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which no one winds up, and which yet goes al-ways, and nev-er gets out of or-der. Ob-serve in-deed these words, "And God said, let there be lights in the fir-ma-ment of heav-en, to di-vide the day from the night;" but was it on-ly to di-vide the day from the night, which is certain-ly ne-ces-sa-ry to reg-u-late the re-pose and work of man? No; for it is added, "And let them be for signs, and for sea-sons, and for days, and for years." You hear-there is the clock of the world. The face of that clock is the vault of heav-en, which re-volves o-ver our heads ; a vault star-ry at night, and shi-ning with light du-ring the day, whose edges, like those of a watch, rest on the ho-ri-zon. But where on this glo-ri-ous face are the hands? God, to point out the hour on it, has placed two hands there, the great and the small. They are two glo-ri-ous hands, which al-ways go on, and which nev-er go too slow or too fast. The large hand is the "great-er light which rules the day," and which ap-pears to rise each morn-ing in the east, and to re-tire to rest ev-er-y night in the west; and the lit-tle hand is the "less-er light which rules the night," and which moves in the same di-rec-tion as the sun, but twelve times as quick-ly, pro-ceed-ing thus in a month all round the face of the clock,

How beau-ti-ful is all this. The moon, by its four quar-ters, which con-tin-ue each a lit-tle more than sev-en days, gives us the weeks and the months. The sun, by his course in the heav-ens, gives us the four sea-sons, and the years; at the same time that by the ro-ta-tion of the heav-ens a-bove our heads, he gives us days and hours. He gives them so well, too, that the best watchma-kers reg-u-late their watch-es by his noon,-and that from the old-est times men have meas-ured on sun

di-als, the reg-u-lar course of his shad-ow.

You have

all seen some in gar-dens, or coun-try church-es; and you rec-ol-lect that in Je-ru-sa-lem, as ear-ly as the reign of A-haz, or seven hundred and thirty years be-fore Christ, there was one in the pal-ace of the kings.*

But now, what I want you tho-rough-ly to com-prehend, is the u-til-i-ty, or ra-ther the ne-ces-si-ty of this help for man. Ah! it is no small thing for him to have con-tin-u-al-ly be-fore him that clock of the heav-ens, to learn how to meas-ure his time, to be reg-u-lar-ly re-mind-ed of his task, of the rap-id course of years, and of the short-ness of life. With-out this help man would have been de-gra-ded on earth, and his life would quick-ly have passed a-way, like a use-less dream.-Gaussen.

LESSON LXXXI.-AN ADVENTURE OF MUNGO PARK.

On his re-turn from the in-te-ri-or of Af-ri-ca, Mr. Park was en-coun-tered by a par-ty of armed men, who said that the king of the Fou-lahs had sent them to bring him, his horse, and ev-er-y-thing that be-longed to him, to Foo-la-doo; and that he must there-fore turn back and go a-long with them. "With-out hes-i-ta-ting," says Mr. Park, "I turned round and fol-lowed them, and we trav-elled to-geth-er near a quar-ter of a mile without ex-chang-ing a word; when com-ing to a dark place in the wood one of them said, in the Man-din-go language, "This place will do;" and im-me-di-ate-ly snatched the hat from my head. Though I was by no means free from ap-pre-hen-sions, yet I was re-solved to show as few signs of fear as pos-si-ble; and there-fore told them that un-less my hat was re-turned to me I would pro-ceed no

* Isaiah xxxviii. 8; 2 Kings xx. 11.

far-ther; but be-fore I had time to re-ceive an an-swer, an-oth-er drew his knife, and seiz-ing on a metal but-ton which re-mained up-on my waist-coat, cut it off, and put it in-to his pock-et. Their in-ten-tion was now ob-vi-ous; and I thought that the eas-i-er they were per-mit-ted to rob me of ev-er-y-thing, the less I had to fear. I therefore al-lowed them to search my pock-ets with-out resist-ance, and ex-am-ine ev-er-y part of my ap-par-el, which they did with the most scru-pu-lous ex-act-ness. But ob-serv-ing that I had one waist-coat un-der an-oth-er, they in-sist-ed that I should cast them off; and at last, to make sure work, they stripped me quite na-ked. E-ven my half boots, though the sole of them was tied to my foot with a bro-ken bri-dle-rein, were mi-nute-ly inspect-ed. Whilst they were ex-am-in-ing the plun-der, I begged them to re-turn my pock-et com-pass; but when I point-ed it out to them, as it was ly-ing on the ground, one of the ban-dit-ti, think-ing I was a-bout to take it up, cocked his mus-ket, and swore that he would shoot me dead on the spot if I pre-sumed to put my hand on it. After this, some of them went a-way with my horse, and the re-main-der stood con-sid-er-ing whether they should leave me quite na-ked, or al-low me some-thing to shel-ter me from the heat of the sun. Hu-man-i-ty at last pre-vailed; they re-turned me the worst of the two shirts, and a pair of trow-sers, and as they went a-way, one of them threw back my hat, in the crown of which I kept my mem-o-ran-dums, and this was prob-a-bly the rea-son they did not wish to keep it.

"Af-ter they were gone, I sat for some time look-ing round me with a-maze-ment and ter-ror. Which-so-ev-er way I turned, noth-ing ap-peared but dan-ger and dif-fi

cul-ty. I saw my-self in the midst of a vast wil-der-ness, in the depth of the rain-y sea-son, na-ked and a-lone, sur-round-ed by sav-age an-i-mals, and by men still more sav-age. I was five hun-dred miles from the near-est Eu-ro-pe-an set-tle-ment. All these cir-cum-stan-ces crowd-ed at once up-on my rec-ol-lec-tion; and, I confess, my spir-its be-gan to fail me. I con-sid-ered my fate as cer-tain, and that I had no al-ter-na-tive but to lie down and die. The in-flu-ence of re-lig-ion, howev-er, aid-ed and sup-port-ed me. I re-flect-ed that no hu-man pru-dence or fore-sight could pos-si-bly have a-vert-ed my pres-ent suf-fer-ings. I was in-deed a strang-er in a strange land; yet I was still un-der the pro-tect-ing eye of that Prov-i-dence who has con-descend-ed to call Him-self the stran-ger's friend. At this mo-ment, pain-ful as my feel-ings were, the ex-traor-di-na-ry beau-ty of a small moss ir-re-sist-i-bly caught my eye. I men-tion this, to show from what tri-fling cir-cum-stan-ces the mind will some-times de-rive conso-la-tion; for, though the whole plant was not lar-ger than my fingers, I could not con-tem-plate the del-i-cate struc-ture of its parts with-out ad-mi-ra-tion. Can that Be ing, thought I, who plant-ed, wa-tered, and brought to per-fec-tion, in this ob-scure part of the world, a thing of so small im-port-ance, look with un-con-cern on the sit-u-a-tion and suf-fer-ings of crea-tures formed aft-er his own im-age? Sure-ly not! Re-flec-tions like these would not al-low me to des-pair. I start-ed up, and dis-re-gard-ing both hun-ger and fa-tigue, trav-elled for-wards, as-sured that re-lief was at hand, and I was not dis-ap-point-ed."-Park's "Travels."

LESSON LXXXII.- -CASABIANCA.

There was a lit-tle boy, a-bout thir-teen years old, whose name was Cas-a-bi-an-ca. His fath-er was the com-man-der of a ship-of-war called the Or-i-ent. The lit-tle boy ac-com-pa-nied his fath-er to sea. His ship

was once en-gaged in a ter-ri-ble bat-tle up-on the riv-er Nile.

In the midst of the thun-ders of the bat-tle, while the shot were fly-ing thick-ly a-round, and strew-ing the decks with blood, this brave boy stood by the side of his fath-er, faith-ful-ly dis-charg-ing the du-ties which were as-signed to him. At last his fath-er placed him in a par-tic-u-lar part of the ship, to per-form some ser-vice, and told him to re-main at his post till he should call him a-way. As the fath-er went to some dis-tant part of the ship to no-tice the pro-gress of the bat-tle, a ball from the en-e-my's ves-sel laid him dead up-on the deck.

But the son, un-con-scious of his fath-er's death, and faith-ful to the trust re-posed in him, re-mained at his post, wait-ing for his fath-er's or-ders. The bat-tle raged dread-ful-ly a-round him. The blood of the slain flowed at his feet. The ship took fire, and the threat-en-ing flames drew near-er and near-er. Still this no-bleIn the heart-ed boy would not dis-o-bey his fath-er. face of blood, and balls of fire, he stood firm and o-be. di-ent. The sail-ors be-gan to de-sert the burn-ing and sink-ing ship, and the boy cried out, "Fath-er, may I go?" But no voice of per-mis-sion could come from the man-gled bod-y of his life-less fath-er; and the boy, not know-ing that he was dead, would rath-er die than dis-o-bey. And there that boy stood at his post, till

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