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plant, to which her broth-er was point-ing, she stood still, dis-ap-point-ed.

"I see noth-ing, broth-er, that is pret-ty."

"No, but you see some-thing that is use-ful; or, at least, that was very use-ful for-mer-ly. This is the

pa-py-rus, or pa-per rush.”

"Very like-ly," said Ros-a-mond, "but I see noth-ing like pa-per, nor like a rush.”

"It is not like the lit-tle rush-es you have seen in the fields, Ros-a-mond; but it is a kind of rush, and it grew at first on the banks of the Nile, in E-gypt, you know." 'Yes, I know the Nile is a riv-er in E-gypt."

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"And the E-gyp-ti-ans used to write all their books up-on it, and all that they wrote; be-cause they had no such pa-per as we use now."

"Very like-ly," said Ros-a-mond; "but I can-not im-a-gine what part of it they wrote up-on, or how they wrote up-on it."

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I will ex-plain it to you. Look at this stem of the plant; look, it is com-posed of thin leaves, as it were, one over the oth-er. It was on these they wrote; of these, when un-fold-ed, they made their sort of pa-per; they cut off the top of the plant, and the root, which were of no use, and with a sharp knife they di-vi-ded these leaves or rinds of the stem, and flat-tened them, and put one over the oth-er, cross-wise; so that one leaf lay breadth-wise, and the oth-er length-wise; and stuck them to-geth-er with the mud-dy wa-ter of the Nile, or with a sort of paste; and then the leaves were dried and pressed with heav-y weights; and some-times they were polished by rub-bing them with a smooth stone."

"Rub as they would," said Ros-a-mond, "they could

nev-er make it into such nice pa-per as ours; they could not make it white."

"No; but it was bet-ter than none. The Ro-mans used to write upon it a great while after the E-gypti-ans."

"And how could they write with a pen and ink upon this leaf-y pa-per?"

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They wrote with a hard sort of pen-cil, that made marks on the pa-py-rus."-Miss Edgeworth.

LESSON XLVII,-CHAMOIS HUNTING,

In one part of Aus-tri-a called Sty-ri-a, there are very fine moun-tains, and wild crea-tures like deer, called cha-mois, leap-ing a-mong the rocks. There are hunt-ers who spend their time in try-ing to catch the pret-ty cha-mois. Once upon a time a hunt-er found a cha-mois with two very lit-tle ones in a hole on the top of a high rock. The lit-tle cha-mois were sport-ing by their moth-er, and she was watch-ing to see that no-bod-y came near to hurt them. The hunt-er, hold-ing by both hands to a rock, peeped at the hap-py fam-i-ly. The old cha-mois caught sight of him, and ran at him in a fu-ry, and with her horns tried to push him down into the deep place be-low. The hunt-er pushed her a-way with his feet, and still went on com-ing near-er to the lit-tle ones. The poor cha-mois rushed back to them and showed them how to leap from their hole on to an-oth-er rock; but the young crea-tures were too young to jump so far. What would be-come of them! The hunt-er with his gun was creep-ing very close. At last the moth-er thought of a plan. She made her bod-y into a bridge. She stretched her fore feet as far as the rock be-yond, and looked back at her lit-tle ones, ho-ping they

would know what to do. And they did. They sprang up-on her as light-ly as cats, and reached the other side; and then all three were off like the wind, and were soon out of reach of the hunt-er's gun.

What a clev-er cha-mois that was, and what a ten-der moth-er! Oh! what will not a moth-er do to save her lit-tle ones from per-ish-ing!—“ Near Home.”

LESSON XLVIII.—THE CAMEL.

Cam-el, thou art good and mild,
Do-cile as a lit-tle child;

Thou wast made for use-ful-ness,
Man to com-fort and to bless.

Thou dost clothe him, thou dost feed,
Thou dost lend to him thy speed;
And through wilds of track-less sand,
In the hot A-ra-bi-an land,

Where no rock its shad-ow throws,
Where no cool-ing wa-ter flows,
Where the hot air is not stirred
By the wing of sing-ing bird;
There thou goest, un-tired and meek,
Day by day, and week by week,
With thy load of pre-cious things—
Silks for mer-chants, gold for kings,
Pearls of Or-muz, rich-es rare,
Da-mas-cene and In-di-an ware;
Bale on bale, and heap on heap,
Freight-ed like a cost-ly ship!
And when week by week is gone,
And the trav-el-ler jour-neys on
Fee-bly, when his strength is fled,
And his hope and heart seem dead,

Cam-el, thou dost turn thine eye
On him kind-ly, sooth-ing-ly,
As if thou wouldst, cheer-ing, say,

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Jour-ney on for this one day—
Do not let thy heart des-pond!
There is wa-ter yet be-yond!
I can scent it in the air-
Do not let thy heart des-pair!"

And thou guid'st the trav-el-ler there.

Cam-el, thou art good and mild,

Do-cile as a little child;

Thou wast made for use-ful-ness,

Man to com-fort and to bless.
And the des-ert wastes must be
Un-tracked re-gi-ons but for thee!

Mrs. Howitt.

LESSON XLIX.-SUGAR.

Sug-ar is the juice of a cane cul-ti-va-ted in the West In-dies. It is very tall; grow-ing from ten to twen-ty feet high, with a knot-ted stem. The canes are cut down, and the juice is squeezed out and boiled with a little lime in it. As it boils, the scum which ri-ses to the top is care-ful-ly ta-ken off, and as soon as the liq-uid is clear, it is poured into shal-low pans, to cool and hard-en. When the sug-ar has cooled into grains or crys-tals, it is put into large casks. The mo-las-ses, or moist part re-main-ing, is drained off, and the sug-ar is then ready for ex-por-ta-tion.

Sug-ar grows in very hot coun-tries, where Eng-lish peo-ple could not work in the fields. The heat would soon kill them, if they were ex-posed to it. Sug-ar is

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made by ne-groes, who first came from Af-ri-ca. I tell you how they used to get the ne-groes? It is a sad story of cru-el-ty and in-jus-tice. Ships went to Af-ri-ca, and the poor Af-ri-cans were caught, torn away from their coun-try, crowd-ed into the ships, and carried away to the West In-dies, where they were sold -by the bad men who had sto-len them—to the sug-ar plant-ers. The mas-ters who bought them, made them work all day be-neath the burn-ing sun, and of-ten cru-el-ly flogged them, if their tasks were not fin-ished. This dread-ful traf-fic was called the slave-trade. A few years ago, Eng-lish-men be-gan to feel how wick-ed it was to keep men as slaves, and a law was passed, ma-king all the slaves free. Oh, what joy for them! The is-lands, which were so full of suf-fer-ing and sor-row, are now filled with a hap-py, in-dus-tri-ous peo-ple. Good men have gone to teach the ne-groes a-bout God, and a-bout Je-sus Christ who died to save them, and many of them have be-come true Chris-tians.

In some coun-tries the poor Af-ri-cans are still bought and sold. Do you not hope that the day will soon come when they shall all be set free. and there shall be no more slaves? "For God hath made of one blood all na-tions of men."

LESSON L.-SWARTZ.

Swartz was a mis-sion-a-ry, that is, one who left his own coun-try to preach the Gos-pel to the hea-then. He died at the age of sev-en-ty-two, hav-ing been a mission-a-ry for-ty-eight years in In-dia. He had such a high cha-rac-ter among the hea-then, that he was suf fered to pass through sav-age and law-less tribes un-molest-ed. They said, "Let him a-lone,-let him pass,—

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