tercourse more than a kind, gentle, and affectionate tone of voice. Let any one test the worth of this virtue, by examining who among his friends and acquaintances have it or have it not. Let him inquire into the pleasure or displeasure which he has from their presence, and satisfy himself how much depends on mere tone of voice.

This

There are a great many trifles in this life, when considered as a whole. It is a common failing to magnify them into serious matters. They may relate to dress, food, visiting, insignificant purchases, management of children, and a multitude of little matters on which difference of opinion may arise in families. Now, it may not be of the least possible consequence, in the long run, whether the matter be disposed of in one way or another. To-morrow, or sooner, it will be so thought of. Yet, a sudden observation, in an ungentle voice, may produce an irritating reply, and this a severe rejoinder. ungentleness has a mournful effect on the character of children when exhibited in parents. It deprives brothers and sisters of a happiness which it was intended they should possess. It is wholly useless, and worse than useless, in asserting authority. It can only be classed among those sad mistakes which tend to make this a miserable world. How can any two rational beings, who must live in a familiar intercourse while they do live, so misapprehend the purposes of life as habitually to torment each other on insignificant trifles? If any one of the household should be unhappily betrayed into an unbecoming expression, silence best becomes those who hear it.-Chambers.

ON AN AUTUMNAL LEAF.

THAT autumn leaf is sere and dead,
And soon will seek its wintry bed;
Yet many a lesson can supply
To fancy's ever watchful eye.

It once was green, and fair, and young,
Heaven's brightest beam was on it flung;
With many a friend that round it grew,
It danced in every breeze that blew.

But now old age has stolen on
Its youthful beauty all is gone;
And now it dreads the zephyr's play,
Which only bears its friends away.

And, trembling on its parent stem,
It scarce can bear the dewy gem;
Its former strength and vigour past,
It meets each moment as its last!

The brightest sun may shed its ray,
The fairest moon upon it play,
The balmy air may pass it o'er,
But never can its life restore.

Its lot was this to bloom a while,
And give to Nature's face one smile;
The voice of Heaven in autumn calls,
Thy part is done!—and see it falls.

'Tis thus with man-youth yields to age,
And sad reflections fill the page
Of former times and hope now fled,-
Of early friends, and vigour dead.

Thus, like the leaf, he dwindles on,
But he is cheer'd for what is gone;
For when he seeks his wintry bed,
'Tis but the body that is dead.-Anon.

DETACHED PIECES.

Ir is impossible to view the cheerfulness and happiness of animals and birds without pleasure the latter, especially, appear to enjoy themselves during the fine weather, in spring and summer, with a degree of hilarity which might be almost envied. It is astonishing how much man might do to lessen the misery of those creatures, which are either given to him for food or use, or for adding to his pleasure, if he were so disposed. Instead of which, he often exercises a degree of wanton cruelty and tyranny over them which cannot be too

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much deprecated. Animals are so capable of showing gratitude and affection to those who have been kind to them, that I never see them subjected to ill treatment, without feeling the utmost abhorrence of the conduct of those who are inflicting it. I know many persons who, like myself, take a pleasure in seeing all the animals about them appear happy and contented.

Cows will show their pleasure at seeing those who have been kind to them, by moving their ears gently and putting out their wet noses. My old horse rests his head on the gate with great complacency, when he sees me coming, expecting to receive an apple or a piece of bread. I should even be sorry to see my poultry and pigs get out of my way with any symptoms of fear.-Jesse.

A HARE closely pursued by the hounds was suddenly lost sight of: she had plunged into a deep ditch overgrown with briers; and, after running some distance along its bottom, crept slowly up the bank and stretched. herself, breathless and almost dead with terror and fatigue, beneath the legs of a group of school-boys, who had there seated themselves, watching with deep anxiety and interest the fortunes of the chase. As soon as the astonishment excited by this unexpected appearance of poor Puss had somewhat subsided, an animated debate arose amongst the youngsters, respecting the disposal of the exhausted creature. The majority, allured by the hope of reward, voted for the surrender of the unfortunate refugee to her merciless pursuers. One boy, however, declaimed loudly against this meditated act of perfidy, the violation of sanctuary. The intrepid little fellow was, at length, joined by one or two of his more generous associates. After a brief, but stormy altercation, the voices of honour and mercy prevailed; and, although many an anxious and eventful year has since passed over us, we have not yet forgotten the glow of exultation which lighted up the eyes, and expanded the hearts, of the youthful defenders of the persecuted creature, when they heard the voices of dog and man, after a short pause, grow fainter upon the breeze, and saw the

poor hare herself, recruited by a few minutes' respite, limp off to rest, in safety, or at least to die in peace, beneath the sheltering underwood of an adjacent coppice. Dr. Palmer.

WHEN the interesting bird, named from its cry the corncrake, is alarmed, it has the instinct, in common with other animals, and especially insects, to feign death. A gentleman had one brought him by his dog; it was dead to all appearance. As it lay on the ground he turned it over with his foot; he was convinced it was dead. Standing by, however, some time in silence, he suddenly saw it open one eye. He then took it up, its head fell, its legs hung down, it appeared again totally dead. He then put it into his pocket, and before very long, he felt it all alive, and struggling to escape; he took it out, it was lifeless as before. He then laid it on the ground, and retired to some distance; in about five minutes it warily raised its head, looked round, and decamped at full speed.-E. G. Ballard.

THE oyster, it is well known, is provided with a very powerful muscle, by the aid of which it can immediately close its shell with such firmness as obstinately to retain any substance that may be placed in between to prevent their union. The following circumstance affords an amusing instance of the exercise of this muscular power. Some time ago the family of Mr. Jenninson, fishmonger, Hull, were alarmed by a great noise in the shop, and suspecting that some persons had broken in, one of them went to the place, when to his surprise, he found the disturber of his repose not a biped but a four-footed thief, namely, a rat, who, in helping himself to an oyster on the shop-board, had his intruding paw so firmly clenched in the grasp of the assailed oyster as to render his escape impossible. In Borlase's Natural History of Cornwall there is an account given of three mice being similarly caught by an oyster. He tells us of one whose shell being opened, as is usual at the time of flood, three mice attempted eagerly to seize it, but the oyster clasping fast its shell killed them all. In

Brown's Anecdotes of Quadrupeds, we are told that Gemelli Carreri, in his voyage round the world, relates a circumstance concerning the ourang-outang in his wild state, which is indicative of considerable powers both of reflection and invention. When the fruits on

the mountains are exhausted, they will frequently descend to the sea-coast, where they feed on various species of shell-fish, but in particular on a large sort of oyster, which commonly lies on the shore. "Fearful," he says, "of putting in their paws, lest the oyster should close and crush them, they insert a stone as a wedge within the shell, and then drag out their prey, and devour it at their leisure."-Field Naturalist.

TIME.-There are some insects who live but a single day. In the morning they are born; at noon they are in full life; at evening they die. The life of man is similar to that of these insects. It is true, he lives for a number of years, but the period is so short, that every moment is of some value. Our existence may be compared to a journey; as every step of the traveller brings him nearer to the end of his journey, so every tick of the clock makes the limited number of seconds allotted to us, still less. Our life may be divided, like the day of the insect, into three parts; youth, or morning; noon, or middle age; and evening, or old age. In youth, we get our education, and lay up those stores of knowledge which are to guide us in the journey before us. As this journey is of importance, we should be busy as the bee, that improves each shining hour. We do not mean that we should never amuse ourselves; on the contrary, amusement is absolutely necessary to all, and particularly to the young.-But what we mean is, that none of the time allotted to study, or business, or duty, should be allowed to pass in idleness; every moment should be improved, for we have a journey before us, and if we linger by the way, the time in which it is to be performed will pass, and while we are yet unhoused, or unsheltered in the wilderness, the sun will set, and the shadows of night will fall upon us.

Middle age is the time of action, and it is important to lay up knowledge and wisdom in youth, that we may act