in a minute afterward, the balloon also dropped.

The entire descent from the altitude of twenty thousand feet was
effected in seven minutes, being at the average rate of fifty feet per
second.

In fine, we have to report that these adventurous partisans of science,
nothing discouraged by the catastrophe which has occurred have resolved
to renew the experiment under, as may he hoped, less inauspicious
circumstances; and we trust that on the next occasion they will not
disdain to avail themselves of the co-operation and presence of some one
of those persons, who having hitherto practiced aerial navigation for
the mere purposes of amusement, will, doubtless, be too happy to invest
one at least of their labors with a more useful and more noble
character.

(From the Dublin University Magazine.)

ANDREW CARSON'S MONEY; A STORY OF GOLD.

The night of a bitter winter day had come; frost, and hail, and snow
carried a sense of new desolation to the cold hearths of the moneyless,
while the wealthy only drew the closer to their bright fires, and
experienced stronger feelings of comfort.

In a small back apartment of a mean house, in one of the poorest
quarters of Edinburgh, a young man sat with a pen in his fingers,
endeavoring to write, though the blue tint of his nails showed that the
blood was almost frozen in his hands. There was no fire in the room; the
old iron grate was rusty and damp, as if a fire had not blazed in it for
years; the hail dashed against the fractured panes of the window; the
young man was poorly and scantily dressed, and he was very thin, and
bilious to all appearance; his sallow, yellow face and hollow eyes told
of disease, misery, and the absence of hope.

His hand shook with cold, as, by the light of the meanest and cheapest
of candles, he slowly traced line after line, with the vain thought of
making money by his writings. In his boyish days he had entered the
ranks of literature, with the hopes of fame to lead him on, but
disappointment after disappointment, and miserable circumstances of
poverty and suffering had been his fate: now the vision of fame had
become dim in his sick soul--he was writing with the hope of gaining
money, any trifle, by his pen.

Of all the ways of acquiring money to which the millions bend their best
energies, that of literature is the most forlorn. The artificers of
necessaries and luxuries, for the animal existence, have the world as
their customers; but t