powerful wings. Mr. Percy had already described to me this enormous phalana,the only member of the butterfly family able to produce a sound. He explained that this was not a veritable voice, but the result of some movement of the insect's proboscis, and he laughed at the superstitious terrors which the peasant feels when the mournful sound meets his ear.

Although I did not, of course, share those fears, yet the sudden appearance of this gigantic insect, the skeleton figure painted on its body, together with its ominous cry, brought the idea of death vividly before me. I said, why is it, that of all God's creatures, man alone is subject to the constant fear of dissolution? Why is it not given him to enjoy life to-day, like the bird and the beast, without caring for to-morrow? It can only be ascribed to a secret sense of guilt-a dread of meeting a just and holy God-while conscious of having violated his law. How unspeakably valuable is the protection against these fears afforded by a living faith in the atonement of His Son.

These last words struck the ear of my neighbour. He remarked that the evening air had become chill, and he invited me to come into the room. Two candles were lighted on the table, and a cloud of moths were sporting round the flame.

"You mean kindly, I am sure," he commenced in a more than usually cold tone, "but one thing is certain, that although our bodies inhabit the same house, our souls are denizens of widely differing regions. Keep your belief, and I will keep mine. You have now seen the entire of my collection, and I shall have no further inducement to offer for your visits."

It was plain that my neighbour wished to break off our acquaintance; however, I was resolved not to take offence, so, after conversing for a while on indifferent topics, I took leave of him, and we parted with the usual forms of civility. During some weeks I never saw my neighbour, save once on the staircase; when he made me a distant bow, and passed on quickly and in silence.

The next morning my landlady entered my room with a troubled countenance. "Oh! sir," said she," Mr. Percy has just given notice that he will leave us at the end of the quarter. After living here for twenty-five years! and such a good tenant as he was-so quiet

and regular in all his ways, and now to go away without giving any reason for it! Oh! sir, as you are his friend, will you not speak to him for me, and try to persuade him to remain?"

It instantly occurred to me that a wish to escape from my vicinity was the cause of Mr. Percy's intended removal, and knowing how inconvenient it would be for him to change the abode of his fair fragile treasures, and also what a loss the liberal rent which he regularly paid would be to our poor landlady, I resolved myself to go away. I therefore briefly told her that I was about to remove, and that I thought it probable Mr. Percy would remain when he knew my intention.

The good woman was greatly astonished; and the more so, when she found the experiment succeeded. Mr. Percy on hearing that I was going, said, "Ah well-ay-then I may as well stay where I am.”

I hastened my departure; but ere I left, I inclosed a small Bible in a sheet of paper, and left it to be given to my neighbour. It was accompanied by a few lines, earnestly entreating him to peruse its sacred pages.

Months and years passed on. My professional avocations removed me to a distant abode, and I had long lost sight of Mr. Percy. Indeed my acquaintance with him was beginning to fade from my memory, when circumstances once more led me to take up my abode in the town where I had known him.

Former associations revived, my old feelings of gratitude returned-"Who knows," I thought, "but he may receive me as kindly as before. At all events I will make the trial." I repaired to the well-known house, knocked at the door, and it was opened by the landlady. Her hair had grown gray and her face wrinkled, but she knew me immediately, and cried :

"Oh, sir! I'm so glad to see youpoor dear Mr. Percy has often spoken of you, and longs to see you."

"Is he quite well?" I asked. "No indeed, sir; he's very ill-not long for this world, the doctors say." "Tell him I am here, and ask him if he will see me."

The good woman ran up-stairs; and quickly returning, ushered me into the sick-room. There on a couch lay my poor friend, his face so pale and shrunken by disease that I should not have known

him. But a still greater change, a high and holy one, had passed over the expression of those faded features. Exceeding peace was there, and his thin hand rested on a Bible, the very one which I had sent him. It was a lovely morning in early summer, and the window at the foot of the couch being open, allowed a refreshing breeze to enter, while it afforded a view of the flower-clad trelliswork which still contained my friend's gay favourites.

He welcomed me with heartfelt pleasure, and the first few sentences he uttered convinced me that the bread of life, which a weak wavering hand had been permitted to cast on the waters, was now found after many days.

I returned to my old apartments, and watched by my friend to the last. I will not dwell on death-bed scenes; suffice it to say, that Mr. Percy, under the teaching of the word of life, died, as during the three last years of his life he had lived, a humble believer in the Saviour. A short time before his death he confided to my care his flowers and his insect treasures; saying that these last had had in his eyes a new interest from the time he had learned to recognise and adore the hand of their gracious Maker. In the fly-leaf of his Bible were written the expressive words "I thank thee O Father, Lord of heaven and earth, that thou hast hid these things from the wise and prudent, and hast revealed them unto babes." I followed his body to the grave; and saw it covered by fresh green sods. Wild flowers were growing there, and as I lingered near the spot, I saw a beautiful white butterfly hover for a moment over the mound, and then, spreading its wings, soar rejoicingly towards the sky. A type, I thought, of the spirit which had exchanged the insect pleasures of earth for the endless joys of heaven.—Adapted from the French.

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nor name nor record in our hearts. Sweet moments of quietness and affection!— Glad hours of hope and joy !—Days, yea, many days began and ended in health and happiness." We think so much of one or two crosses, and forget a hundred blessings. In the hour of affliction we exclaim, "God be merciful!" but we seldom say, "God be praised!" We reckon up the rain-drops, and forget to notice the sunbeams. We keep a record of storms and tempests, and omit to mention the many calm, fair days between. In domestic life, when the tone of love and peace goes through the house like a key note, its melody falls unacknowledged on our hearts; but let the slightest discord arise, and how earnestly, how prayerfully we seek to have the broken harmony restored. We remember to call upon our God and Saviour in the day of trouble; but we forget to thank him for happy days. As bishop Bull says, "We write our mercies in the dust; but our afflictions are engraven on marble."

There are days in every one's life— although they may be few and far between

when the sky is all blue; when the ground seems to spring beneath our tread; and a glory and a brightness rests upon common objects: "When all nature,' as the Rev. James Hamilton says, appears to be singing the 148th Psalm." These are happy days. A little thing will make us happy sometimes,such as good news, a kind word, the meeting of old friends, or the presence of those we love. "I have been, at different times, so happy," writes a late poet,

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as not to know what weather it was. In my joy, I have forgotten everything." He forgot, as we are so apt to do, the Author Author of all happiness. Caroline Fry, writing on a similar occasion, but in a different spirit, says, "I am doing nothing but enjoying myself and giving thanks.' Thanksgiving is, or should be, the natural accompaniment of happiness.

He

We used, at one time, to visit and read to a poor widow, whose only son was supposed to have been lost at sea. quitted her, as he thought, for a few months, promising that it should be his last voyage; but years passed away without bringing any tidings of him, or the ship in which he had sailed. It was a sad trial to the bereaved mother; those only know how sad, who have suffered under a similar affliction. She could have borne to have seen him laid in the quiet grave, and said meekly, "God's

will be done;" but the mystery of his disappearance, the faint hope of his return, unsettled and harassed her continually. Sometimes when we have been talking or reading together, she would become pale and silent all of a sudden at the sound of a strange footstep. In the dark winter nights, she was always fancying that she heard some one knocking or calling_without, and would leave her warm bed at all hours, to unfasten the door, and listen for that voice which no one but herself ever expected to hear again on earth. How sorrowful was the conditional prayer of that poor lone woman, the vague supplication, "if yet he liveth!" but God heard and answered it, nevertheless.

News came at length, that the longmissing vessel had been seen and spoken with; glad news, which we kept to ourselves for a time, lest it should turn out to be only another of those vague rumours which had served to keep the widow's mind in a state of continual unrest, and which were fast wearing away her feeble frame. A few days afterwards, it was authenticated, beyond all doubt, by the arrival of one who was the bearer of a few hasty and half illegible lines, addressed to his mother, by him whom we had so long numbered among the dead, announcing his speedy return. I shall never forget the poor mother's joy. I have never forgotten her first words, or the lesson which they contained.

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"Oh! happy, happy day!" exclaimed she, with clasped hands and tearful eyes; 'my blessed Saviour! Oh, happy day! My heart is so full! I want you to help me to thank God, my dear Saviour! Oh, happy day!"

I am quite sure that nothing enhances our pleasures half so much as being able to see the hand of God in them, and receiving them as the gift of our reconciled Father, through Jesus Christ. Religion blends together the beauty of earthly and spiritual things. Those who sit long in the sunshine are apt to be dazzled with its splendour, so that they cannot readily lift up their eyes; and therefore it is that night and shadows are often found to be good for us. When we are most happy, we glance around, and all seems bright; but ah! how much brighter it would seem if we first looked up. Then, as though gazing through a golden-tinted glass, a glory rests upon

them all!

We have alluded to a few of those

things which make us happy,-such as good news, a kind word, the meeting of old friends, the presence of those we love; and are they not all God's gifts? He maketh everything work together for our good. He putteth it into the hearts of others to love and be kind to us. He casteth our lot in pleasant places amid friends and kindred. Dear reader, have you never woke up in the morning, with the sun shining into your chamber, and felt glad and happy, you knew not why? The sweet sleep that refreshed you, the bright sunlight, the healthful feeling were all God's gifts, commanding us to be thankful. Have you never had it in your power to do good to others?-to speak kindly to the afflicted?-or make some little sacrifice, out of love to Christ? The day in which you have been able to do this will have been a happy day; but you must thank God for it. We cannot of ourselves even think a good thought, much more do a good deed. To Him be all the glory. Let us exclaim, in the language of David, "Who am I, and what is my people, that we should be able to offer so willingly after this sort? for all things come of thee, and of thine own have we given thee," 1 Chron. xxix. 14.

Every heart, it has been said, has its secret sorrow, which the world knows not of. A late author touchingly demands, "Show me a heart without its hidden wound?" It may be so; but we still maintain, with a cheerful faith, that it has also its secret happiness and its hidden joy. We are told in the Scriptures, that "the heart knoweth his own bitterness; and a stranger doth not intermeddle with his joy." What a sweet employment it would be to keep a constant record of happy days, a journal of thanksgiving. If we were only as ready to praise as we are to murmur; as watchful for blessings as we are for trials; as eager to set up our Ebenezers as we are to pour out our complaints, how soon would such a journal be filled!

The most sorrowful have their happy days. With deep affliction God giveth strong consolation; so that we may walk softly, and yet not sadly. The season of trial serves to endear the friendship which clings to us all the closer in the hour of need. The barriers of reserve are broken down, and fond hearts reveal their longhidden sympathy and affection; so that oftentimes we smile amidst our weeping, "and kiss," as Flavel says, "that sorrow at parting which we met with fear and

trembling;" exclaiming, with the tears still undried upon our cheeks, "after all, this has been a happy day?"

Happy days resemble white stones erected here and there in our journey through life. They are like the wells in the desert; and it is sweet to sit beside them and rest. They are flowers by the wayside!-Stars in the night!-Pleasant recollections!-Joyful anniversaries! Occasions for deep thankfulness; sweet food for memories; and themes of delightful conversation! We sit and talk of them by the blazing hearth, or as we wander together in the summer twilight, whispering gently one to another, "Do you remember?" We think of them when we sit alone. Some weep, exclaiming, "Alas! for those happy days! Will they never come again?" ~ Let us rather thank God for them. Let us say, in the beautiful language of Scripture, "Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits." 66 Blessing, and glory, and wisdom, and thanksgiving, and honour, and power, and might, be unto our God for ever and ever. Amen."

DOING AND GETTING GOOD.

A DESPONDING Christian lady frequently called upon her pastor, to consult him in reference to her spiritual interests. All his advice and prayers appeared to do her no good, her spiritual darkness seeming to gather thicker as she struggled against it. Finding that she had been living a life of spiritual idleness, he advised her to go to work, to try to save others around her from that awful perdition to which she felt herself doomed. She at first rejected the thought as abhorrent to her sense of propriety, that one who felt herself a reprobate should attempt to warn others to flee from the wrath to come; but after reflection, it struck her, as a very proper course, that her own case might be held up to others as a beacon, to warn them against the great danger of grieving away the Spirit of God from their hearts. She went to work in the sabbath school, and gradually extended her labours amongst the poor and neglected outcasts in her vicinity; light soon beamed into her heart, and filled it with joy and peace in believing. She experienced the truth of that promise which declares, that those who water others, shall themselves be

watered; and now she is one of the happiest and most useful Christians in the church of which she is a member.

This little incident is full of instruction to those who profess to be the people of God. Whoever would enjoy the comforts of religion, must endeavour to extend them to others within the reach of his influence. An indolent Christian cannot be a happy one. Said a Christian brother, the other day, in our hearing, when urged to desist from efforts to reclaim a class who seemed to be hopeless, "I cannot cease to work for Christ, for my own sake, even if I see no fruits of my labours upon others." There was sound theology, wise philosophy, and practical wisdom in the remark. The way to get good is to do good. The church, or individuals, who calmly fold their arms, and settle down into a state of slothful indolence, will soon find their own comforts in religion gone. The Spirit of God will desert them, and they will be left, a temple without an inhabitant, ready to be taken possession of by the first evil spirit that passes. Reader! are you saying, "Oh, that it were with me as in days that are past, when the candle of the Lord did shine upon me?" Go to work for Christ, in whatever sphere he hath placed thee. See if spiritual health does not again course through thy veins, as thou dost exercise thy faculties in his service. Then shalt thou experience the truth of that saying, which now thou dost not believe in thine heart, that "it is more blessed to give than to receive; and then shalt thou thank him who opens to thee an opportunity to do good.

"IT'S ONLY ME."

A CERTAIN lady had two children, both young and nearly of the same age; but the elder one, by some whim or accident, possessed all the mother's affections; there was none for the younger, nothing but harshness. Very lately the mother fell sick, and was confined to her bed. While lying there, she heard gentle steps approaching it. "Is that you, my child?" said the sick woman. "No, mamma," naively and softly said the resigned one, "it's only me!"

ASKING ADVICE.

We ask advice, but we mean approbation.-Colton.

THE HIPPOPOTAMUS.*

THE news of the arrival of a young hippopotamus, led the writer (and many zoologists and artists) to visit this extraordinary creature, of which no living specimen had been brought to Europe in modern times. We purpose here to enter somewhat at large into the history of the hippopotamus, even at the expense of seeming to be elaborate, inasmuch as the subject is of considerable interest, not only to the zoologist, but to the general reader.

Those who visit the hippopotamus, with imaginations excited by what they have previously gained from writers and travellers, too apt to throw an air of romance over their narratives, or to exaggerate details, will feel somewhat disappointed at the first survey of this animal,- -a disappointment similar to that which we ourselves felt on beholding the first orang brought to the menagerie of the Zoological Society, and which arose simply from want of reflection. Dim,

This article will be found, we believe, to contain one of the most accurate accounts of the hippopotamus which has yet appeared; treated, too,

in a manner which we hope will inform the scientific as well as gratify the general reader. The interest attached to the remarkable animal of

which it treats, leads us to devote a greater space than usual to its description.

vague, and mysterious were the accounts which had reached us of the adult animal, dwelling in seclusion in the vast forests of Borneo and Sumatra; and when we saw the little monstrous caricature of infantile humanity, the illusion vanished, and the calmness of zoological investigation succeeded to the perturbation of excited fancy. Experience has now made us wiser, and in the present instance our expectations were realized. We beheld, as our reader has or may, an uncouth massive creature, sluggish, apathetic, and indolent, reposing in its apartment, with an Arab seated quietly beside it. In stature it may be compared to a large hog, but is much more massive in the contour of the body, and the form of its short thick limbs, which serve just to elevate its distended abdomen above the ground as it walks along. The shoulders and neck are very broad; and along the nuchal region (back of the neck) is a double swelling, (duplex torus) resulting from the development of the muscles of the forked ligamentum nucha, destined to support the weight of the ponderous head.

On looking more attentively, we saw its skin sprinkled with innumerable jetblack sparkles (except on the chaffron), each sparkle proving to be a pellicle of sweat, or an unctuous secretion from