THE LIZARDS.

with a long, slender tail; and often with a shorter blunt one.

But their greatest distinction arises from the manner of bringing forth their young. Firstly, some of them are viviparous. Secondly, some are oviparous; and which may be considered in three distinct ways. Thirdly, some bring forth small spawn, like fishes. The crocodile, the iguana, and all the largest kinds, bring forth eggs, which are hatched by the heat of the sun; the animals that issue from them are complete upon leaving the shell; and their first efforts are to run to seek food in their proper element. The viviparous kinds, in which are all the salamanders, come forth alive from the body of the female, perfect and active, and suffer no succeeding change. But those which are bred in the water, and, as we have reason to think, from spawn, suffer a very considerable change in their form. They are produced with an external skin or covering, that sometimes encloses their feet, and gives them a serpentine appearance. To this false skin fins are added, above and below the tail, that serve the animal for swimming; but when the false skin drops off, these drop off also: and then the lizard, with its four feet, is completely for med, and forsakes the water.

However, the three kinds have many points of similitude; and, in all their varieties of figure, colour, and production, this tribe is easily distinguished, and strongly marked. They have all four short legs, the two fore-feet somewhat resembling a man's hand and arm. They have tails almost as thick as the body at the beginning, and that generally run tapering to a point. They are all amphibious also; equally capable of living upon land and water; and formed internally in the same manner with the tortoise and other animals that can continue a long time with respiration; in other words, their lungs are not so necessary to continue life and circulation. What singular creatures are these lizards!-Goldsmith.

LITTLE BETSY.

EVERY one loves the frankness, the simplicity, the ingenuousness of childhood. It has been well said that children are our best instructors. How often are we put upon a train of thinking by their thousand and one questions which elicit new ideas. While it is true that they may puzzle the wisest philosopher with their questions, it is also true that the most learned are frequently instructed by them. children who have early learned something of heavenly things are especially our teachers. To this latter class belonged the child whose history we are about to give.

Those

In the town of O, lived Betsy SWhen she was only a few years old her mother was taken from her to a brighter sphere. At first she was inconsolable: but when she satisfied herself by searching in every room of the house that her parent was no longer among the living, she settled down contented, saying frequently, "Mother is in heaven now, happy with God." Thus at an early age she seemed to have some ideas of God, of heaven, and of death.

From this time little Betsy was constantly with her grandmother, who instructed her in the things of religion, and answered, as far as possible, her many inquiries. She wished to know who made all things, the birds, the trees, the flowers. When satisfied on this point, she desired further to know who made God, and where he lives.

She soon learned something of the nature of prayer, and became indeed a praying child. At times, in the midst of her play, she would say to her grandmother, "I must go away and pray now; God will hear me pray, and if I am good he will love me." Then would she kneel down and cover her face; and, although her

LITTLE BETSY.

prayer was not of words, yet I would not dare to say that God did not accept it.

One thing is certain. She was never happier than when talking of God and heaven.

She was very fond of flowers. She loved them, she said, because God made them, and because her mother loved them. She especially prized those which were planted by her mother's own hand. A great desire of her heart seemed to be to have some of these transferred to her mother's grave; and she often expressed the intention to accomplish this when she should become older.

The grave-yard where, as she said, her mother was sleeping, was a favourite place of resort. On a bright afternoon in early autumn, little Betsy and

her sisters might have been seen wending their way to that consecrated place. The conversation, as usual on such occasions, was about God, about their mother and heaven. As they listened to the singing of the birds, she "wondered if there were birds in heaven." If they gathered flowers, she wished to know if such grew in the happy place where her mother was. She loved to linger long at her mother's resting-place, and on this occasion the older sisters gratified her by letting her remain until the evening shades began to gather around, as

"Twilight let her curtain down,

And pinned it with a star."

Strewing the grave with a handful of flowers which she had gathered, she asked, "Will any one put flowers on Betsy's grave when she shall be buried in the ground ?" "We shall all lie here beside mother yet," she continued, "but if we are good we shall be happy then as she is now. Mother is in heaven. God wanted her to leave the earth, and come to him in the sky. O! that I could see my mother. But I shall see her, and be happy with her if I pray to God, and always do right."

Winter at length came with its storms, and little Betsy kept closer to her grandmother. Her views of future happiness in heaven, seemed to grow brighter and brighter. One day, after a long silence, she spake thus: Grandmother, I shall die this winter. When spring comes, you will be alone; then I shall go to God and to my dear mother. I know where God is."

Her words proved to be but too true; for in a few weeks from that time, while the snows of winter yet covered the ground, a distressing illness of only four days carried her off, as the autumnal blast sweeps away the tender flower, and now she quietly sleeps by her mother's side.

"SUSAN! ARE YOU READY ?"

SUSAN WILLIAMS was the eldest of a large family of brothers and sisters, dwelling in a little cottage not far from BShe was a dressmaker by trade, and used to go into the town every morning to her employment, returning home again at night. It was a very poor home to be sure, and Susan was frequently obliged to go to bed almost supperless after her long day's work and her weary walk, which she thought very hard; but she made no effort to render her home more comfortable by the sacrifice of a portion of those earnings which, little as they were, might have been better spent than in the showy ribbons and cheap finery with which, in imitation of her companions, she took such pleasure in adorning herself.

When Susan came in of an evening, and threw herself on a chair, declaring that he was tired to death, she never thought that her mother might be weary also, or offered to lighten her work and cares. As that fond and too indulgent mother said, "Who could expect it, poor thing, when she had been working hard all day ?" But although Susan could never find time to help to put the children to bed, or mend their clothes, she would often sit for a long time trimming and retrimming her straw bonnet, or altering her dress to the last new fashion. Proud of her personal appearance, and delighting in every opportunity of displaying herself: thoughtless, weak, and easily led into evil, Susan Williams became a disobedient and ungrateful child, an unkind sister, an habitual Sabbath-breaker, having no hope, and without God in the world.

Her favourite companion was a young girl in the same village, and working at the same house, who used to call for her every morning in order that they might walk into B together. As Mrs. Williams