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of various colours, and the trees are made of live creatures, throwing their arms around for food.

Do you wonder what all these mites were made for? You may be sure that each one has his use, however humble. The wise men have decided that these creatures are scavengers. They eat decaying animal and vegetable matter that would be very hurtful if not disposed of. These scavengers are food for larger atoms, and those, in turn, are food for fishes, and fishes are food for men. Nothing is lost.

But don't think the wonders are all in the sea. The insect world has marvels as great as the sea. Take the eggs of moths and butterflies—tiny things, not so big as the head of a pin. Why birds'-eggs can't compare

with them for beauty! In colour, especially, they are exquisitely changeable. One egg is covered with hexagonal figures-hexagonal, you know, is six-sided-and at each corner is a tiny raised button. It is a beautiful blue and white, changeable. Another egg looks like a ripe orange; another like a beautiful round shell; some are oval, with perfectly regular figures all over; others transparent, like glass, so the little curled-up worm can be seen inside. Some have beautifully made covers, with hinges, so that the tiny creature has only to open his door to get out.

But if the eggs are interesting, the butterflies, moths, and insects are quite as much so. There's one moth with a regular finger at the end of his antenna, or feeler. Then the tongue of a butterfly is most exquisitely made to dip into flowers, being a perfect tube, through which he can suck the sweets as easily as you can suck lemonade through a straw. Butterflies' wings are covered with feathers, lapping over each other like shingles on a roof. Naturalists can take off these feathers one by one, and examine them in their microscopes.

Then there's a tiny fly which infests gooseberry-bushes, calle I the saw-fly. Why, that atom of a creature has as perfect a saw as was ever cut out of steel-yes, a pair of them, and a convenient sheath for them in his own body, where he puts them when he don't want to use them.

Perhaps you know that the honey-bee has a nice pocket in his hind legs, where he puts the bee-bread he wants to

carry home.

Possibly you have heard that each of your hairs is a hollow tube, with a root like an onion, and that no two animals’ hairs are alike ; some have scales like a fish, and others have different marks.

I don't know how long I could talk of the wonders in the animal world, but this is enough for the present.-New York Methodist.

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HE greatest of physical paradoxes is the

sunbeam. It is the most potent and versatile force we have, and yet it behaves itself like the gentlest and most accommodating. Nothing can fall more softly or more silently upon the earth than the rays of our great luminary—not even the feathery flakes of snow, which thread their

way through the atmosphere as if they were too filmy to yield to the demands of gravity, like grosser things. The most delicate slip of gold-leaf exposed as a target to the sun's shafts, is not stirred to the extent of a hair, though an infant's faintest breath would set it into tremulous motion. The tenderest of human organsthe apple of the eye—though pierced and buffeted each day by thousands of sunbeams, suffers no pain during the

ease as

process, but rejoices in their sweetness, and blesses the useful light. Yet a few of those rays, insinuating themselves into a mass of iron, like the Britannia Tubular Bridge, will compel the closely-knit particles to separate, and will move the whole enormous fabric with as much

a giant would stir a straw. The play of those beams upon our sheets of water a lifts up layer after layer into the atmosphere, and hoists whole rivers from their beds, only to drop them again in snows upon the hills, or in fattening showers upon the plains. Let but the air drink in a little more sunshine at one place than another, and out of it springs the tempest or the hurricane, which desolates a whole region in its lunatic wrath. The marvel is that a power which is capable of assuming such a diversity of forms, and of producing such stupendous results, should come to us in so gentle, so peaceful, and so unpretentious a guise.-- British Quarterly Review.

Memoir.

SAMUEL HUTCHINSON, OF GLOSSOP.

BY THE REV. JOHN COLLINGE.

SAMUEL HUTCHINSON was From very early life he was born at Hollingworth, the subject of serious imMarch ist,

1849. Very | pressions; the Sabbathearly he was taken to the school was his delight, he church Sunday-school, and always loved his teachers, afterwards to the Indepen

was very attentive, and took dent school at Tintwistle; a great interest in the inand, some few years back, struction that was given. he began to

attend our There those impressions Sunday-school at Glossop. were deepened and fostered,

a

was

was

and laid the foundation of his piety, it was re-kindled that piety which shone so on his dying bed. During brightly in his dying mo- his affliction he tasted ments.

second time of the sweetness Who can tell the mighty of God's pardoning love, influence which Sunday- and rejoiced in a sense of schools are exerting on the sin forgiven. minds of the young?

Well His affliction long may we sing :

and tedious. For nearly two Sabbath-schools are Eng

years he felt his health was land's glory,

giving way, and for seven Let them spread on every

months was unable to go to hand.

the factory; yet he Some two years and a

thankful for the affliction, half ago a blessed revival of and acknowledged that it religion broke out at the had been sent for his good. Tabernacle; many young

The Lord he said, people were led to seek the Moves in a mysterious way, Lord, and amongst the rest His wonders to perform.

Samuel Hutchinson, I had many opportunities and having sought and of visiting him during his found the Saviour, he joined affliction. I often heard the church, began to meet him say,—“I am glad I have in Brother Williamson's been so long afflicted, because class, and for a time con- it has given me time for tinued in well doing. But repentance.” I shall never at length he took a step forget the pleasing interwhich militated against his views I had with him, and piety, and led him to with- especially as his end drew draw from the church; he near: it was a privilege to joined a Cricket Club, and listen to his dying testito his dying hour he deeply

mony: as I stood at his bedregretted ever taking the side, he said ---- Christ is step.

precious, I feel He is But though our departed my Saviour, I have a bright brother lost the fervour of

prospect of heaven.”

was

you

our

When leaving the room ready to die?” hesaid,-—“O, he would shake hands, and mother, what makes say “ Good-bye, and thank doubt, when I have told you you for coming to see me.” how happy I am.” He maniOne day I said to him fested a deep interest in the « Samuel, you

will soon be welfare of his mother and. in heaven, and will meet sister, and exhorted them many old friends there ; you

with all earnestness to seek will meet John Linney and love that Saviour who there." “ Yes," he said, had died for them ; and “and John Schofield too." when friends came to see When

departed him, he would warn them young friend felt he had got to 'flee from sin and seek a hope of glory in his soul Jesus, assuring them that he told his mother not to the Blood of Jesus

had fret, for he was going to cleansed his guilty soul. He heaven, and he hoped she urged all his companions would follow him. - The to meet him in heaven. Lord he said, “has been a As his end drew near his good friend to us, and if sufferings increased, and you put your trust in Him he asked his mother and he will still help you.” sister to pray for the Lord Jesu lover of my soul, &c. to release him, and he threw was his favourite hymn, and his arms around them and he often wished them to kissed them. Ten minutes sing it for him. When his before he expired, he asked mother asked him if he was his mother if she thought not lonely when left by he was dying, and when himself, he said, “No, I she answered in the affirhave Jesus with me." The mative, his answer was, “ If last Sunday he spent on I am dying, I am ready; I

ready to depart.” If ever I loved my Jesus,

These were his last words I feel ’tis now.

on earth. Thus he sweetly When his mother fell asleep in Jesus on Thursquired, “ Samuel, are you day, March 24th, 1870, and

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