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 & 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 con. so-la-tion; for, though the whole plant was not lar-ger than my fing.ers, 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."


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 notice 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-bleheart-ed boy would not dis-o-bey his fath-er. In the 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

ev-er-y man had de-sert-ed the ship; and he stood and per-ished in the flames.

Oh what a boy was that! Ev-er-y-bod-y who ev-er heard of him, thinks that he was one of the no-blest boys that ever was born. Rath-er than dis-o-bey his fath-er, he would die in the flames.--Abbott.

The boy stood on the burn-ing deck,

Whence all but he had fled;
The flame that lit the bat-tle's wreck

Shone round him o'er the dead.
Yet beau-ti-ful and bright he stood,

As born to rule the storm ;
A crea-ture of he-ro-ic blood,

A proud though child-like form.
The flames rolled on; he would not go

With-out his fath-er's word;
That fath-er, faint in death be-low,

His voice no long-er heard.
He called a-loud—“Say, fath-er, say,

If yet my task is done.”
He knew not that the chief-tain lay

Un-con-scious of his son.
“Speak, fath-er," once a-gain he cried,

“If I may yet be gone;"
And but the boom-ing shot re-plied,
· And fast the flames rolled on.
Up-on his brow he felt their breath,

· And in his wa-ving hair,
And looked from that lone post of death
. In still yet brave de-spair;

And shout-ed but once more a-loud,

“ My fath-er, must I stay?"
While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud,

The wreath-ing fires made way.
They wrapped the ship in splen-dour wild,

They caught the flag on high,
And streamed a-bove the gal-lant child

Like ban-ners in the sky.
Then came a burst of thun-der sound-

The boy,-oh! where was he?
Ask of the winds, that far a-round

With frag-ments strewed the sea.
With mast, and helm, and pen-non fair,

That well had borne their part;
But the no-blest thing that per-ished there
Was that young faith-ful heart.

Mrs. Hemans.


Robert. Moth-er, I have been to see an el-e-phant this morn-ing. Uncle John took me.

Mother. It was ver-y kind of him to do so. And what do you think of the el-e-phant, Rob-ert ?

R. He is a won-der-ful an-i-mal, moth-er. I thought, at first, he looked ver-y ug-ly and fright-ful, he was so large, and heav-y and clum-sy. I was a good deal a-fraid of him; but pret-ty soon, when the keep-er spoke to him, and told him to do some things, I found that he was ver-y gen-tle and kind, and that he was not so awk-ward as I, at first, thought he was. He could not do much, though, if he had not that long trunk.

M. That long trunk, Rob-ert, is one more ver-y stri-king proof of the de-sign, and con-tri-vance, and skill of our heav-en-ly Fa-ther. He has ta-ken care, in a great va-ri-e-ty of ways, to pro-vide for the wants, and for the com-fort of beasts, and birds, and fish-es, and in-sects, as well as for ours. And, as the end for which He made them is ver-y dif-fer-ent from that for which He made us, so He has given them bod-ies dif-fer-ent from ours; and bod-ies ex-act-ly suit-ed to the dif-fer-ent pla-ces and ways in which they live.

R. Yes, moth-er, how dif-fer-ent a bird is made from a fish.

M. True, my son, and how man-y dif-fer-ent kinds of birds there are ; and in man-y things how dif-fer-ent they are made from each oth-er, so as to be suited to their dif-fer-ent ways of living, and to the coun-try, and to the cli-mate in which they live. Just so it is with beasts. There are a great man-y dif-ferent kinds, and each kind has some-thing pe-cu-li-ar to it-self, to lead us to ad-mire the wis-dom, and power, and good-ness of God.

R. The el-e-phant, moth-er, has some-thing ver-y pe-cu-li-ar in-deed,—that long trunk of his.

M. Yes, and the el-e-phant has great need of his trunk. He would be ver-y help-less with-out it. The neck of four-foot-ed an-i-mals is u-su-al-ly long in pro-por-tion to the length of their legs, so that they may be a-ble to stoop down and reach their food on the ground with-out dif-fi-cul-ty.

R. Moth-er, I should think some an-i-mals would get ver-y tired, hold-ing their heads down as long as they do to get their food. . M. It would be so, my son ; but God has pro-vi-ded some-thing to pre-vent this dif-fi-cul-ty. There is a

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