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her paw in a hole there is in the The shades of summer's midnight lie,

O'er tangled grove and bower, wall, near the top of the door,

The summer dews are fresh and sweet, and pulls up the latch, by catch

On ev'ry opening flower. ing hold of the string which is fastened to it.

And while we slumber calmly on, John. What I like best is to

And heed not the fair scene,

Nor breathings of the balmy air, see her wander about in the

In these night hours serene. dark. Last night, after the heat of the day, Charlotte and I were Thou, darksome creature, comest forth,

To wander wild and lone in the garden quite late, after

Where moon-beams sparkle in the streams, you were in bed, Mary, and as

And where the owlets moan. we were wandering about, we saw something sparkling come Thou com'st to sport with leaf and flower,

And run o'er fragrant grass out of a great black bush, and it

While winds are still, and earth is sad, was the puss's eyes. What a

And bours uuheeded pass. curious light of their own they seem to have. I could see her

Forth from the darkest woodland shade,

Thou glidest softly by, eyes, when I could not see any

And nought is light amidst the gloom, other part of her; we were quite

Save thy strange radiant eye. startled, for first we saw something dark was running up a When leaning forth from lattice high, branch, making a rustling among

All in the tranquil night,

I see nought moving on the earth, the leaves, and then down Tab

Save thee, dark playful spright. by tumbled at our feet.

And then I long to rove like theo,

Mid waterfalls and dews, her mice more easily by night, Till o'er that dim and shady scene, when there is nobody to disturb Arise the morning hues. her, than by day, for I have sometimes looked out of the John. Read that poem, George, window the last thing before I and tell us if you know anything got into bed, and there I have about cats' eyes, and why that seen that dear black creature black hole in the middle of the walking about on the terrace, all eye is always changing its shape alone, and then sporting and and size. running all over the garden. I George. That hole is called think black cats like being out the pupil of the eye; it is in of doors better than others; ( your eye, and in everybody's fancy they are wilder. Cousin eyes, and it expands or contracts, Louisa's grey cat is always sit- that is, it becomes larger or ting on the arm-chair, but our smaller, according to the quantiblackey seldom visits us. I ty of rays of light it admits; complained to my uncle, and and the pupil in your eye and how do you think he answered in mine, expands and contracts me? He sat down and scribbled also; but the cat's eye is differa few minutes, and then said, ently constructed from ours; “ There, child, go away, and there is something like a hollow there is a poem for you on your mirror at the back of the eye. black cat and her bright eyes. which reflects the light and

enables the cat to see in the by degrees you begin to distindark. In the twilight, the pupil guish objects which you did not opens, to let in more light, and see at first. Now look at the then this mirror is exposed, and pupil of my eye; while I stand the eye of the cat glares, because opposite to the light it is quite of the light which falls on this small, is it not? And now when sort of reflecting mirror.

I stand in this dark corner, it John. But at night there is expands again. The pupil of no light to collect.

the cat's contracts and expands George. There are few nights in the same manner, but it opens so dark, but that some light in a sort of long slit, instead of glimmers; and often, you know, a round hole, and therefore we when you go out in an evening, see more of the reflecting mirror which you think quite dark, or behind. — Child's Weekly Viswhen you go into a dark room, iter.

SUNDAY DINNER.

Mr. A. and Mr. B., with their families, were passing up the street one Sunday, on their return from church.

“Well,” says Mr. A., “what did you think of our minister's performance this morning? A pretty plain explanation of the way to keep the Sabbath ; don't you say so, Mr. B.?”

Mr. B. ' Pretty plain. I was thinking neighbor X. must have taken a good share of it to himself. I am told he always has a regular dinner cooked on the Sabbath ; at least, he must have a warm dinner as much as upon any day in the week.

Mr. A. Abominable! Such a practice is bad enough in anybody who lives in a Christian land; but in a church member it is intolerable. For my part, I never have any more on the Sabbath, in my family, than is barely necessary. I must have a cup of coffee in the morning, and tea at night; but as for any parade about dinner, that is entirely unnecessary.

Mr. B. Coffee and tea! do you say? Do you call these necessary, Mr. A.? Really, I can't go as far as that with you. I take a tumbler of water, both for breakfast and supper. 1 manage to get through one day in the week without tea or coffee. I should be very sorry to have as much cooking as that done in my house. You do n't mean to say you think making tea and coffee a work of necessity ?

Mr. A. Why-yes ; so far a work of necessity as this, that I should n't feel fit for anything all day, after taking only cold drink. I should expect, at least, to be very uncomfortable.

Mr. B. But still, I think anybody might get through one day without any very serious consequences. And even if it should occasion a little inconvenience, why, we are to obey the express commands of God, though they may require of us some trouble or self-denial. We are commanded to attend only to necessary business on his holy day. And, in my opinion, any sort of cooking cannot, strictly speaking, be necessary. I like to have my table as neatly arranged upon the Sabbath as upon other days, for I think neatness and good order should be at all times observed ; but I will ask for nothing but good wholesome bread and water, or at any rate, ovly for something prepared before the Sabbath, to be placed before me.

Mr. A. thought Mr. B. very rigid upon this point; but so thought not Mr. W., who had overheard some part of the conversation, and who just now placed himself at the side of the two disputants.

"Did I hear you say, Mr. B., that you always have your table spread upon the Sabbath the same as on other days ?asked Mr. W., after the salutations were over. “I believe it is a custom with many people, perhaps with most people," continued Mr. W.; “but it has always seemed to me quite unnecessary. We must have food upon the Sabbath, but there is no need of any kind of parade for the purpose. It only makes additional work in the family. The arrangements can easily be such that each person can help himself to the refreshments he may need, without a parade of dishes. This is the plan in our family. I never have the table spread upon the Sabbath."

Hereupon there was a moment's pause in the conversation between the three gentlemen.

"I do n't see that brother W. has helped either of us along very much,” Mr. A. at length remarked, with a smile.

It is true, he had n't helped along very much, except that he wound up the discussion very speedily. Both Mr. A. and Mr. B. were set to thinking, and they pursued their reflections instead of their arguments, until they reached their respective homes. Each bethought himself that a conscientious desire to obey God, is on the whole a better guide to duty in respect to the Sabbath, than any attempt to specify by cold rules its precise boundaries and limits in respect to form.

A SHORT ARTICLE FOR THE MONTHLY CONCERT.

Nearly all American Christians have read the story of the little Osage captive. As Dr. Cornelius was riding through the wilderness of the west, he met a party of Indian warriors, just returning from one of their excursions of fire and blood. One of these warriors of fierce and fiend-like aspect, led a child of five years of age, whom they had taken captive.

“Where are the parents of this child ?” said Dr. Cornelius.

“Here they are," replied the savage warrior, as with one hand he exhibited the bloody scalps of a man and a woman, and with the other brandished his tomahawk in all the exultation of gratified revenge.

That same warrior is now a disciple of Jesus Christ, a humble man of piety and of prayer. His tomahawk is laid aside, and it never again will be crimsoned with the blood of his fellow men. His wife is a member of the same church with himself, and their united prayer ascends, morning and evening from the family altar. Their daughters are the amiable and humble and devoted followers of the blessed Redeemer, training up under the influence of a father's and a mother's prayers, for the society of angels and archangels, cherubim and seraphim.

"Do you remember," said an Indian convert to a missionary, “that a few years ago, a party of warriors came to the vicinity of the tribe to whom you preach, and, pretending friendship, invited the chief of the tribe to hold a talk with them?"

“Yes," replied the missionary, “I remember it very well.”

“Do you remember," continued the Indian, “that the chief, fearing treachery, instead of going himself, sent one of his warriors to hold the talk ?”

“Yes," was the reply.

“ And do you remember," proceeded the Indian, “that that warrior never returned, but that he was murdered by those who, with promises of friendship, had led him into their

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“I remember it all very well,” replied the missionary.

“Well,” the Indian continued, weeping with emotion, “I was one of that band of warriors. As soon as our victim was

in the midst of us, we fell upon him with our tomahawks and cut him to pieces."

This man is now one of the most influential members of the Christian church, and reflects with horror upon those scenes in which he formerly exulted. He is now giving his influence and his prayers that there may be glory to God in the highest, peace on earth and good will among men.

• BE YE THEREFORE PERFECT.'

No person who is wont to study the nature and tendency of the religion of our Lord Jesus Christ, can fail to be delighted with its admirable adaptation to every conceivable situation and exigency in life. No remark is more common than, “If religion were permitted to have full sway, heaven would soon have begun upon earth.” But it is most manifest, that few persons dwell sufficiently upon this truth to make it a practical principle.

Our world (Christendom) is a hospital of spiritual cripples. Look where we will, among the lights of the world' and the

salt of the earth,' for a perfect man, and we are shocked with deformity. And to a most unhappy extent, we are content that it should remain so. “Of course, we ought to be charitable," says one, “ we are such miserable creatures ourselves.” So, indeed, we ought; but here is a charity that covers vastly too many sins. We dare not exhort our neighbor to be perfect, lest he turn upon us with the proverb, “ Physician, heal thyself;" and we are fain to excuse our neighbor's sins, that we may have a hiding-place for our own. Nay, though our neighbor's sins are troublesome, where they prevent the exercise of the golden rule towards ourselves, I dare not affirm that we should be willing, were it possible, that all our fellow Christians should be transformed at once from their present sinful state to one of sinless purity. As the case now stands, the conscientious Christian scarcely dares commend the development of some godly trait in a Christian brother, lest he should be shocked with a-"Yes, but he does thus and so." For the elucidation of our subject, let us consider some illustrations.

A. B. is a minister of the gospel. He loves the cause of his Master, and counts it a privilege to be abundant in labors for the salvation of his fellow men. He has consecrated himself to

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