recesses, that can be imagined. The leaves are large, soft, and of a lively green. The fruit is a small fig,-when ripe of a bright scarlet, affording sustenance to monkeys, squirrels, peacocks, and birds of various kinds, which dwell among the branches.

The Hindoos are particularly fond of this tree, and almost pay it divine honors. The Brahmins, or priests, spend much of their time in religious solitude under the shade of the banian-tree. They plant it in those villages, where there is no structure for public worship, and placing an image upon the boughs, perform there a morning and evening sacrifice.

From the District School As it Was.'
LEARNING TO WRITE.

The winter I was nine years old, I made another advance toward the top of the ladder, in the circumstance of learning to write. I desired and pleaded to commence the chirographical art the summer, and indeed the winter before, for others of my own age were at it thus early. But my father said that my fingers were hardly stout enough to manage a quill from his geese, but that if I would put up with the quill of a hen, I might try. This pithy satire put an end to my teasing.

Having previously had the promise of writing this winter, I had made all the necessary preparations, some days before school was to begin. I had bought me a new birch ruler, and had given a third of my wealth, four cents, for it. To this I had appended, by a well twisted flaxen string, a plummet of my own running, whittling and scraping. I had hunted up an old pewter inkstand which had come down from the ancestral eminence of my great grandfather for aught I know. And it bore many marks of a

speedier and less honorable descent, to wit from table or desk to the floor. I had suc ceeded in becoming the owner of a penknife, not that it was likely to be applied to its appropriate use that winter at least, for such beginners generally used the instrument to mar the pens they wrote in, rather than to make or mend those they wrote with. I had selected one of the fairest quills out of an enormous bunch. Half a quire of foolscap had been folded into the shape of a writing book, by the maternal hand, and covered with brown paper nearly as thick as a sheepskin.

Behold me now on the first Monday in December starting for school, with my new and clean writing book buttoned under my jacket, my inkstand in my pocket, a bundle of necessary books in one hand, and my ruler and swinging plummet in the other, which I flourished in the air and around my head till the sharpened lead made its first mark on my own face. My long white-feathered goose-quill was twisted into my hat-band like a plumy badge of the distinction to which I had arrived, and the important enterprise before me.

On arriving at the school-house I took a seat higher up and more honorable than the one I occupied the winter before. At the proper time my writing book, which, with my quill I had handed to the master on entering, was returned to me, with a copy set, and paper ruled and pen made. My copy was a single straight mark, at the first corner of my manuscript. A straight mark! who could not make so simple a thing as that, thought I. I waited however to see how the boy next to me, a beginner also, should succeed, as he had got ready a moment before me. Never shall I forget the first chirographical exploit of this youth. That

inky image will never be eradicated from my memory so long as a single trace of early experience is left on its tablet. The fact is, it was an era in my life, something great was to be done, and my attention was intensely awake to whatever had a bearing on this new and important trial of my powers. I looked to see a mark as straight as a ruler, having its four corners as distinctly defined as the angles of a parallelogram. But, O me, what a spectacle! What a shocking contrast to my anticipation. That mark had as many crooks as a ribbon in the wind, and nearer eight angles than four; and its two sides were nearly as rough and as notched as a fine handsaw, and indeed the mark somewhat resembled it in width, for the fellow had laid in a store of ink sufficient to last the journey of the whole line. "Shame on him," said I internally, "I can beat that, I know." I began by setting my pen firmly on the paper, and I brought a mark half way down, with rectilinear precision. But by this time my head began to swim, and my hand to tremble. I was as it were in vacancy, far below the upper ruling, and as far above the lower. My self-possession failed, my pen diverged to the right, then to the left, crooking all the remainder of its way, with as many zigzags as could well be in so short a distance. Mine was as sad a failure as my neighbor's. I covered it over with my fingers, and did not jog him with a "see there," as I had vainly anticipated.

So much for pains taking, now for chance. By good luck the next effort was quite successful. I now dashed on for better or worse, till in one half hour I had covered the whole page with the standing, though seemingly falling monuments of the chirographical wisdom of my teacher and skill

of myself. In the afternoon a similar copy was set, and I dashed on again as if I had taken so much writing by the job, and my only object was to save time. Now and then there was quite a reputable mark; but alas for him whose perception of the beautiful was particularly delicate, should he get a glimpse of these sloughs of ink.

The third morning my copy was the first element of the m and n, or what in burlesque is called a hook. On my fourth I had the last half of the same letters, or the trammel. And indeed they were the similitudes of hooks and trammels, forged in a country plenteous in iron, and by the youngest apprentice at the hammer and anvil.

In this way I went through all the small letters, as they are called. First, the elements, or constituent parts, then the whole character in which these parts were combined.

Then I must learn to make the capitals before entering on joining hand. Four pages were devoted to these. Capital letters! They were capital offences against all that is graceful, indeed decent, yea tolerable, in that art which is so capable of beautiful forms and proportions.

I came next to joining hand, about three weeks after my commencement. And joining hand indeed it was. It seemed as if my hooks and trammels were overheated in the forge, and were melted into each other, the shapeless masses so clung together at points where they ought to have been separate, so very far were they from all resemblance to conjoined yet distinct and well defined characters.

Thus I went on, a perfect little prodigal in the expenditure of paper, ink, pens and time. The first winter I splashed two, and the next, three writing books with ink.

THE MAGPIE.

This vain, restless and noisy bird is about eighteen inches in length, and of a very beautiful plumage. The head, neck and breast are of a deep black, which contrasts finely with the snowy whiteness of the under parts. The neck feathers are very long and leave only a small space of a grayish ash color, between them and the tail coverts which are black. The plumage in general is glossed with green, purple and blue; the tail is very long and in the shape of a wedge. The under tail-coverts, thighs and legs are black.

The Magpie is not at all particular in its food. It not only feeds upon carrion, grain, and eggs, but upon worms and insects, and

upon small birds when it has an opportunity to seize them. A wounded lark, or young chicken separated from the hen, are sure plunder, and even the blackbird is not altogether secure from attacks. With a providence unusual to gluttons, when satisfied for the present, the Magpie will lay up the remainder of the feast for another repast. Even in a tame state, it will hide its food, and after a time return to the secret hoard with great vociferation and a vigorous appetite.

This bird is exceedingly insolent, and delights in insulting the largest animals. It is often seen perched upon the back of an ox or a sheep, picking up the insects to be found there, chattering and tormenting the

poor creature at the same time, and, if the beast turn its head backwards, impudently stretching out its neck for combat. It frequently commits depredations upon the nests of the thrush, the blackbird, and several other birds.

In all its habits it discovers a peculiar instinct. The nest is very ingeniously constructed and situated. It is usually placed in a conspicuous position, on the top of some high tree, or in the middle of a hawthorn bush, but always in a spot difficult of access. The body of the nest is composed of hawthorn branches, with the thorns sticking outwards. It is lined with fibrous roots, wool and long grass, and neatly plastered with mud and clay. To defend the nest above from the kite, the crow, and the sparrow-hawk, a canopy is constructed over it, composed of the sharpest thorns, so woven together as to deny all entrance except at the door, which is just large enough to permit egress and regress to the owners. Here the male and female hatch and bring up their brood with security; sheltered from all attacks, except the occasional intrusions of the climbing schoolboys, who find their prizes too dearly bought by torn garments, scratched faces, and bloody hands. The Magpie lays six or seven eggs, of a pale green color, spotted with brown.

This bird in a domestic state, strictly preserves its natural character. It is the same noisy, raischievous, cunning creature in the cage, as in the woods. It is exceedingly docile, and may sometimes be taught to speak very distinctly, though its sounds are too thin and sharp to be an exact imitation of the human voice. In the north of England, if a Magpie be observed flying alone, it is thought a sign of ill luck; two forbode something fortunate; three, a funeral; and

four, a wedding. This bird is found in the western parts of North America, and is very numerous on the west side of the Rocky Mountains.

GOSPEL STORIES.

VII.

THE GOOD SAMARITAN.

One day when our Saviour was teaching His disciples, a great crowd gathered round Him, in order that they might also hear His instructions; and among the rest a certain lawyer, who was anxious to know whether Jesus was really as wise and great as the people supposed, and for this purpose he resolved to question Him.

Accordingly he approached our Saviour, and asked Him first, as the question of the greatest importance, "Master, what shall I do to inherit eternal life?" In reply to which, our Saviour asked him to repeat what was written in the law on that subject. The lawyer said, "Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind, and with all thy strength, and thy neighbor as thyself." So our Saviour told him he had answered right, and that if he would do this he should have eternal life. However, the lawyer, pretending he did not quite understand the last command, begged our Saviour to tell him who was his neighbor whom he was to love as well as himself; so, in compliance with this request, our Saviour told him this parable or story :—

There was a certain man who was jour neying from Jerusalem to Jericho, (another city of Judea.) The road he was obliged to travel lay through a kind of desert or wilderness, and was exceedingly dangerous: for it was so infested by thieves, that it was

known by the name of the "bloody way," on account of the many dreadful murders and robberies which had been committed there.

The traveller had not proceeded far on his journey, when a band of these robbers rushed out and seized him. He could not resist so many; and they treated him most cruelly, stripped him, wounded him, and at last left him lying half dead by the side of the road. Now, while he was lying in this miserable condition, a priest who was travelling the same road arrived at the spot; but though he was particularly bound by his sacred profession to acts of mercy and kindness, yet, not feeling disposed to incur the trouble and risk of assisting the poor man, he crossed the road, and continued his journey on the other side. Soon after a Levite, another of his countrymen, drew near to the place, and on observing some one lying by the side of the road, he stopped for a moment and looked on the poor sufferer, but he also did nothing for him, and went across to the other side. He had not been gone long before a Samaritan came along, riding on his ass; and although the Samaritans were, as I once before told you, at enmity with the Jews, yet when he beheld the unfortunate man, he forgot all their national quarrels, and had pity on him; and alighting from the ass, he raised him up from the ground, and applied oil and wine to his wounds to heal them, and bound them up in some of his own linen. He then placed him on the ass, while he walked by the side, and took every care of him till they got to an inn, where he gave him in charge to the landlord, with a particular request that he would be kind to the stranger, and he left some money to be laid out for his

use.

Our Saviour having finished this story, said to the lawyer, "Now which of these three thinkest thou was neighbor to him that fell among the thieves?" The lawyer answered, "He that shewed mercy on him.” Then said Jesus," Go, and do thou likewise."

Now when our Saviour said, "Go, and do thou likewise," He said it not only to the lawyer, but to all of us. We must be kind and merciful too; we may never, perhaps, have exactly the same opportunity which the good Samaritan had, but there is hardly a person living who cannot do some good,

for all may at least be kind and affectionate to others. Our Saviour does not look to the quantity of good we do, for that depends on circumstances and opportunities and little children have not much in their power; but He looks to the heart, whether we wish to do good, and try to do all we can. Even children may sometimes be able to give something to poor people, though not much, and they can be ready to oblige and assist every one;-and if you do this for the proper reason,-to please God,-He will not be angry with you because you cannot do more.

THE SWALLOWS.

Ye gentle birds, that perch aloof,
And smooth your pinions on my roof,
Preparing for departure hence,
Ere Winter's angry threats commence ;
Like you, my soul would smooth her plume
For longer flights beyond the tomb.

May God, by whom is seen and heard
Departing man and wandering bird,
In mercy mark me for His own,
And guide me to the land unknown!—

HAYLEY.