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eagle said. But, when the worm ap-peared, the sparrow snapped him up and ate him. Then he went on with his ar-gu-ment a-gainst the cats.-Henry Morley.

LESSON LXVII.-A BABY ELEPHANT.

Of the two young el-e-phants which were ta-ken in the Cor-ral, the small-est (ten months old) was sent down to my house at Co-lom-bo, where he be-came a gen-e-ral fa-vour-ite with the serv-ants. He at-tached him-self es-pe-cial-ly to the coach-man, who had a lit-tle shed e-rect-ed for him near his own quar-ters in the sta-bles. But his fa-vour-ite re-sort was the kit-chen, where he re-ceived a dai-ly al-low-ance of milk and plan-tains, and picked up sev-e-ral o-ther del-i-ca-cies be-sides. He was in-no-cent and play-ful in the ex-treme, and when walking in the grounds he would trot up to me, twine his lit-tle trunk round my arm, and coax me to take him to the fruit-trees. In the eve-ning the grass-cut-ters now and then in-dulged him by per-mit-ting him to car-ry home a load of fod-der for the hors-es, on which oc-casions he as-sumed an air of grav-i-ty that was high-ly a-mus-ing, show-ing that he was deep-ly im-pressed with the im-port-ance and re-spon-si-bi-li-ty of the ser-vice en-trust-ed to him. Be-ing some-times per-mit-ted to en-ter the di-ning-room, and helped to fruit at des-sert, he at last learned his way to the side-board; and on more than one oc-ca-sion hav-ing sto-ien in, du-ring the ab-sence of the ser-vants, he made a clear sweep of the wine-glas-ses and chi-na in his en-deav-ours to reach a bas-ket of o-ran-ges. For these, and sim-i-lar pranks, we were at last forced to put him a-way. He was sent to the gov-ern-ment stud, where he was af-fec-tion-ate-ly

re-ceived and a-dopt-ed by Si-ri-bed-di, a tame fe-male el-e-phant, and he now takes his turn of pub-lic du-ty in the de-part-ment of the Com-mis-sion-er of Roads.—Tennent's "Ceylon."

LESSON LXVIII.-THE RAVEN.

Ra-ven on the blast-ed tree,
Sit-ting, croak-ing mourn-ful-ly,
I would have a word with thee!

Ra-ven, thou art si-lent now,
On the splin-tered for-est bough,
Glan-cing on me thy bright eye,
I shall ask-do thou re-ply!

In that far-gone aw-ful time,
When the earth was purged of crime,
And old No-ah and the sev-en

In the go-pher ark were driv-en—

I was there.

RAVEN.

POET.

I know it, bird.

And when rain no more was heard,
Plash-ing down in tor-rents wild;
When the face of heav-en grew mild,
And from moun-tain sum-mits brown
The sub-si-ding floods went down,
And the pris-oned crea-tures fain
Scent-ed the young earth a-gain;
Where-fore, when the pa-tri-arch forth
Sent thee to look round the earth,
And bring ti-dings to his door,
Cam'st thou to the ark no more?

RAVEN.

Nar-row was the ark, but wide
And fair the earth on ev-er-y side;
And all a-round in glens and plains
Lay of life the lorn re-mains;
Man, and beast, and bird, like seed
Scat-tered on the har-vest mead:
How could I re-turn to bear
Ti-dings? I was feast-ing there!

POET.

Ra-ven, lo! I thought the same;
But in af-ter years ye came
To the ex-iled pro-phet good,
Bring-ing him his dai-ly food.

RAVEN.

Yes, by Che-rith brook there grew
Might-y ce-dars not a few;

And a ra-ven tree was there,
Spread-ing forth its branch-es bare.
"Twas our home, when thith-er ran
From the king, an aw-ful man,
Robed and san-dalled as in haste,
With a gir-dle round his waist;
Strong-ly built, with brow se-vere,
And the bear-ing of a seer.
Down by Che-rith brook he lay;
And at morn and set of day

Thus a voice un-to us said,

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'By you must this man be fed

;

Bring him flesh, and bring him bread!"

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 spirit move?
Deep-er truth than this shall reach thee;
Christ, He bade the ra-ven teach thee.

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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;

Nev-er 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 fantas-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 riv-ers 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

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