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eat and falls asleep, in which state it remains for two or three days; it then appears greatly agitated, and exerts itself to so great a degree in throwing off its skin that it becomes of a reddish hue; at length it accomplishes this end, and throws it aside with its feet. This is the third dress it has appeared in; at the expiration of three weeks or a month it begins to eat again, and so greatly is its head, colour, and form altogether altered, you would hardly know it as the same creature. In the course of a few days, however, it falls into a second lethargy, at the conclusion of which it again assumes a new dress; after this it resumes its appetite for a season; and then, again renouncing all food, it prepares itself a retreat, and with its silken thread envelops itself completely. In this tomb it quietly reposes; and, at the end of a fortnight, it would pierce it in order to get out, if the cave were not exposed to the rays of the sun or put into an oven; the insect is killed by these means. The cones are then thrown into hot water, in which they are gently agitated by a little broom, which process in time loosens the ends of the silk; it is then wound off upon reels constructed for that purpose.
Thus we see that it is to a worm, a caterpillar, that we are indebted for our most luxurious clothing; by means of that liquor which it ejects beneath its mouth it furnishes us with silks and velvets. This reflection should teach us humility. What, shall we be proud of the silk which covers us? Let us consider to what we are indebted for it, and how little we ourselves contribute to that dress of which we are so vain. Let us reflect that the most despised objects have been produced for the advantage and ornament of man--a worm, which we scarcely deign to honour with a look, becomes a blessing to a whole province, a considerable object of commerce, and a vast source of riches. The inspection of this insect should cover with shame a multitude of persons; many people, it is true, resemble it in the early stage of its existence; they eat, they
sleep, and change their dress; but how few are they who, like it, render themselves useful to the world by their labours! Let us henceforth consecrate our talents and abilities to the welfare of our fellow-creatures ; and let us labour without ceasing to promote their happiness.
ROBERT SOUTHEY. " You are old, Father William," the young man cried,
“ The few locks which are left you are grey; You are hale, Father William, a hearty old man;
Now tell me the reason, I pray.” “In the days of my youth," Father William replied, · "I remember'd that youth would fly fast, And abused not my health and my vigour at first,
That I never might need them at last." “ You are old, Father William," the young man cried,
“And pleasures with youth pass away, And yet you lament not the days that are gone;
Now tell me the reason, I pray.” " In the days of my youth,” Father William replied,
" I remember'd that youth could not last; I thought of the future, whatever I did,
That I never might grieve for the past." “You are old, Father William,” the young man cried,
"And life must be hastening away: You are cheerful, and love to converse upon death;
Now tell me the reason, I pray." “I am cheerful, young man," Father William replied,
“Let the cause thy attention engage; In the days of my youth I remembered my God; And he hath not forgotten my age!"
THE WELSHWOMAN AND HER LODGER.
Rev. J. S. SPENCER, D.D.
A MAN who was entirely a stranger to me, whose appearance convinced me he was poor, and whose address showed that he was not very familiar with the subject of religion, called upon me one morning; and with some agitation, desired me to go to a distant street, to see his wife, who was sick. On making some inquiries, I learned that his wife was in a consumption—was not expected to live many days—had not expressed any desire to see me—but that he had come for me at the request of an aged Welshwoman, who lived in the same house. I immediately went to the place he described. I found the woman apparently in the last stages of consumption. She was an interesting young woman, of about twenty years of age, and had been married little more than a year. All the appearance of her room was indicative of poverty, though everything manifested the most perfect neatness. She was bolstered up in her bed, her face pale, with a bright red spot in the centre of each cheek. She appeared exceedingly weak, while her frequent cough seemed to be tearing her to pieces. Her condition affected me. Manifestly her youth and beauty were destined to an early grave. She must soon leave the world; and how tender and terrible the thought that she might still be unprepared for a happier one!
As I told her who I was, and why I had come there, she offered me her hand, with a ready and easy politeness, and yet with a manifest embarrassment of feeling, which she evidently struggled to conceal.
I have seldom seen a more perfectly beautiful woman. Her frame was delicate, her complexion clear and white, her countenance indicative of a more than ordinary degree of intelligence and amiability, and as she lifted her languid eyes upon me, I could not but feel in an
instant that I was in the presence of an uncommon woman.
I felt her feverish pulse, which was rapidly beating, and expressing my sorrow at finding her so ill, she said to me, speaking with some difficulty:
"You find me in very humble circumstances—sir." "Yes," said I, " you seem very sick."
“We have not always been—so straitened as we are now," said she. “We lived-very comfortably-before -I was sick; but I am not able to do anything now: and I am ashamed—to have you find me—with my room and all things—in such a state;" (casting a look about the room.) “Once I could have seen you in a more inviting place; but, sir—we are now-very poor -and cannot live-as we used to do. My situationis very humble-indeed.”
“You have no occasion to be ashamed,” said I. “ Your room is very neat; and if you are in want of anything, it will give me pleasure to aid you to whatever you need."
“Oh, sir, I am not-in want—of anything now. I am too sick to need anything—more than the old lady —can do for me ; and she is very kind.”
“And who is the old lady ?" I asked.
"Mrs. Williams," said she; “in whose house-we have lived since ours—was sold;—the woman thatwanted me to have you-come and see me. She has been-talking—to me about religion ; (she is a Welsh - woman ;)—and she has read—to me—in the Bible, but-I cannot—understand it.”
“ And did you wish to have me come and see you ?”
“No-yes—I am willing—to see you; but-I amin such-a place here—my room—
“My dear friend,” said I, “ do not think of such things at all. You have something of more moment to think of. You are very sick. Do you expect ever to get well ?"
“No, sir; they—tell me—I shall not." “And do you feel prepared to die ?"
villages, rivers and lakes—would form one largest objects which the eye, or even the imagin can steadily grasp at one time. But such an o grand and extensive as it is, forms no more tha forty-thousandth part of the terraqueous globe that before we can acquire an adequate concepti the magnitude of our own world, we must con 40,000 landscapes, of a similar extent, to pass in view before us : and, were a scene, of the magnit now stated, to pass before us every hour, till all diversified scenery of the earth were brought un our view, and were twelve hours a-day allotted for observation, it would require nine years and forty-ei: days before the whole surface of the globe could be ciu templated, even in this general and rapid manner, BD such a variety of successive landscapes passing befo the eye, even although it were possible to be realizes would convey only a very vague and imperfect concer tion of the scenery of our world; for objects at the di tance of forty miles cannot be distinctly perceived; the only view which would be satisfactory would be, tha which is comprehended within the range of three of four miles from the spectator.
Again, I have already stated, that the surface of the earth contains nearly 200,000,000 of square miles Now, were a person to set out on a minute survey o the terraqueous globe, and to travel till he passed along every square mile on its surface, and to continue his route without intermission, at the rate of thirty mile every day, it would require 18,264 years before hi could finish his tour, and complete the survey of “this huge rotundity on which we tread:”—so that, had he commenced his excursion on the day in which Adan was created, and continued it to the present hour, he would not have accomplished one-third part of this vast tour.
In estimating the size and extent of the earth, w ought also to take into consideration, the vast varie of objects with which it is diversified, and the nur