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it is but a Plinyism, that there is a fish called Lucerna, whose tongue does shine like a torch. If it be a fable, yet let the tongue of a minister be the moral of that fable."-See Mather's Ecclesiastical His- | tory of New England.

Öften have I listened to a minister of the gospel when his tongue has, indeed, shone like a torch, making so clear to me the meaning of God's holy word, and flinging such a light into my understanding, that I have been surprised at my ignorance and his knowledge; not knowing which most to marvel at, his exceeding light, or my amazing darkness.

"It came on a most dreadful stormy night, and so dark that we could not see one another in the ranks, except when a flash of lightning came; we kept on marching until one o'clock the next morning. The road was so very bad, that we had to travel through dirt and water knee deep, and sometimes up to the waist. We halted under some trees, in the cleanest place we could find. I was so weary that I slept soundly, although we lay upon the ground, and had not so much as a coat to cover us from the rain, which kept pouring down till day-light, and the water running both under and over us."-See Narrative of John Matson, the Kidnapped Youth.

The simplicity and straightforwardness of the narrative from which the above quotation is made, leave no doubt of its truth on the mind of the reader. When I think of the picture thus presented of weary men toiling through roads more than knee deep on a stormy night, while the rain descended and the lightning flashed around them; and lying down for repose on the muddy ground, the water running over and under them; it makes me blush that I should be so much moved by the little privations and trifling annoyances that fall to my share. How much more patiently ought I to endure my daily troubles! How much more gratefully should I enjoy my hourly mercies!

"Fox kept a sort of crow-bar, with which it was his practice to detach the coffin handles and nails for the purpose of sale. He stripped the lead off the coffins in the vaults. He has been the biggest brute of any grave-digger on this earth, and he suffered for it at last. He died in the Strand Union Workhouse. 'In St. Ann's ground,' says a witness named Copeland, I have seen Fox the grave-digger, and a party who used to assist him in digging, playing at what is called skittles,

stick up bones in the ground, and throw a skull at them as you would a skittleball.'"-See Times, Oct. 20, 1842.

I think the above quotation is from evidence given before the Committee of the House of Commons on the improvement in the health of towns. What an aggravated picture of ruffianism and hardened iniquity does it present to the mind! I know not that we are justified in expecting that a grave-digger should be more serious, or even more moral, than one engaged in another calling, seeing that familiarity takes away the influence of the most impressive scenes; but in this instance, common decency is so wantonly outraged, and the sanctities of nature so savagely trodden under foot, that it excites the strongest abhorrence. When in future I desire to feed my disgust by conjuring up a specimen of coarse humanity, more than ordinarily hideous, and clothed with unwonted wickedness, I shall call to mind Fox the grave-digger, playing at skittles with his companions with the skulls and bones of the departed.

"At the hospital of St. Giles for lazars, the prisoners conveyed from the city of London towards Tyburn, there to be executed for treasons, felonies, or other trespasses, were presented with a bowl of ale, thereof to drink as their last refreshing in this life."-See Strype's Stow, book ix. chap. 3.

I cannot help contrasting the malefactor drinking the bowl of ale at the Lazar Hospital, with the brawling drunkard quaffing his often-filled cup at the pothouse, amid his light-hearted companions. The miserable criminal could have no fellowship with mirth; he might, perhaps, have drained his bowl greedily, but this was that it might afford him help to meet the dog-like death that awaited him. Death was in the bowl, death was in the crowd, and death was in every thing around him. He drank, knowing that it was his last refreshing in this life.' Could the brawling drunkard regard himself as a dying man; did he see death in his erring course, death in his cup, death in his companions, and death in all around him! then might he be affrighted from his reckless career, and be led to seek for a better last refreshing in this life' than a cup of ale.

"That is ever better or best, which maketh the owner or possessor himself better or best; and sure, according to this rule, there is no state like heaven."-See Baxter's Saint's Everlasting Rest.

Right, honest Richard Baxter! As in heaven alone we get rid of the greatest evils and enjoy the greatest good, so ought heaven ever to be the object of the wise; but this being the case,

"Oh what a silly fool am I to swallow

The bubbles of the world so light and hollow!
To drink its frothy draughts in lightsome mood,
And live upon such empty, airy food!"

Let me no longer be satisfied with good while I can get better, nor with better while the best is before me. Sin and sorrow are our greatest evils, and before we can be truly blessed we must be thoroughly rid of them both. Let us then unceasingly seek and serve, obey and glorify, Him whose grace can keep us from sin here, and whose glory will defend us from sorrow hereafter.

"The hospitals, containing more than twelve thousand wounded, began to burn. The heart, frozen with horror, recoils at the fatal disaster which ensued. Almost all these wretched victims perished. The few who were still living, were seen crawling, half burnt, under the smoking ashes, or groaning under the heaps of dead bodies, making ineffectual efforts to extricate themselves."-See Labaume's Narrative of the Campaign in Russia, in 1812.

Read this, ye monarchs, who play the game of war with your subjects' bones. Ye statesmen, who embroil the world to show your policy; ye politicians, who talk of killed and wounded as of herds of cattle; and read this, all ye who through wantonness or weakness are the advocates of cruel war, thinking lightly of bleeding veins and agonizing hearts. Twelve thousand wounded men burning on their beds of agony! This is but one of the myriad pictures of cruel war. Think of it! Think of it deeply when ye sink on your downy pillow, and haply ye will hear a voice within you whispering or crying aloud, "We are verily guilty concerning our brother."

You have now examples enough to illustrate my habit of reflecting on striking passages; and such of you as happen to indulge in a similar propensity, will not wonder that I am a slow reader.

TRAVELLERS IN BELGIUM.

My travelling companion was an Englishman. We reached Ghent just before dinner. The table was covered with dishes, but they were all of fish, served up in different methods. "What is the meaning of this?" inquired my friend;

disappointment being expressed in his countenance, at this unsatisfactory sort of refreshment for one who had his appetite sharpened by a journey of fifteen leagues. I told him that he was in a Roman Catholic country, reminding him also that it was Wednesday. He replied that he was neither a Belgian nor a Papist, and that he must have some meat. The master of the hotel being called in, consented to satisfy his desires; not, however, without demurring a little. A respectable looking fowl was soon served up, which had certainly been killed just the proper time previous, and, doubtless, in the expectation of some Protestant requiring it to satisfy his hunger.

In the bill we found unequivocal marks of the troubles of conscience which

the deed had occasioned, and that nothing but paying a high price for it would calm them. We concluded, from this circumstance, that complete liberty in regard to provisions, might be enjoyed, if only we were willing to pay extra for the privilege.

A week afterwards, and, consequently, Wednesday again, we reached Hal. The reader may, perhaps, be unacquainted with this place. It is the last post-town in the route from Paris to Brussels, and possesses the attraction of being a large town with a cathedral and good hotels. We resolved to arrive here early to see what was going on; but, alas! we were worse off. They told us that they had no meat in the house; but as they professed to be liberals and not Catholics, the pressing demands of my friend were acceded to, and a servant was sent to the butcher's shop, in hopes that an exception to the rule might be made for us, on consideration of our being foreigners. This expedition was conducted with the greatest secrecy, to avoid the anger and disgrace that such an action would occa. sion. It, however, proved useless, for the shops were closed, and the servant returned without the smallest piece of meat. And this took place in an age of light and liberty and high civilization, twelve leagues from the frontiers of France: a warning to hungry Protestant travellers, who do not wish to have their appetites restrained to an omelet and a salad.

We afterwards went out to look at the cathedral, which is a very handsome building. In one corner of it we saw a case, with iron bars filled with cannon balls, I inquired what was the reason of

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their being there? They showed me a | small black wooden statue, dressed out with ribands and feathers, etc., which is called the virgin Mary of Hal. You must know that once, when the town was besieged, the little negress is said to have repaired to the ramparts, and preserved the town by spreading out her robe, or the canvass of the picture, (it is not clearly settled which,) where the shots came thickest. Of course the shield proved invulnerable. The shots were preserved, and placed in the cathedral; and, as I before said, this was on the frontiers of France.

The clergy endeavour to have the chief management of the almshouses and other charitable institutions in this country. A lady was recently visiting one of the former, where she found several old women playing at cards. She endeavoured to set before them the folly of such an amusement. They replied in a self-satisfied manner, and gave her a reason for their occupation, in the propriety of which they appeared to place full reliance. They did not play for money or any thing of that sort; no; they were playing-guess, reader, if you can— they played for prayers! In fact, it was in perfect analogy with their religion. Their priests imposed prayers and penances on them, and as they found such duties very fatiguing and troublesome, they sought every means in their power to throw off the burden of discharging them upon any one else.—From L'Espé

rance.

SHALL I TELL YOU YOUR FORTUNE?

WELL, my young friends, so you wish me to tell you your fortune at the beginning of a new year? Pay attention, then, and I will endeavour to do so. But remember that I am no juggling fortuneteller. The future is fully known only to God; but, as he has placed us under certain laws, by which certain habits produce certain consequences, I can thus, without any pretensions to prophecy, tell you pretty correctly what will be your

fortune.

Come, master John, I will begin with you. Hold up your head, and let me look at you. I am afraid ill-temper is written on that countenance. If I mistake not, you are passionate, often very angry, and impatient if you cannot have your own way. There is a scowl upon

your brow, which indicates sourness of temper. Shall I tell you your fortune? It will be this, unless your temper improve-Your playfellows, with whom you so often quarrel, will forsake you, and even your friends will shun you. You will be a nuisance to all that know you, and a curse to yourself. Instead of loving you, people will pity you, and many will despise you. The few that do love you will be vexed and disgusted with you, and you will be a continual source of vexation to yourself. You will be a friendless man; for who would choose an ill-tempered man for his friend? Your conscience and your bad temper will always be at war; for conscience will continually upbraid you for cherishing such a viper in your bosom. It is a fire that will burn you; it is a serpent that will sting you; it is a foul thing that will defile you. Oh, do not cherish or suffer this bad temper, and pray to God to help you to amend it, or what I have told you will certainly be your fortune.

In

Well, Richard, so you want to know your fortune? Pray, are you not idle? Do you not dislike your school and your lessons? Are you not often at your playthings, or doing nothing when you should be at your books? Are you not fond of lying late in bed, instead of rising with the lark? Is not all effort and exertion disagreeable to you? I fear this is your character; and if so, I have no difficulty in telling you your fortune. Instead of being intelligent, you will be a dunce, and your idle habits will make you poor as well as ignorant. You will be a despised and unhappy man. stead of attaining respectability and comfort, you will be, perhaps, meanly dependent upon others, and struggling with want and difficulty. You will be servant to the industrious, if any will employ you; and have to work very hard for a living, which you might have obtained more easily and creditably if you had attended to your lessons and cultivated your mind. Play is a good thing, and sleep is a good thing; but if you play or sleep when you ought to be learning and improving, depend upon it, your fortune, if you live to be a man, will be what Í have told you. Oh, be industrious, and love your school and your books, if you would escape what I have prophesied concerning you.

And so, miss Mary, you are next. But why do you look so at your gay sash and your new dress? I am afraid you are

vain. I fear you love finery. I am | afraid you value a fine frock far more than an intelligent mind or an amiable disposition. Fie, fie, vain girl! It grieves me to tell you your fortune. You think people will admire you for your finery, but I tell you they will despise you for your vanity; for all, however much they admire a fine dress, hate a proud heart. You may dazzle the thoughtless, but you will disgust all whose approbation is worth possessing. Your love of dress, if it do not make you dishonest, will make you poor, and deprive you of the means of obtaining many more real and innocent gratifications. It will rob you also of the time which ought to be devoted to storing your mind with useful and religious knowledge, and cultivating your heart. If you persevere in your vain course, you will neither be useful while you live nor happy when you die. Every one will look upon you as a selfish, worthless thing, and your vanity will be a continual source of irritation and torment to you. Oh, be advised: let God's word be your looking-glass, and your heart your chief study. Pray to be adorned with goodness and clothed with humility; for if you continue so vain, what I have prophesied will certainly happen to you.

And so, James, you wish to know your fortune? Do not turn your eyes away, then, but look me in the face. I wish there was more candour in your countenance. I believe you are in the habit of telling untruths, are you not? Do you not often attempt to deceive your playfellows, and say what you know is not true? And, worse still, do you not sometimes deceive your mother by your falsehoods, hoping she will never find out the lie, and abusing the confidence she fondly reposes in you? Oh, James, this is a wicked habit, and if you persevere in it, your fortune will be a fearful one. You may tell many falsehoods without being discovered, but you will sooner or later be found out; you will be known as one who must not be believed, and all who know your character will despise you. Even when you speak the truth, people will suspect you are telling them a lie. No one who knows you will feel any confidence in you, or be willing to employ you, or have any dealings with you. And in another world you will find, however lightly you may think of this habit now, that no habitual liars will find a place in heaven. Learn, at all times, and under all circumstances, to

speak the truth boldly. Scorn to tell a lie. Repent of this evil habit, this sin, which none who fear God will dare to indulge in. If you do not, depend upon it that contempt, disgrace, and ruin will be your fortune.

Well, Thomas, and now let me tell you your fortune. Your playfellows say you are very selfish. You think of little else but your own gratification, and you care not who is in want if you have enough. If you have any thing nice, you will rather hide it and eat it by yourself than divide it with others. I am sorry to hear this. Selfishness is hateful in any, but especially in the young. If you grow up to be a selfish man, your fortune will be a very undesirable one. You will be unhappy and discontented; for selfishness is always miserable. You may prosper in life; you may accumulate wealth, and surround yourself with gratifications; but few will respect you, and fewer still love you. You will displease God, and your conscience will tell you that God is displeased with you. You will be a useless man, unfit for any thing great or noble. Do not be selfish. Divide your sweetmeats with your playfellows. Endeavour to love your neighbour as yourself. Pray to God to teach you to forsake your selfishness, to make you like himself, and to help you to be a loving, generous, kind man, for Christ's sake. If you persevere in your selfish course, what I have prophesied will certainly be your fortune.

Come, Robert, do not hang down your head so bashfully. I must tell you your fortune. From what I have heard and know of you, I believe you obey your parents, and are in the habit of associating with good companions and reading good books. You study the Bible, and pray to be saved by the blood of Christ, to have a new heart, and to be renewed by the Spirit of God, that you may at last find a home in heaven. Well done, Robert; I can easily tell you your fortune. You will please God, and he will specially bless and protect you. If you do not live to be old, you will the sooner reach heaven; and if you live a long life, as I hope you may, you will be a useful man, a blessing to your friends and fellow creatures and the church of God. Whatever may happen to you, you will be blessed with a peaceful conscience and a joyful expectation of a better world. You will be loved by the good, and respected even by the bad. This, Robert, if you

persevere, will be your fortune; and may | God, in his mercy, enable you to persevere even to the end.

S. W. P.

WOMEN OF FLINDER'S ISLAND.

THE climbing of the lofty, smoothtrunked gum trees, by the women, to obtain opossums, which lodge in the hollows of decayed branches, is, says Mr. Backhouse, one of the most remarkable feats I ever witnessed. This is effected without making any holes for the thumbs or great toes, as is common among the natives of New South Wales, except where the bark is rough and loose, at the base of the tree. In this a few notches are cut by means of a sharp flint or a hatchet, the latter being preferred. A rope, twice as long as is necessary to encompass the tree, is then thrown around it. In former times, this was made of tough grass, or strips of kangaroo skin; but one of hemp is now generally used. The left hand is twisted firmly into one end of the rope, the middle of which is tightly grasped by the right; the hatchet is placed on the bare, closely-cropped head, and the feet are placed against the tree; a step or two is then advanced, and the body, at the same time, is brought into a posture so nearly erect as to admit the rope, by a compound motion, to be slackened, and at the same moment hitched a little further up the tree. By this means, a woman will ascend a lofty tree with a smooth trunk almost as quickly as a man would go up a ladder. Should a piece of loose bark impede the ascent of the rope, the portion of the rope held in the right hand is taken between the teeth, or swung behind the right leg, and caught between the great and the fore toe, and fixed against the tree. One hand is thus freed, to take the hatchet from the head, and with it to dislodge the loose bark. On arriving at a large limb, the middle of the rope is also secured in the left hand, and the loose end is thrown over the limb by the right hand, by which also the end is caught and the middle grasped, till the left hand is cleared. then wrapped into the middle of the rope, and the feet are brought up to the wrinkles of the bark, which exist below the large limbs. One end of the rope is then pulled downwards, and this causes the other to ascend, so that, by an effort of the feet, the body is turned on to the

This is

upper side of the limb of the tree. In descending, the woman places one arm on each side of the limb of the tree, and swings the rope with one hand till she catches it with the other; she then turns off the limb, and swings underneath it, till she succeeds in steadying herself with her feet against the trunk, around which she then throws the loose end of the rope. Having secured this, she lets go the portion by which she was suspended under the limb, and descends in the manner in which she ascended. Although this is done with ease by women in vigour, one who had been out of health, but seemed recovered, could not get many steps off the ground; so that not only skill, but a considerable measure of strength, appears necessary to ascend the gigantic gum trees.

THE WEAVER BIRD.

In the course of my rambles, says Mr. Steedman, I observed several nests of the loxia, or weaver bird, which were suspended from the branches of a mimosa tree, and succeeded, with some difficulty, in obtaining them. The singular contrivance of this bird in constructing its nest for the protection of its young from the attacks of reptiles and monkeys, which abound in the woods, is truly surprising. To increase the difficulty of access to these tree-rocked cradles, they usually impend over a river or precipice, while the entrance is always from below, and frequently through a cylindrical passage of twelve or fifteen inches in length, projecting from the spherical nest, exactly like the tube of a chemist's retort. The whole fabric is most ingeniously and elegantly woven of a species of very tough grass; and the wonderful instinct, or foresight, or whatever else we may choose to call it, displayed by the little architect in its construction, is calculated to excite the highest admiration.

Suspend the loxia's callow brood,
In cradle-nests, with porch below,
Secure from wing'd or creeping foe,
(Weasel, or hawk, or writhing snake;)
Wild waving, as the breezes wake,
Like ripe fruit hanging, fair to see,
Upon the rich pomegranate tree.

VALUE OF REVELATION.

WITHOUT inspired truths, which are God's statements of facts, either future or invisible, we can make no discoveries in religion,-Douglas.