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tough, strong, ten-don-like strap, braced from their head to the mid-dle of the back, which sup-ports the weight of the head; so that, al-though it is large and heav-y, it may be held down long with-out an-y pain or un-eas-i-ness. We do not have this strap, be-cause we do not need to bend our head in the same way as beasts do. Our heads are suf-fi-cient-ly sup-port-ed with-out it. God pro-vides such things on-ly when they are ne-ces-sa-ry; and this shows how He has de-sign in ev-er-y-thing that He makes. The el-e-phant, as you saw, is a ver-y tall an-i-mal, and his head is a good way from the ground; and yet his neck is ver-y short, so that he can-not, with-out kneel-ing or ly-ing down, bring his mouth to the ground. This short neck, so dif-fer-ent from that of oth-er an-i-mals, whose heads are far from the ground, has one great ad-van-tage. It makes it so much eas-i-er for the el-e-phant to support the weight of his ver-y large head and heav-y tusks. But, some-how or oth-er, the dif-fi-cul-ty of hav-ing sọ short a neck, es-pe-cial-ly in get-ting food and drink, was to be rem-e-died; and the ad-mir-a-ble trunk, which God de-signed and made on pur-pose for the el-e-phant, re-moves en-tire-ly all this dif-fi-cul-ty. Still more, it has man-y ad-van-ta-ges, and ver-y great ones, too, o-ver the long necks of oth-er an-i-mals.

R. I saw the el-e-phant do some things with his trunk, moth-er, which oth-er an-i-mals could not do with their long necks and teeth and paws al-to-geth-er. But do tell me a lit-tle more par-tic-u-lar-ly a-bout the trunk. Is it bone or flesh, moth-er ?

M. It is not bone, my son; it is a hol-low, flesh-y tube, made of mus-cles and nerves, and cov-ered with a skin of a black-ish col-our, like that of the rest of the bod-y.

R. There must be a great man-y mus-cles in it, I

should think, moth-er, or the el-e-phant could not make so man-y dif-fer-ent kinds of mo-tions with it.

M. You are right, Rob-ert. M. Cu-vi-er, a ver-y learn-ed man in France, who knew a great deal, and who wrote sev-er-al cu-ri-ous books a-bout the dif-fer-ent kinds of an-i-mals, tells us that he has found there are more than thir-ty thou-sand dis-tinct mus-cles in the trunk of an el-e-phant !Gallaudet.

LESSON LXXXV.—THE RIGHT USE OF TIME.

When the cel-e-bra-ted Bar-on Trenck came out of the dun-geons of Mag-de-burg, where day and night can-not be dis-tin-guished, and where the king of Prus-sia had kept him ten years, he thought he had re-mained there on-ly a com-par-a-tive-ly short space of time, be-cause he had had com-par-a-tive-ly few thoughts; and his as-tonish-ment was ver-y great, when he was told how man-y years had passed.

Bar-ba-rous peo-ple are ig-no-rant of the val-ue of hours, and as they do not think of count-ing them, they spend them fool-ish-ly. The sav-a-ges of A-mer-i-ca, af-ter their hunts and war ex-pe-di-tions, pass whole weeks and months in sleep-ing and in play-ing, with-out sus-pect-ing that they are los-ing an-y-thing; and it has oft-en been said that the pro-gress of a peo-ple in civile i-za-tion may be meas-ured by the es-ti-mate that it makes of time, and by the care that it takes to count it. But if that is true of a peo-ple, how much more so of a Chris-tian? You must see the val-ue he sets on time. His hours are no more his own, they be-long to his Mas-ter who has re-deemed him; he knows that he nrust give an ac-count of them, and he wish-es to do so

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 often 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 heaven, 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 given 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

moon; think al-so of His re-turn in the clouds of heav-en; for you know not wheth-er 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 nature, 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. LAWRENCÊ.

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 wooden hou-ses, well warmed by stoves, e-rected 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 doz-en 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 river. 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-encé by a ver-y 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 put-ting on bait. As the fish-ing pro-ceeds,

Can-a-dias- ket, and to arrange as the fish

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 carried 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. T'wo 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 day.

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