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as a faith-ful stew-ard; he re-mem-bers that time is short, and that "now is the day of sal-va-tion." How oft-en then will he let the prayer of Mo-ses rise to heav-en, Lord, teach me so to num-ber my days, that I may ap-ply my heart un-to wis-dom ;" and how oft-en will he look at the clock of heav-en, to re-mem-ber the hours of prayer! Look at that girl who has been con-vert-ed; at that man who has be-come a se-ri-ous Chris-tian. Ah! when they think of that word of St. Paul, "Re-deem the time," they cry out, "O my God, I have in-deed much to re-deem. I have lost so much be-fore know-ing thee; so much e-ven since I have known thee. I have lost so much in bad ac-tions, so much in bad words, so much in bad thoughts, so much e-ven in those hours in which I seemed to be do-ing good; in prayer, when my heart did not pray; in pub-lic wor-ship, when my mind was full of wan-der-ing thoughts; in the read-ing and hearing of thy word, while I did not at-tend, nor pay re-gard to it. O my Sav-iour, let me by thy grace re-deem this time so pre-cious. May I be found do-ing thy work when thou com-est in the clouds; and may thy clock in heav-en re-mind me oft-en, as it did the Is-ra-el-ites, of the hour of prayer." At eve-ning, when you see the glo-ri-ous sun set-ting, then say, "This calls me to prayer. One day more, my God, hast thou giv-en me. O grant that while I wait for that day when I shall see the sun set for the last time, I may be a-ble to say to thee ev-er-y eve-ning, as did my dy-ing Sa-viour, My Fa-ther, in-to thy hands I com-mit my spir-it, for thou hast re-deemed me, O Lord God of truth.'' And at night, when you see the moon walk-ing si-lent-ly a-mid the skies, re-mem-ber Je-sus Christ in Geth-sem-a-ne, pray-ing for you in ag-o-ny un-der the rays of the full

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FISHING IN THE ST. LAWRENCE. (LESS. LXXXVI.

moon; think al-so of His re-turn in the clouds of heav-en; for you know not whether in your case that shall be at eve-ning or at mid-night, or at cock-crow, or at break of day. And then a-gain, when in the fresh-ness of a beau-ti-ful morn-ing you see the sun re-ap-pear on the hor-i-zon and a-wake all na-ture, say, "O my Lord and my God, be my light. Thou art the light of the world; thou art the Sun of right-eous-ness; thou bring-est life and heal-ing in thy wings. Come this day to warm and de-light my soul."-Gaussen.

LESSON LXXXVI.-FISHING IN THE ST. LAWRENCE.

For a-bout three weeks aft-er Christ-mas, im-mense num-bers of lit-tle fish, a-bout four inch-es in length, called tom-my-cods, come up the St. Law-rence and St. Charles; for the pur-pose of catch-ing these, long nar-row holes are cut in the ice, with com-fort-a-ble wood-en hou-ses, well warmed by stoves, e-rect-ed o-ver them. Man-y mer-ry par-ties are formed to spend the eve-ning fish-ing in these pla-ces; bench-es are ar-ranged on ei-ther side of the hole, with planks to keep the feet off the ice; a dozen or so of la-dies and gen-tle-men oc-cu-py these seats, each with a short line, hook, and bait, low-ered through the ap-er-ture be-low in-to the dark riv-er. The poor lit-tle tom-my-cods, at-trac-ted by the lights and air, as-sem-ble in my-ri-ads un-der-neath, pounce ea-ger-ly on the bait, an-nounce their pres-ence by a very faint tug, and are trans-ferred im-me-di-ate-ly to the fash-ion-a-ble as-sem-bly a-bove. Two or three Can-a-di-an boys at-tend to con-vey them from the hook to the bas-ket, and to ar-range in-vi-ta-tions for more of them by putting on bait. As the fish-ing pro-ceeds,

sand-wich-es and hot ne-gus are hand-ed a-bout, and songs and chat as-sist to pass the time a-way. Present-ly plates of the dain-ty lit-tle fish, fried as soon as caught, are passed round as the re-ward of the pis-ca-tori-al la-bours. The young peo-ple of the par-ty var-y the a-muse-ment by walk-ing a-bout in the bright moonlight, sli-ding o-ver the pat-ches of glace ice, and vis-iting oth-er friends in neigh-bour-ing cab-ins; for while the tom-my-cod sea-son lasts, there is quite a vil-lage of these lit-tle fish-ing hou-ses on the riv-er St. Charles."Hochelaga."

LESSON LXXXVII.-INSTINCT OF A DOG.

Two men, named Mur-di-son and Mil-lar, were tried in 1773 for sheep-steal-ing. It seems that these persons set-tled in the Vale of Tweed, the one as a sheep farm-er, the oth-er as his shep-herd, and car-ried on for some time an ex-ten-sive sys-tem of rob-ber-y on the flocks of the sur-round-ing farm-ers. A dog, be-long-ing to Mil-lar, was so well trained, that he had on-ly to show him du-ring the day the par-cel of sheep which he de-sired to have; and, when dis-missed at night for the pur-pose, Yar-row went right to the pas-ture where the flock had fed, and car-ried off the quan-ti-ty shown to him. He then drove them be-fore him by the most se-cret paths to Mur-di-son's farm, where the dis-hon-est mas-ter and ser-vant were in read-i-ness to re-ceive the boo-ty. Two things were re-mark-a-ble-in the first place, that if the dog, when thus dis-hon-est-ly em-ployed, ac-tu-al-ly met his mas-ter, he ob-served great cau-tion in re-cog-ni-zing him, as if he had been a-fraid of bringing him un-der sus-pi-cion; se-cond-ly, that he showed a dis-tinct sense that the il-le-gal trans-ac-tions in which he was en-gaged were not of a na-ture to en-dure dav

light. The sheep which he was di-rect-ed to drive were oft-en re-luc-tant to leave their own pas-tures, and sometimes the in-ter-ven-tion of riv-ers and oth-er ob-sta-cles made their pro-gress pe-cu-li-ar-ly dif-fi-cult. On such oc-ca-sions Yar-row con-tin-ued his ef-forts to drive his plun-der for-ward, un-til the day be-gan to dawn, a sig-nal which, he con-ceived, ren-dered it ne-ces-sa-ry for him to de-sert his spoil, and slink home-wards by a circu-i-tous road.

An-oth-er in-stance of sim-i-lar sa-gac-i-ty a friend of mine dis-cov-ered in a beau-ti-ful lit-tle span-iel, which he had pur-chased from a deal-er in the ca-nine race. When he en-tered a shop, he was not long in ob-serving that his lit-tle com-pan-ion made it a rule to fol-low at some in-ter-val, and to es-trange it-self from its master so much as to ap-pear to-tal-ly un-con-nect-ed with him. And when he left the shop, it was the dog's custom to re-main be-hind him till it could find an op-portu-ni-ty of seiz-ing a pair of gloves, or silk stock-ings, or some sim-i-lar prop-er-ty, which it brought to its mas-ter. The poor fel-low prob-ab-ly saved its life by fal-ling in-to the hands of an hon-est man.-Sir Walter Scott.

LESSON LXXXVIII.—THE BETTER LAND.

"I hear thee speak of a bet-ter land;
Thou call'st its chil-dren a hap-py band;
Moth-er! oh where is that ra-di-ant shore ?—
Shall we not seek it, and weep no more?
Is it where the flower of the or-ange blows,
And the fire-flies dance through the myr-tle boughs?"
"Not there, not there, my child."

"Is it where the feath-er-y palm-trees rise,
And the date grows ripe un-der sun-ny skies?

Or 'midst the green is-lands of glit-ter-ing seas,
Where fra-grant for-ests per-fume the breeze,
And strange bright birds; on their star-ry wings,
Bear the rich hues of all glo-ri-ous things?"
"Not there, not there, my child!"

"Is it far a-way in some re-gion old,

Where the riv-ers wan-der o'er sands of gold?
Where the burn-ing rays of the ru-by shine,
And the di-a-mond lights up the se-cret mine,
And the pearl gleams forth from the cor-al strand;
Is it there, sweet moth-er, that bet-ter land?"
"Not there, not there, my child!"

"Eye hath not seen it, my gen-tle boy!
Ear hath not heard its deep songs of joy;
Dreams can-not pic-ture a world so fair,-
Sor-row and death may not en-ter there;
Time doth not breathe on its fade-less bloom,
For be-yond the clouds, and be-yond the tomb,

It is there, it is there, my child!”—Mrs. Hemans.

LESSON LXXXIX.-HOW TO MAKE THE BEST OF IT.

Rob-in-et, a peas-ant of Lor-raine, a prov-ince of France, after a hard day's work at the next mar-kettown, was run-ning home with a bas-ket in his hand. "What a de-li-cious sup-per shall I have!" said he to him-self; "this piece of kid, well stewed down, with the on-ions sliced, thick-ened with my meal, and seas-oned with my salt and pep-per, will make a dish fit for the bish-op of the di-o-cese. Then I have a good piece of barley loaf at home to fin-ish with. How I long to be at it!" A noise in the hedge now at-tract-ed his no-tice, and he spied a squir-rel nim-bly run-ning up a tree, and pop

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