It has a huge wide mouth and swallow. The under side of the body is black and red.

This bird is rarely met with in England, but is occasionally found in Yorkshire, Flintshire, and the neighbourhood of London. Rocks, caverns, and ruined buildings are its places of resort; and it constructs a very rude nest in the most retired places, in which it lays five eggs, spotted with white and yellow. It feeds mostly on mice, which it tears into morsels with its bill and claws, and the birds that it kills it is said to pluck before it eats them.

THE FOWLER.

(Translated from the German of Herder, by J. S. )

KUNG-TSEE, in a walk with his pupils, came to a fowling-floor, and looked on whilst the fowler distributed into cages the birds caught in his net. They were young birds, and anxiously sought to regain their liberty, but in vain.

"I see only young prisoners," said Kung-Tsee to the fowler, "where are the old ?" "The old," said the fowler, “they are too prudent and diffident to let themselves be caught. They look about them on all sides, and approach no net or cage. The young ones that keep close by them act as they do, and escape every danger. One catches only the forward young ones that separate themselves from the old, and some old ones occasionally that fly after the young."

Kung-Tsee looked at his pupils and said, "Have you heard what this man says? As with birds, so with men. Presuming boldness, unbounded self-confidence, pride of the little knowledge and of the little merit they have acquired, drive the young headlong to destruction. They understand everything; they are at a loss about nothing. They do not require to consult the aged, as they know every thing better

than they! So they fly their own way, into the very first net they meet. Some of the old admire the flickering sparks of the young, confide in them, even follow them, speak and act like them, and in the end find themselves caught with them in one net, the foolish old man beside the foolish youth! Think, my young friends, on what the fowler said."

A BOY of twelve years had importuned his mother many times to permit him to attend a temperance meeting; but she, being opposed to the society, would not let him go. At last he urged her so closely, that she permitted him to go, but charged him not to join, "for if you do, you shall have nothing but bread and water for three days." The boy went, and saw that these societies were likely to be useful in preventing boys from becoming drunkards when they grew to be men. When the list came round, he signed. "And now," said he, "I am willing to live on bread and water for three days, or longer, if mother likes."

A LESSON ON FAITH.

A FATHER desirous of communicating the notion of faith to his little boy, took a chair and placed it some distance from him; when he told the boy to stand upon it, and fall forward, and he would catch him. The boy immediately mounted the chair, but did not fall forward as requested. He wished to obey, but was afraid his father would fail in catching him. He, however, put one hand on the mantel-piece, thinking to save himself if not caught; but his father told him that would not do, he must trust to him alone, adding,

that he would surely catch him, provided he would fall forward. The boy immediately summoned all his courage, and fell, when he was as quickly caught. His father then told him that that was faith, and that he wished him to go with the same confidence to Jesus Christ. Any child may comprehend this; but, alas! the disposition is too often manifested to lay hold of "mantel-piece" something in which self is interested rather than fall at once into the arms of the Saviour.

some

PITY THE POOR SLAVE.

SEE yonder little slave,

Beneath the burning sun,

Across the briny wave,

Far from her friends at home:
What toil and pain she does endure,
From tyrants cruel and severe.

But O, my mind is pain'd,

To think she has not heard
The gospel grace proclaimed,

Or taught to know the Lord.
For unto negroes Jesus' grace
Would give a hope of heavenly peace.

Jesus thy gospel send

Across the briny wave,

Let some kind missionary go

To yonder little slave;

And there thy grace and love proclaim,

That she may know and love thy name.

W. M.

A VISIT TO MOUNT ST. BERNARD.

THE Alpine regions of Switzerland and Italy are now often visited by travellers. The following description of a visit to this celebrated spot, is compiled from several letters written by a young gentleman about twenty years ago. As most of the scenes he describes are such as had existed for ages, and are likely to exist for ages to come, our readers may take it as a general description of what they might now expect to find were they to visit the spot. We say a general description, for no doubt there have been some changes, especially among the residents on this Alpine height. Twenty years in the most healthy and favourable region changes many a human countenance and sends him down to the grave. Death is perpetually making inroads on poor feeble humanity. Happy they, and they alone, who can say, "Thanks be to God who giveth us the victory over him through our Lord Jesus Christ."

On leaving Liddes we lost sight of the river: it disappeared to the right, running between high, shady precipices. We passed the village of St. Pierre, the last fortress in Switzerland, going through an old gateway. Near to this place is a very fine cascade, formed by the Valsorey, which takes its rise under the glacier of the same name.

Here the wood entirely disappears, and everything around is wild, grand, and dreary. We passed a little rocky plain, called the Sommet de Rou, with the glacier de Monon; and above it Mont Velan, covered with snow.

Mr. Rose here called us together, to look at a remarkable appearance in the sky. The sun was setting: a steep mountain stood between the setting sun and a cloud, or rather a range of clouds, which moved on rapidly beneath, and on which the shadow of the mountain fell. As the clouds moved on, they formed a kind of pageant that was very singular: the jagged peaks, largely and strongly reflected, moved from one cloud to another in quick succession.

Over Mont Velan is a very dangerous pass, which is only practicable during ten days or a fortnight in the summer. It is said that Calvin escaped by this pass from the Citè d'Aoste, into the valley of Bagnes, and from thence to Geneva.

As we ascended, the country became, if possible, more wild and dreary. The path went sometimes by the side of the cataract, and sometimes over bare and rugged rocks, until we came to two small, rude buildings of rough stones: in one of them are placed the bodies which are found by the dogs of St. Bernard's; and methods are used to restore them. If these fail, they are then removed to the other building, with their clothes on, in order that they may be recognised by their friends. I looked in at the open latice-work of the window, and saw two bodies, placed on a bier, on a table in the middle of the room. One of them,