid that you would think it was my fault.'

'No, I could not be so unjust,' said Harry. I remember how carefully you packed it, and how good-natured you were about it; and I do not forget your shell box which you left at home to make room for my camera obscura. Now I am sorry you did not bring it.'

'I can do without it,' said Lucy.

'I will make a shell box for you,' cried Harry; ' and I know how I can make it, out of that camera obscura of mine, and without spoiling it, even if I should get a new glass. I will go in and look at it, and begin directly,' said Harry. 'I mean as soon as ever I have seen the tide come in, and marked how high it comes up on this rock.'

Withinside of the box of Harry's camera obscura there was a set of hinged flaps, which lay at the bottom when it was not used, but which, when it was to be used as a

camera

obscura, were lifted up, and, joining together, formed a sort of pyramid, on the top of which the eyeglass was fixed. This glass being broken, Harry cleared away the fragments, and took out the pins from the hinges of the flaps which formed the pyramid. Then he could take out the flaps, and these with their pins and hinges he gave into Lucy's charge to take care of till they should be wanted again. Then, with the help of an old knife, the only tool to be had in Rupert's cottage, he cut up a blue bandbox, the only pasteboard to be had in Rupert's cottage; he carved and cut this pasteboard into a number of slips with tolerably 2 VOL. 3