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the groan of sorrow come not; where the courted and the slighted, the high-minded and the base, the solitary and the man of many friends, the envied and the despised, the clown and the scholar, lie down together and are forgotten. Like the autumn leaf and the flower of spring, like the fading rainbow and the mist of morning, like the dreams of night and the hopes of day, they pass away, and nothing can restore them.

ELECTRICAL PHENOMENA.

HE earliest historical records trans

trical science, independently of its familiar appearance in the form of lightning, are contained in the writings of the ancient philosophers of Greece, about six hundred years before the date of the Christian era. The fact was first announced by one of them, that "if a piece of amber be rubbed, sparks and flashes of light become perceptible, and straws or feathers become attracted thereby."

It is probable that these same phenomena of sparks were familiarly known to the race of hunters, who first peopled the earth, and clad themselves in the soft furs of the animals captured in the chase. The least friction of these furs during dry, frosty states of the atmosphere, whilst worn as garments, and the mere change of them from the warmth of the body to the cold air, must then have excited electric action, as they still continue to do, under similar circumstances.

A recent traveller, Col. Emory, on crossing the range of the Rocky Mountains, in an expedition in the service of the government of the United States, noticed, that "at night, passing my arm over the surface of the fur robe in which I was enveloped, electric sparks were discharged in such quantities, as to make a very luminous appearance, and a noise like the rattle of a snake."

Ancient writers have recorded the appearance of lambent flames on the tips of the spears borne by sentinels on the battle

ments of lofty towers, during the continuance of thunder storms; and similar electrical phenomena have frequently appeared on the tips of the masts and yards of vessels at sea, in the form of balls of fire, and lambent flames, greatly to the terror of superstitious seamen.

These lights appeared to the seamen of former times as mysterious apparitions of restless spirits in the air, flitting from spar to spar, in pale phosphoric gleams, and hovering about the tempest-tossed vessel during stormy nights. Many a legendary tale has been repeated by shuddering sail

during their stil

deck, of ominous warnings of impending shipwrecks and deaths, that have been forewarned by those imagined supernatural agencies.

These electrical lights have not been confined to the level expanse of the ocean. Innumerable cases are recorded where they have appeared on the land. There are published accounts of travellers, who have seen the tips of their horses' ears, and every point of their equipments, and of the twigs of bushes on the road-side, lighted up by lambent flames, during the journeys in dark and stormy nights.

In a comedy of Aristophanes, called "The Clouds," there is a description of a fast young man, who, after having run his father into heavy debts, had just been learning from a sophist his "cheating logic," in order that he might defraud his creditors. He is characterized by his father as always desiring some new thing, and is pictured as wearing the genuine Attic look, and using the city's peculiar phrase, "What have you to tell?" This, although written four centuries before the Bible account, is an exact corroboration of the character given to the Athenians, in the twenty-first verse of the seventeenth chapter of Acts: "For all the Athenians and strangers which were there, spent their time in nothing else, but either to tell, or to hear some new thing."

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near the flood-gate. Soon after they were gone, he followed them to see that they were

"COME, mother, please to tell us a story safe. When he got there, he found Robert

to-night," said Jane to her mother, as they were seated around the fire of a cold winter evening.

"Yes, a story, a story," the other children cried; and Mrs. Rollinson smiled as she said that they had called on her so suddenly she was afraid she could think of nothing to tell

them.

"O yes you can, mother; you can always remember something good," was the ready answer of Jane; and Mrs. Rollinson said she would tell them an anecdote if Jane would repeat a piece of poetry.

"Agreed," said Jane, "for I have learned a piece in the magazine that father brought home last week. I am ready."

Mrs. Rollinson mused a few moments, and then said she would relate a fact which she had been reading.

"Three boys, Robert, George, and Alfred, went to spend a week with a gentleman, who took them to be agreeable, well-behaved boys. There was a great pond near his house, with a flood-gate, where the water ran out. It was cold weather, and the pond was frozen over; but the gentleman knew that the ice was very thin near the flood-gate. The first morning after they came he told them they might go and slide on the pond, if they would not go

sliding in the very place he had told him not to go. This was disobedience outright. George was walking sullenly by the side of the pond, not so much as sliding at all, because he had been forbidden to venture on the dangerous part. This was sullen obedience; which is, in reality, no obedience at all, because it comes not from the heart. But Alfred was cheerfully enjoying himself in a capital long slide, upon a safe part of the pond. This was true obedience. Suddenly, the ice broke where Robert was sliding: he immediately went under water, and it was with difficulty that his life was saved. The gentleman concluded that Alfred was a lad of integrity, but that his two brothers were not to be trusted. Obedience secured him happiness, and the confidence of the kind gentleman with whom he was staying; while the others deprived themselves of enjoyment, lost the gentleman's confidence, and one of them nearly lost his life; and yet, to slide on the dangerous part of the pond would have added nothing to their enjoyment. They desired it from mere willfulnes, because it was forbidden. This disposition indulged, will always lead boys into difficulty; and if they cherish it while boys, it will go with them through life."

"What do you think of that?" asked Mrs. Rollinson as she concluded.

Jane said, "It seems to me that these boys were not the sons of the gentleman at whose house they were visiting, and they were not obliged to mind him."

Mrs. Rollinson was not a little surprised that Jane should make a remark of that sort, and she replied, "If I allow you to go and spend an afternoon or a week with a friend, I expect you to regard that friend as standing in the place of your parent for the time. So when you are at school, the teacher takes the place of your parent; and you should show your friends and teachers that you regard them as such. And now, my dear, if you please, we will hear your poetry."

Jane said it was about a pond and a brook, and would do very well to come after the story her mother had just been telling.

THE POND AND THE BROOK.

"Neighbor Brook," said the Pond, one day, "Why do you flow so fast away? Sultry June is hastening on, And then your water will all be gone."

"Nay, my friend," the Brook replied, "Do not thus my conduct chide; Shall I rather hoard than give? Better die than useless live."

Summer came, and blazing June Dried the selfish Pond full soon, Not a single trace was seen Where it had so lately been.

But the Brook with vigor flowed
Swift along its pebbly road,
And the fragrant flowers around
Loved to hear its happy sound.

"Very well repeated, and a very pretty fable in verse," said Mrs. Rollinson; "but what is the instruction ?"

"I suppose it means," Jane replied, "that those who keep all they get, like the pond, will dry up; while those who are free and giving, like the brook, will always be happy in doing good."

"Happy in making others happy," Mrs. Rollinson said, "and so we can all make pleasure for ourselves, if we will. I will repeat a story in jingling rhymes, on helping each other.

MUTUAL ASSISTANCE.

A man very lame

Was a little to blame,

To stray far from his humble abode;
Hot, thirsty, bemired,
And heartily tired,

He laid himself down in the road.
While thus he reclined,

A man who was blind,
Came by, and entreated his aid;
"Deprived of my sight,
Unassisted, to-night

I shall not reach home, I'm afraid.” "Intelligence give

Of the place where you live,” Said the cripple, "perhaps I may know it; In my road it may be,

And if you'll carry me,

It will give me much pleasure to show it.

Great strength you have got,
Which, alas! I have not,

In my legs so fatigued every nerve is;
For the use of your back,

For the eyes which you lack, My pair shall be much at your service."

Said the other poor man,
"What an excellent plan!

Pray, get on my shoulders, good brother;
I see all mankind,

If they are but inclined,

May constantly help one another."

The children laughed heartily at this, and asked their mother if she could remember anything else like it. Mrs. Rollinson said that she would repeat one more that was not like the last, but she thought it much better. "O let us hear it, please, mother!" Mrs. Rollinson complied.

"That is the way, my dear children, to make other people love you: love them, if you wish to be loved. Dr. Doddridge, one day, asked his little girl why it was that every body loved her. 'I know not,' she replied, unless it be that I love every body.' This is the true secret of being loved. He that hath friends,' says Solomon, 'must show himself friendly.' Love begets love. If you love others, they cannot help loving you. So, then, do not put on a scowl, and fretfully complain that nobody loves you, or that such or such a one does not like you. If nobody loves you, it is your own fault. Either you do not make yourself lovely by a sweet, winning temper, and kind, winning ways, or you do not love those of whom you complain."

THE STORY OF A LITTLE LIFE.

ONE cold, still February day a child was

there was an angel in heaven who had worn that name, and whom the mother prayed might be the young child's guardian angel. The little one grew daily more lovely in the eyes of all who saw her. She was so gentle and sweet that it was a great happiness to be near her. She had a rosy mouth, and when she was grieved her lip would quiver so beautifully that it would bring tears to other eyes than hers. By-and-by she began to play with little Alice, and when the autumn came she could step cunningly in her tiny red shoes, and even walked across the carpet, if her little sister led her. Then two or three white teeth shone between the smiling lips, and she learned to call "Mamma" and "Papa." She filled the house with sunshine by her lovely face, and wise old-fashioned ways.

The winter and spring passed away like the fabled time of fairy-land. The baby was daily learning something either to say or to do, and the two little sisters played so merrily and slept so quietly together, that their mother would often say there was never another family so blessed and happy.

Although little Clara was often sick, she was seldom fretful. When she grew older, she often went to ride with her mamma and sister, and sometimes they were obliged to wait for the carriage, but the baby was never ont of humor with the delay, and was never unwilling to obey her mamma. She was always ready to give up anything ever so pleasant, if it was forbidden, and would soon be very happy and busy about something else. Whenever she was reproved she would come close to her mamma and put up her little quivering lips for a pardoning kiss, and then hide her little tearful face in the loving bosom always ready to receive it. Beautiful, loving pet names were lavished upon her. Hours before the time for her father's return home, her little feet would patter across the carpets, and she would stand on tiptoe on the threshhold of the nursery, and call "Papa, papa; where's papa?" Her toys would all be laid aside, and her time divided between watching for him at the window, calling him at the door, and sitting in mamma's lap, trying to

express her love for him. And when he did come, at the very first sound of his latch-key, she would bound away, and what haste her father had to make up stairs, for fear his little one would fall in her eagerness to meet him! Then she would ride laughing in his arms, putting her happy face down on his neck.

When the warm weather came the family went into the country, and here the little ones were as happy as birds the whole day long. Sometimes their mamma would go out into the orchard with them, and sit down under the trees while they played about her among the clover blossoms, and made hay in tiny stacks, or chased the chickens. Sometimes they would go-grandma, papa, and all-away for a ramble in the fields, and then little Clara was carried in her father's arms; and whenever they came to a fence she always would be put down and creep under, like Alice. There was a pleasant grove near by, where they would stay for hours sitting under the trees, while the little ones made miniature houses and gardens.

The quiet summer flew away, and they came back to the noisy town. The mother's heart was heavy with a shadow of coming evil when she turned her back on the pleasant, flowery country, where the hours had sung themselves away, full of children's happy voices. There were a few quiet days after their return, when the darling baby could play about her, and climb up to kiss her; but one Sabbath morning, long before the daybreak, the mother was awakened by a little weak voice calling "Mamma, mamma.” She found her darling standing by her bed, with her tender hands and feet of an icy coldness. There was no more sleep in the house for that night. Troubled hearts and tearful eyes watched her; and sleepless nights and anxious days went wearily by. It was heartbreaking to watch by the little sufferer. Never had she seemed half so lovely in her life and health as now, when they saw her gently and quietly putting aside, one by one, the toys her sister tried to tempt her with, and the food her mother offered her. She only wished to lie still.

At last, after some weeks, they thought she was a little better. She turned over the leaves of a picture-book one day while she lay in

her mamma's arms, and held her china-mug in her weak hands while she traced the shapes of the painted flowers on it with her delicate finger. She watched Alice about her plays, too, with some interest. But the resting time was of short duration. That night neither she nor her mamma slept. The child lay all night with her face on her mother's bosom.

Once she called "Papa! papa!" but the sweet voice was so changed and full of pain it was agony to hear it, and her mother gently hushed her.

The next day the mother, who could not bear to believe her darling was so much worse, put a little ivory rattle into her weak tiny hand, which dropped under the weight of the toy to her lap. "Ah!" said she sadly, แ my poor baby cannot even lift it." The darling looked up a moment into the sorrowful eyes bent upon her, and then, with apparent effort, she raised it and shook it once, and then it dropped from her feeble grasp for ever! She had done with toys and with life.

That evening the father came home to a sad and fearful house. All through that night of agony the parents watched together, alternately carrying the dying lamb in their bosoms, without being able to soothe or relieve her distress; and when midnight had passed, they put her in grandmother's arms and sat down to wait.

The mother, on her knees beside the dying baby, pressed her own cheek against the little tender one, that had rested for a joyful year and a half upon her bosom, and gave her back, as well as she was able, to God; while the little weak fingers grasped one of her own close and lovingly. There was a little time of quiet, broken only by the labored breathing; and then she laid her head on the kind arm that supported her, and fell asleep!

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there is beauty all around her; and an unseen angel watches over the place, and shall watch until the resurrection, when the dead shall be raised, and shall never die.-L. M. P.

LOVE YOUR ENEMIES.

Mthe following striking anecdote as an

R. PHILLIPPO, in his "Jamaica " relates

accurate description of the spirit and conduct of the generality of negro Christians.

"A slave in one of the islands of the West Indies, originally from Africa, having been brought under the influence of religious instruction, became singularly valuable to his owner, on account of his integrity and general good conduct; so much so that his master raised him to a situation of some importance in the management of his estate. This owner, on one occasion, wishing to purchase twenty additional slaves, employed him to make the selection, giving him instructions to choose those who were strong and likely to make good workmen. The man went to the slavemarket and commenced his search. He had not long surveyed the multitude offered for sale, before he fixed his eye intently upon an old and decrepit slave, and told his master that he must be one. The master seemed greatly surprised, and remonstrated against it; the poor fellow begged that he might be indulged, when the dealer remarked, that if they were about to buy twenty, he would give them the old man into the bargain. The purchase was accordingly made, and the slaves were conducted to the plantation of their new master; but upon none did the selector bestow half the attention he did upon the poor, old, decrepit African. He took him to his own habitation, and laid him upon his own bed; he fed him at his own table, and gave him drink out of his own cup; when he was cold he carried him into the sunshine, and when he was hot he placed him under the shade of the cocoa-nut trees. Astonished at the attention this confidential slave bestowed upon a fellow-slave, his master interrogated him upon the subject. He said, 'You could not take so intense an interest in the old man, but for some special reason; he is a relation of yours, perhaps your father?'-'No, massa,' answered the poor fellow, 'he no my fader.' 'He is, then, an elder brother?' 'No, massa,

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