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And by us he was sup-plied,
Dai-ly, morn and ev-en-tide,
Un-til Che-rith brook was dried !

POET.
Won-drous mir-a-cle of love!

RAVEN.
Doth it thus thy spir-it move ?
Deep-er truth than this shall reach thee;
Christ, He bade the ra-ven teach thee.
“ They plough not,” said He, “nor reap,
Nor have cost-ly hoards to keep;
Store-house none, nor barn have they,
Yet God feeds them ev-er-y day!
Fret not, then, your souls with care
What to eat or what to wear,
He who hears the ra-ven's cry,
Look-eth with a pit-y-ing eye
On His hu-man fam-i-ly."

POET.
Ra-ven, thou art spir-it-cheer-ing ;
What thou say'st is worth the hear-ing;
Never more be it a-verred
That thou art a dole-ful bird !-Mary Howitt.

LESSON LXIX.-ICEBERGS. One morn-ing, ear-li-er than the u-su-al time of ri-sing, the stew-ard a-wa-kened us with the news that ice-bergs were close at hand. This was charm-ing in-tell-i-gence, for so late in the sea-son they are but rare-ly met with, We were all soon on deck, and for a wor-thy ob-ject. One was a grand fel-low, with two great domes, each as large as that of St. Paul's; the low-er part was like frost-ed sil-ver. Where the heat of the sun had melt-ed the sur-face, and it had fro-zen a-gain, in its grad-u-al de-cay it had as-sumed all sorts of an-gu-lar and fan. tas-tic shapes, re-flect-ing from its green trans-pa-rent mass, thou-sands of pris-mat-ic col-ours ; while be-low the gen-tle swell dal-lied with its cliff-like sides. The ac-tion of the waves had worn a-way a great por-tion of the base o-ver the wa-ter, in-to deep nooks and caves, de-stroy-ing the bal-ance of the mass; while we were pas. sing, the cri-sis of this te-di-ous pro-cess chanced to ar-rive ; the huge white rock tot-tered for a mo-ment, then fell in-to the calm sea, with a sound like the roar of a thou-sand can-non; the spray rose to a great height in-to the air, and large waves rolled round, spread-ing their wide cir-cles o-ver the O-cean, each ring di-min-ishing till at length they sank to rest. When the spray had fal-len a-gain, the glit-ter-ing domes had van-ished, and a long low is-land of rough snow and ice lay on the surface of the wa-ter.

There is some-thing im-press-ive and dis-mal in the fate of these cold and lone-ly wan-der-ers of the deep. They break loose by some great ef-fort of na-ture from the shores and rivers of the un-known re-gions of the north, where, for cen-tu-ries per-haps, they have been ac-cu-mu-la-ting, and com-mence their drear-y voy-age, which has no end but in an-ni-hil-a-tion. For years they may wan-der in the Po-lar sea, till some strong gale or cur-rent bears them past its i-ron lim-its; then by the pre-dom-i-nance of winds and wa-ters to the south; they float past the des-o-late coasts of New-found-land. Al-read-y the sum-mer sun makes sad hav-oc in their strength, melt-ing their lof-ty heights; but each night's frost binds up what is left, and still on, on, glides the

great mass, slow-ly, sol-emn-ly. You can-not per-ceive that it stirs, the great-est storm does not rock it, the keen-est eye can-not dis-cov-er a mo-tion, but mo-ment by mo-ment, day by day, it pas-ses to the south, where it wastes a-way, and van-ish-es at last.

In June and Ju-ly they are most nu-mer-ous, and there is oft-en much dan-ger from their neigh-bour-hood in the dark moon-less nights; but the ther-mom-e-ter, if consult-ed, will al-ways in-di-cate their ap-proach; it fell eight de-grees when we neared the ice-berg which I have now de-scribed, and the cold was sen-si-bly felt. Hochelaga."

LESSON LXX.--THE CORNISHI MINER. Deep down in the shaft of a Corn-ish mine, two mi-ners were bu-sy putting in a shot for blast-ing. They had fin-ished their work, and were a-bout to give the sig-nal for be-ing hoist-ed up. One at a time was all that the man at the wind-lass could man-age. Whilst the first was reach-ing the top, the second was to kin-dle the match, and then in his turn to mount with all speed.

Whilst they were stand-ing to-geth-er, one of them thought that the match was too long, and took a cou-ple of stones, a sharp and a flat one, to cut it short-er. He did cut it of the right length, but, hor-ri-ble to re-late, kin-dled it at the same time. And the two men were still be-low!

Both shout-ed ve-he-ment-ly' to the man a-bove at the wind-lass, both sprang at the bas-ket; but the wind-lassman could not move it with them both. What a moment for the poor mi-ners ! In-stant and ter-ri-ble death hangs o-ver them, when one gen-e-rous-ly re-signs him-self. ** Go aloft, Jack," says he, and sits down qui-et-ly; "in one min-ute I shall be in heav-en.” The bas-ket bounds up-wards, the ex-plo-sion in-stant-ly fol-lows, bruising Jack's face as he looks o-ver; he is safe a-bove ground, but what of poor Will who saved him ? At length all was still. One by one they ea-ger-ly de-scend-ed, dreading to find on-ly his shat-tered re-mains. But he was safe; God was with the mi-ner in his liv-ing tomb, and caused the rocks to form an arch over him, so that he was found a-live and lit-tle in-jured.

The sto-ry of this man's prompt and calm he-ro-ism, re-cord-ed in the news-pa-pers of the day, at-tract-ed the ad-mi-ra-tion and in-te-rest of a gift-ed vis-it-or in that neigh-bour-hood. He thought it worth in-ves-ti-ga-ting, found it to be ac-cu-rate-ly true, and re-ceived from Will's own lips the ex-pla-na-tion—"I was rea-dy, but Jack was not !" What a power in this an-swer of strong and sim-ple faith, from a hum-ble Christ-ian, un-learned of man, but taught of God. He knew that "his sins were for-giv-en him for his Sa-viour's sake." He that hath the Son of God hath life. O read-er, whose eye fol-lows this sto-ry, are you " like-wise rea-dy?"

LESSON LXXI.-FISH OUT OF WATER.

A rich tur-bot was told of a fam-i-ly of perch-es in Cey-lon, that, when its na-tive pool is dry-ing up, crawls o-ver land with o-pen gills, and cros-ses dus-ty roads to find an-oth-er. An in-quis-i-tive mack-e-rel was his in-form-ant.

“My dear Mac," said the tur-bot, “what pos-ses-ses you that you must tell me this? I have long been think-ing that there must be, some-where o-ver the land,

H

much better wa-ter than this great salt wash of ours; but I can-not walk, Mac; some-bod-y must take me to it."

As he spoke, a net de-scend-ed through the sea. “O," said the tur-bot, “ this is too good. Here is some one

of-fer-ing to pull me up.” So he jumped brisk-ly in; - was ta-ken up, and car-ried o-ver-land with a great deal

of care. The best of wa-ter was pro-vi-ded for him in the fish ket-tle...

The mack-e-rel, when his friend leapt into the net, swam off, for he sup-posed it would be time e-nough for him to im-i-tate the perches, when the dry-ing up be-gan. -Henry Morley.

... LESSON LXXII.---SAGACITY OF AN ELEPHANT. .

One eve-ning, whilst ri-ding in the vi-cin-i-ty of Kan-dy, my horse e-vinced some ex-cite-ment at a noise which ap-proached us in the thick jun-gle, and which consist-ed of a re-pe-ti-tion of the e-jac-u-la-tion urmph! urmph! in a hoarse and dis-sat-is-fied tone. A turn in. the for-est ex-plained the mys-te-ry, by bring-ing me face to face with a tame el-e-phant, un-ac-com-pa-nied by an-y at-tend-ant. He was la-bour-ing pain-ful-ly to car-ry a heav-y beam of tim-ber, which he bal-anced a-cross his tusks, but the path-way be-ing narrow, he was forced to bend his head to one side to per-mit it to pass end-ways; and the èx-er-tion and in-con-ve-ni-ence com-bined, led him to ut-ter the dis-sat-is-fied sounds which dis-turbed the com-po-sure of my horse. On see-ing us halt, the el-e-phant raised his head, re-con-noi-tred us for a moment, then flung down the tim-ber, and vol-un-ta-ri-ly forced him-self back-wards a-mong the brush-wood so as

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