For a more lengthy description of this Noble Building, we would refer our readers to the various Illustrated Works, published by Mr. T. A. Hills, Bookseller, Ely, to whom we are indebted for the loan of the above Engraving.

ICEBERGS IN THE ATLANTIC.

ONE morning, earlier than the usual time of rising, the steward awakened us with the news that icebergs were close at hand. This was charming intelligence, for, so late in the season, they are but rarely met with. We were all soon on deck, and for a worthy object. One was a grand fellow with two great domes, each as large as that of St. Paul's; the lower part was like frosted silver. Where the heat of the sun had melted the surface, and it had frozen again, in its gradual decay it had assumed all sorts of angular and fantastic shapes, reflecting from its green, transparent mass, thousands of prismatic colours, while, below, the gentle swell dallied with its clifflike sides, The action of the waves had worn away a great portion of the base over the water into deep nooks and caves, destroying the balance of the mass. While we were passing, the crisis of this tedious process chanced to arrive; the huge white rock tottered for a moment, then fell into the calm sea with a sound like the roar of a thousand cannon, the spray rose to a great height into the air, and large waves rolled round,spreading their wide circles over the ocean, each ring diminishing till at length they sank to rest. When the spray had fallen again, the glittering domes had vanished, and a long, low island of rough ice and snow lay on the surface of the water. There is something impressive and dismal in the fate of these cold and lonely wanderers of the deep. They break loose by some great effort of nature, from the shores and rivers of the unknown regions of the north, where for centuries, perhaps they have been accumulating, and commence their dreary voyage, which has no end but annihilation. For years they may wander in the Polar Sea, till some strong gale or current bears them past its iron limits; then, by the predominance of winds and waters to the south, they float past the desolate coasts of Newfoundland. Already the summer sun makes sad havoc in their strength, melting their lofty heights, but each night's frost binds up what is left, and still on, on glides the great mass, slowly solemnly. You cannot perceive that it stirs; the greatest storm does not rock it, the keenest eye cannot discover a motion; but moment by moment, day by day, it passes to the south, where it wastes away and vanishes at last.

In June and July they are most numerous in these seas, and there is often much danger from their neighbourhood in the dark, moonless nights; but the thermometer, if consulted, will always indicate their approach; it fell eight degrees when we neared the iceberg which I have now described, and the cold was sensibly felt.— 66 England in the New World."

OUR LETTER BOX.

The Editors do not wish to be considered responsible for all the sentiments
of their Correspondents.

To the Editor of the Soham Magazine.

Sir, As your periodical is intended for the diffusion of useful information, I beg to suggest through its pages, that, during the present scarcity and high price of flour, it would be well if all your readers would follow the example of the first personage in the Realm, and exercise the greatest economy. There are two very simple ways in which this may be done, first by eating stale bread; and secondly by mixing rice with the flour in making it. The proportions, as given by a Northamptonshire Clergyman, are as follows:-"halfa-pound of rice, boiled in three pints of water, till the whole becomes thick and pulpy add six pounds of flour and yeast for the dough, and it will make as much good, serviceable bread as eight pounds of flour would produce alone." Your obedient Servant,

AN ECONOMIST.

In Original Poetry, the Name, real or assumed, of the Author, is printed in small Capitals under the title; in Selections it is printed in Italics at the end.]

SONG OF THE HAYMAKERS.

The noontide is hot, and our foreheads are brown.

Our palms are all shining and hard;

Right close is our work with the wain and the fork,
And but poor is our daily reward.

But there's joy in the sunshine, and mirth in the lark,
That skims whistling away over head;

Our spirits are light, though our skins may be dark,
And there's peace with our meal of brown bread.

We dwell in the meadows, we toil on the sod,

Far away from the city's dull gloom;

And more jolly are we, though in rags we may be,
Than the pale faces over the loom.

Then a song and a cheer for the bonnie green stack
Climbing up to the sun wide and high;

For the pitchers, and rakers, and merry haymakers,
And the beautiful Midsummer sky.

Come forth, gentle ladies-come forth, dainty sirs,
And lend us your presence awhile;

Your garments will gather no stain from the burs,
And a freckle won't tarnish your smile.

Our carpet's more soft for your delicate feet
Than the pile of your velveted floor;

And the air of our balm-swarth is surely as sweet

As the perfume of Araby's shore,

Come forth, noble masters, come forth to the field,
Where freshness and health may be found;

Where the wind-rows are spread for the butterfly's bed,
And the clover-bloom falleth around.

Then a song and a cheer for the bonnie green stack,
Climbing up to the sun wide and high;

For the pitchers, and rakers, and merry haymakers,
And the beautiful Midsummer sky.

"Hold fast!" cries the waggoner, loudly and quick,
And then comes the hearty "Gee-wo!"

While the cunning old team-horses manage to pick
A sweet mouthful to munch as they go.

The tawny-faced children come round us to play,
And bravely they scatter the heap:

Till the tiniest one, all outspent with the fun,
Is curled up with the sheep-dog, asleep.

Old age sitteth down on the haycock's fair crown,
At the close of our labouring day;

And wishes his life, like the grass at his feet,

May be pure at its "passing away."

Then a song and a cheer for the bonnie green stack
Climbing up to the sun wide and high;

For the pitchers, and rakers, and merry haymakers
And the beautiful Midsummer sky.

Eliza Cook.

THE SWALLOW.

I am fond of the swallow-I learn from her flight,
Had I skill to improve it, a lesson of love:
How seldom on earth do we see her alight!
She dwells in the skies, she is ever above.
It is on the wing that she takes her repose,
Suspended and poised in regions of air.
"Tis not in our fields that her sustenance grows,
It is winged like herself, 'tis ethereal fare.
She comes in the spring, all the summer she stays,
And dreading the cold, still follows the sun-
So, true to our love, we should covet his rays,
And the place where he shines not, immediately shun.
Our light should be love, and our nourishment prayer;
It is dangerous food that we find upon earth;
The fruit of this world is beset with a snare,
In itself it is hurtful, as vile in its birth.

'Tis rarely if ever she settles below,

But when for her young she is building a nest;
Were it not for her brood, she would never bestow
A thought on a place not designed for her rest.
Let us leave it ourselves-'tis a mortal abode-
To bask every moment in infinite love;

Let us fly the dark winter, and follow the road,

That leads to the day-spring appearing above. Madame Guion.

THE VIOLET.

*

There is a modest simple flower
Of fragrance rare-and bright of hue,
More pleas'd to grace the lonely bower,
It shrinks abash'd from public view.
Secure it blooms beneath the shade,
Screen'd from the Sun's too parching ray
Expos'd,-the beauteous flower would
fade,

Melting like rainbow tints away.

value less the gaudier rose,

Luxurant in the gay parterre;

Yes, give to me the flower that blows,
Without a thorn to wound me there.

I've seen the Violet chang'd with dew,
Like woman's eye-it then appears,
Kiss'd by a passing Zephyr,-how
It smiles and sparkles through its tears.
Now, is not beauty too, a flower,
Ordain'd awhile to bloom and fade;
Fated to live its little hour-
Soon in its kindred dust 'tis laid.
Oh! Lady, when thy hour shall come,
How will the soul of pity mourn?
Affection's tears, bedew thy tomb-
May friendship's hand, inscribe thy urn.
Soham.

OUR CHILDREN'S PAGE.

FACTS WORTH REMEMBERING

A league is 3 miles or the 20th of a degree.

From full moon to full moon is 29 days 12 hours.

The Steam Engine was invented by the Marquis of Worcester in the reign of Charles 2nd.

The first idea of Steam Navigation was set forth in a patent obtained in 1736, by Jonathan Hulls, for a machine for carrying vessels against wind and tide, or in a calm.

MISCELLANY AND