and explains the word _cromleac_, or
_cromleh_, from the Irish _crom_, to adore, and _leac_, a stone--stone
of adoration. Crom was also one of the Irish names of God; hence
cromleac may mean the stone of Crom, or of the Supreme God. The cromleac
is also called _Bothal_, from the Irish word _Both_, a house, and _al_,
or _Allah_, God; this is evidently the same with _Bethel_, or house of
God, of the Hebrews.

The above vignette represents a Cromleh at Plas Newydd, the seat of the
Marquess of Anglesea, in the Isle of Anglesea. This part of the island
is finely wooded, and forcibly recalls to the mind its ancient state,
when it was the celebrated seat of the Druids, the terrific rites of
whose religion were performed in the gloom of the thickest groves.

The Cromleh at Plas Newydd is 12 feet 9 inches long, and 13 feet 2
inches broad, in the broadest part. Its greatest depth or thickness is 5
feet. Its contents cannot be less in cubic feet and decimal parts than
392,878,125. It follows, therefore, from calculating according to the
specific gravity of stone of its kind, that it cannot weigh less than 30
tons 7 hundreds. The engraving is copied from "The Celtic Druids," by
Godfrey Higgins, Esq. F.S.A. 4to, 1827, one of the most valuable
antiquarian volumes it has ever been our good fortune to secure; and by
the aid of an esteemed correspondent, we hope shortly to introduce a few
of its curiosities more in detail than we are enabled to do at present.

* * * * *

NOTES OF A READER.

WOMAN AND SONG.

(_From a graceful little volume, entitled, "Poetical Recreations," by
C.A. Hulbert._)

Oh, who shall say that woman's ear
Thrills to the minstrel's voice in vain?
She hath a balm diffusing tear,
She hath a softer, holier strain--
A cheering smile of hope to give,
A voice to bid the mourner live.

She hath a milder beam of praise,
Her heart a soil where Truth may bloom,
And while her drooping flowers we raise,
They yield us back a rich perfume.
Her influence bids our talents rise
'Neath Love and Fancy's native skies!

I heard an infant's lisping tongue
Address his mother's smiling eye,
And fondly ask his favourite song--
His soul seemed wrapt in harmony;
She sung--and gave the cheering kiss,
Which made the poet's fortune his.

His mother saw his fancies stray
To fragrant poesy, and leave
The dull pursuit of fortune's way,