no other design than to gratify himself from hour to hour, he had soon exhausted the cup of pleasure, and found nothing at the bottom but the bitter dregs of discontent. He pursued pleasure, till at last he found the pursuit to be distaste ful and revolting. He grew tired, even of amusement. He indulged his tastes, humors, and passions, until indulgence itself was disgusting. When he returned to his friends, he had laid up nothing in his memory, by the relation of which he could amuse them; he had kept no record of things he had seen; he brought back no store of pleasing and useful recollections for himself, or others. Such was the result of three years' travel for pleasure.

It was quite otherwise with Ronald. Adhering to his plans, he visited a great variety of places, and each day he recorded in his journal what he had seen. Whenever he met with an interesting object, he stopped to contemplate it; if it was some aged relic, famous in history, he took pains to investigate its story, and to write it down. If it was an object of interest to the eye, he made a sketch of it in the book which he kept for the purpose.

In this way, Ronald accomplished three good objects. In the first place, by taking in pleasure in a moderate way, and mixed with a little toil and industry, he prevented that cloying surfeit, which at last sickened and disgusted Horace. Horace took pleasure at wholesale, as a boy eats honey by the spoonful, and soon got sick of it. Ronald took his honey, on a slice of bread, and while he enjoyed it heartily, his appetite continued as good as before.

In the second place, Ronald greatly increased his enjoyments by the plan he adopted. Merely executing a plan is agreeable, and a source of great pleasure. It is natural to derive happiness from following out a design; from seeing

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hour by hour, day by day, how results come about, in conformity to our intentions. But this was not the only advantage which Ronald received from his system. The very toil he bestowed; the investigations he made; the pleasant thoughts and curious knowledge that were unfolded to his mind; the excitement he found in his exertions; the pleasure he took in drawing picturesque scenes; all these things constituted a rich harvest of pleasure, which was wholly denied to Horace. Thus it was that labor and industry, exerted in carrying out a plan, afforded the young traveller a vast deal of gratification. The very things that Horace looked upon as hateful, were, in fact, the sources of his rival's most permanent enjoyment.

In the third place, Ronald had come back laden with rich stores of knowledge, observation and experience. Not only was his journal rich in tales, legends, scenes, incidents, and historical records, but in putting these things down on paper, his memory had been improved, and he had acquired the habit of observing and remembering, His mind was full of pleasant things, and nothing could be more interesting than to sit down and hear him tell of his travels, and of what he had seen. While Horace was dull, silent, and sour, Ronald was full of conversation, life, and interest. The one was happy, the other unhappy; one was agreeable, the other disagreeable; one had exhausted the cup of pleasure, the other seemed always to have the cup full and sparkling before him. It was agreed on all hands, that Horace was a bore, and everybody shunned him; while Ronald was considered by all a most agreeable fellow, and everybody sought his society.

So much for the two travellers; one, a luxurious lover of pleasure, who thought only of the passing moment, and in his folly, abused and threw away

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his powers of enjoyment; the other, a lover of pleasure also, but who pursued it moderately, with a wise regard to the future, and careful attention, every day, to rules of duty; and who thus secured his true happiness.

Now, my young friends, this is rather a dull story; but there is truth in it. Though it be New-Year's day, still, remember that every day has its duties, for those who would live and be happy, like our hero, Ronald. And what is the peculiar duty of this day? Let me tell

Do we love our friends, neighbors, all that we see and meet, better? Are we more ready to forgive injuries? More earnest to promote peace? More selfsacrificing; more regardful of the feelings, wants, and wishes of others? Are we carefully cultivating the garden of the heart; cherishing its flowers, and weeding out its noxious passions?

These are questions which we should put to ourselves, this New-Year's evening; and if we can answer them in the affirmative, it is well; but if not, let us make new and vigorous resolutions to give a better account of the opening year.

Do not be frightened from your duty by the idea that such thoughts as these I suggest, are distasteful or painful, remember the story of the two travellers; remember that if you adopt a good plan, the pursuit of it will unfold new and unexpected pleasures. Remember that all play and no reflection, is like unmixed

honey, cloying to the appetite; remember that a mixture of duty enhances pleasure itself, at the same time improving the faculties and keeping the relish always fresh. And remember one thing more, which is this: the heart needs your constant care. Let me ask your attention to a homely practice in the country-that of putting down a barrel of meat. You notice that a quantity of salt is always put into it; for we all know that otherwise the meat would become an offensive mass. It is so with the human heart: it needs the salt-it needs a sense of duty, to keep it from spoiling! Oh, my young friends, thinkof this; and save your bosoms from becoming tainted with sin, and vice, and crime!

Fidelity of a Negro Servant.

DR. L., a respectable gentleman, was confined for some time in the King's Bench prison, London, while his fortune, on account of a law-suit, was unjustly withheld from him. During this distress, he was obliged to tell his negro servant, that, however painful to his feelings, they must part; his difficulties being so great that he was unable to provide for him the necessaries of life. The negro, whose name was Bob, replied, "No, master, we will never part. Many a year have you kept me and fed me, and clothed_me, and treated me kindly; and now I will keep you." Accordingly, Bob went out to work as a day-laborer; and, at the end of every week, faithfully brought his earnings to his master. These proved sufficient for the support of them both, until, the lawsuit being ended, Dr. L. became possessed of a large fortune. He then settled a handsome sum on his faithful servant.

twenty persons. The floors are formed of branches twined together with great skill, and by nature are covered with leafy carpets; all round the verdure has formed thick walls, where à great number of birds have taken up their sojourn.

The proprietor of the island of Matibo has never disturbed those joyous little songsters, but has rather encouraged them; and at all hours of the day they may be heard fearlessly sporting and warbling, by the delighted visiters, who, looking from the windows, admire the prospect that opens before them.

The Lost Found.

In the southeastern part of France is a range of mountains called the Cevennes. The highest points are about as elevated as Mount Washington, in New Hampshire. These mountains are remarkable for their wild, rugged, and broken character, and for the furious storms and tempests to which they are subject. In winter the snow falls to a great depth, and sometimes the inhabitants, being buried in the drifts, cut arch-ways beneath, and thus pass from one house to another.

These wild regions are not only celebrated in history as being the places of refuge to which the Huguenots retreated during their fearful and bloody persecutionabout two hundred and fifty years ago but as producing a race of people of peculiarly adventurous habits. Surrounded by natural objects of a savage aspect -grisly rocks, dark cavernous ravinesand trees hoary with age; their memories tinged with the traditionary romances attached to their ancestors; battling day by day with a sterile soil and a rugged climate for subsistence; often disputing with the bear and the wolf their very

habitations; and, above all, touched with the lights and shadows of religion, mingled with various superstitions; these people present an interesting subject of regard to the student of human nature. Leaving them to the philosophers, however, it is our present design merely to tell a story which may shed some little light on the modes of life which prevail among these people.

In a little hamlet embosomed in the mountains, lived Pierre Bec, a poor laborer, with his only daughter, Aimee. Their house was of rough stone, laid in mud, and covered with pieces of bark as a roof. Here they dwelt with no other companions than a dog, named Tonnerre, which, in English, means thunder.

Aimee's mother died when she was an infant; and after she could run alone, the little girl was left pretty much to her own guidance. The hamlet where she dwelt, consisted of only a dozen hovels, much like her own home. These were situated on an elevated ridge, in the very bosom of the mountain, and surrounded with wooded cliffs and dizzy precipices. A scene more wild, remote and lonely could scarcely be imagined.

Here Aimee grew to the age of nine years, and at that period she had not only become familiar with the scenes around, but, like the wild goats, she could climb the cliffs and thread the dells as fearlessly as if she had wings to support her, in case her foot should slide. Nor was this all. She could even go to the market town of Laperdu, a distance of seven miles, and return in the course of the day, having carried and sold a pair of stockings which had been made with her own hands.

In all these mountain excursions, old Tonnerre was the constant companion of Aimee, and he contributed not a little to her amusement. His activity knew no bounds. He must plunge into every thicket; put his head into every

cave and crevice; smell up the larger trees; course through the ravines, and take, in short, a careful survey of the country over which they passed. He must banter with every squirrel that took refuge in the trees, daring him down with many a noisy shout. He must give chase to every hare that glanced across his path. He must mark the track of the wolf and bear with cries and howls of defiance, though in such cases he used to keep near his mistress, either for her safety or his own.

Such was Aimee, and such old Tonnerre, the hero and heroine of our tale, when, on a fine summer morning, they set out on a visit to Laperdu. They reached the place, and on their return were about two miles from their home, when one of the violent thunder storms,common in the mountains, began to darken the sky. It was already sunset, and in a few minutes the darkness became intense; at the same time the rain began to fall in torrents. In a short space, the ravines were spouting with waterfalls, and torrents were dashing madly down the glens. At the same time the roar of the thunder was perpetual, and the lightning, flash on flash, seemed to array the scene in garments of fire. Accustomed to such scenes, Aimee pushed on, following the lead of the dog, who kept close, and with fidgety anxiety turned round at every step to fortify her heart with a look of cheerfulness and courage. There was that in his face which seemed to say, Don't mind it, my dear little mistress-don't mind it-it's nothing but thunder and lightning, and wind, and rain, and tempest, and dark night, and we'll get the better of it all, yet. Keep a good heart, and we'll soon be home!"

Aimee did keep a good heart, but the storm was indeed fearful; and at last a bolt of lightning, falling upon a tree near by, tore it in splinters, and dashed the little girl to the ground. Here she lay,

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in a state of insensibility. The dog came to her side, and in a beseeching howl, seemed to try to awaken her. He at last began licking her face, but all was in vain. He remained with the poor girl till it was near morning, when, having used every art and device of which he was master, to recall her to consciousness, he set off with a round gallop for the hamlet. Panting and out of breath, he rushed up to his master, and with a piteous howl, did all he could to tell his melancholy story.

Pierre knew at once that something had befallen his child. He instantly announced his fears to his neighbors, who rallied at his call, and set out in search of Aimee. Her absence during the night had been remarked, and all the people had feared some accident, though Pierre had solaced himself with the idea that Aimee had been kept at Laperdu by the storm.

The

Tonnerre took the lead, and bounded forward like a deer. He went in long leaps, his hinder heels flying high in the air at every jump. He whined, howled, and came often back upon his track, as if to hasten forward the too tardy party. At last Pierre, who was the most anxious, and the leader of the group, came near the place where Aimee had fallen. dog then leaped forward, and placing himself by the side of the girl, once more licked her face. She instantly raised herself so as to sit up, and putting her arms around the neck of her friend, embraced him, while the tears began to flow down her cheeks. Her father soon arrived, and the rest of the party coming up, all were rejoiced to find the poor girl unhurt. She was a little bewildered, and it was not until after several minutes, that she was able to tell her story. At last she arose upon her feet, on her wooden shoes, which had been knocked off by the lightning, and went home.

An occasion like this, would be no