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were starving. The sum offered was great-it would provide him and his family with food for life. At length, and reluctantly, he consented. He brought the mare to the dwelling of the consul—he dismounted-he stood leaning upon her; he looked now at the gold, and then at his favourite; he sighed—he wept. • To whom is it,' said he, 'I am going to yield thee up? To Europeans, who will tie thee close-who will beat thee-who will render thee miserable. Return with me, my beauty, my jewel, and rejoice the hearts of my children.' 'As he pronounced the last words, he sprung upon her back, and was out of sight in a moment.”

In Sir John Malcolm's Sketches of Persia, there are two anecdotes to the same purport, but of a more amusing nature:-“When the envoy, returning from his former mission, was encamped near Bagdad, an Arab rode a bright bay mare, of extraordinary shape and beauty, before his tent, until he attracted his attention.

On being asked if he would sell her—'What will you give me ?' was the reply. “That depends upon her age; I suppose she is past five ? 'Guess again,' said he. Four?' 'Look at her mouth,' said the Arab, with a smile. On examination, she was found to be rising three. This, from her size and symmetry, greatly enhanced her value. The

envoy said, “I will give you fifty tomans, (a coin nearly of the value of a pound sterling). 'A little more, if you please,' said the fellow, apparently entertained. * Eighty. A hundred. He shook his head, and smiled. The offer at last came to two hundred tomans. "Well,' said the Arab, 'you need not tempt me further; it is of no use. You are a rich elchee (nobleman) You have fine horses, camels, and mules, and, am told, you have loads of silver and gold. Now,' added he, ‘you want my mare, but you shall not have her for all you have got.'

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Now the morning's cheerful light
Drives away the gloom of night :
Rise, my soul, in praises rise,
Far above the lofty skies.

Keep me, gracious God, to-day;
Dangers throng around my way :
Every sinful passion quell,
Let no secret thought rebel.

Let no sin an entrance find,
To pollute my youthful mind;
Guard my soul from every snare ;
Keep me by almighty care.
Feeling weakness, I would rest
On my loving Saviour's breast :
May His wisdom, grace, and truth,
Guide me from the snares of youth.


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As a Sceptic by coach was pursuing his way, His wit and his learning he fain would display; So he scoff'd at Religion, and though but a youth, He laugh'd in contempt at the Scriptures of truth. “ Their statements," he said, “ are but nonsense

and lies, Which are swallow'd by fools, but disdain'd by the

wise : Amongst other fables with which they abound, The tale of a boy and a giant is found; The height of the giant was nine or ten feet, And the armour which cloth'd him was strong and

complete; Yet the boy with his sling was so clever, forsooth, That the giant was instantly kill'd by the youth. But, whoever affirms it, I will not believe That a boy so great force to a pebhle could give, As to cause it to break such a warrior's head, And send him, at once, to repose with the dead.”

A Quaker, who silent had hitherto sat, Thought it right to repel such a cavil as that; So he quietly said, for the records divine, “ It were easily done, were his head soft as thine." This pithy remark, like the pebble descended, And the infidel's laugh, for that journey, was ended. Kettering.


TO AN EARLY DAISY. Hail, lovely daisy! harbinger of Spring, Thy modest charms, thy beauteous tints I sing: And though thou hast no sweets to scent the air, No gaudy colours to attract the fair, I love the still; for in thy form I see A kind memento of the Deity. But hark! the winds that scowl along the plain, Proclaim aloud old Winter's lingering reign: Then, little venturous flower, stay awhile, Till vernal suns shall make the landscape smile.


Who died at Malta, leaving an Orphan in England. Thou art gone to the grave in thy prime, brother sailor, Whilst absent from Albion, thy own native clime; And hast left thy own kindred, and dear helpless orphan, To bemoan their sad loss, 'mid the sorrows of time. The billows were boisterous, yet short was thy voyage From life's stormy headland to death's unknown shore; In the midst of the breakers, thy bark's shatter'd timbers Were broken, and we now shall see thee no more. Yet we will not repine at omnipotent wisdom, (The sailor's sure helmsman,-the orphan's best guide ;) For we still hope to meet thee in that blessed haven Where Death has no sting, since the Saviour has died.



WHEN we look around upon the different parts of the vast creation, and consider the magnificence, excellence, and beauty of all the works of God, our thoughts involuntarily rise into aspirations of praise and adoration to their divine Creator, and oblige us to exclaim, with the royal Psalmist, “O Lord ! how manifold are thy works; in wisdom hast thou made them all.”

How grand and awful is the prospect which is set before us, whether we look at the heavens above our heads, or cast our eyes upon the earth on which we dwell. Consider the beauty of those noble luminaries which give light unto the earth, and, shining forth in majestic grandeur, present to the eye a glorious and unrivalled spectacle. Look at the golden orb of day,that inexhaustible source of light, and life, and joy; which, independent of the aid of other luminary, dispenses its benignant rays over the whole face of nature. Look at the silvery moon just raising her fair head from the eastern sky, and shedding her mild but refulgent light over the gloomy earth. Look at the stars, beaming with inextinguishable lustre over the blue firmament, and bespangling, with orbs of fire, the brilliant field of midnight. But look, also, at yon sparkling path of fiery diamonds, bestrewing, as with liquid silver, that distant

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