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parts of the continent have never been conquered, only, perhaps, because they could not easily be reached, through frozen desarts or meridian heats.

The religion of the Asiatics, though infinitely varying, is idolatrous throughout, and idolatry the grossest and the most absurd—the Persian worships the sun, the Gentoo pursues his murderous and horrid rites—the Chinese adores some God of his own devising, moulded into hideous and fantastic forms; the more modern inventions of Mohammedanism prevailing only in a small district. In the thick forests of Hindostan and other parts of Asia, every sort of wild animal yet lives secureand insects and reptiles the most venemous as well as the most beautiful, there defy the power of man to extirpate them : while their broad rivers and richly fraught seas abound in all that is most beautiful, most rare, or most monstrous in nature.

Asia has long been possessed in part by Europeansthe Greeks claimed dominions there, but did not hold them long-Siberia is the possession of a European sovereiġn, and England has extensive possessions io Hindostan and the southern country. But the greater part of the continent has not been subdued, and is divided into governments distinct and independent, and in some instances differing from every other but their own.

(To be continued.)

HYMNS AND POETICAL RECREATIONS.

To thee, Lord Jesus, I look up,
My only but my certain hope.
In this strange world of death and strife,
Thou art my peace and thou my life ;
My soul in thee, already blest,
Has found her everlasting rest.

IOTA.

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Seek I the guidance of his eye,

And strength by which my soul may stand ;
I know that he is ever nigh,

To lead and hold me by the hand.

Ask I the blessing of his love,

That richest gift the whole to crown,
Lord, in abundance from above,

Thy love hath shed its blessings down.

O may thy spirit still impart

Both power and grace to pray indeed,
And praise thee with a grateful heart,

Possessing all for which I plead.

IOTA.

THE GRUB AND THE BUTTERFLY.

A FABLE.
Said the Grub to the Butterfly, groping one day

As fast as she might through the cold, dusty earth,
Whose bosom so lowly had never aspired

To a region more bright than the hole of her birth ;

In the blythe days of summer she dragged herself forth

Just as far as the sunbeam and slept there content, When the winter returned she crepi back to her hole,

And as happily slept till the winter was spent :

“ Thou vain, silly Thing, to be fitting about,

“Bedecked and bedizened in colours so gay, “From flower to flower in restless emotion,

Where nothing can sate thee and nothing can stay.

“Come down from thy heights and disrobe thee of beauties,

“The emblems too surely of folly and sin, “And dwell thou as I, in obscurity's shade,

“Less lovely without, but more peaceful within.

“The flower that feeds thee on honey to-day,

“ Ere the dawn of to-morrow is wither'd and gone“The companions that share in thy gambols this morning,

“Fly off ere the sun-set and leave thee alone.

“Come down, and content thee to crawl on the earth,

“Unelated by hope and untempted by pride, “ Here no one will seek thee and no one betray;

“Come taste a repose to thy folly denied.”

'T'was so spake the Grub--but the Butterfly heard not,

For she too was thinking some thoughts of her own, As from the tall front of a moss-covered rose,

On this worm of the earth she looked scornfully down.

In the sweet-scented cup of some beautiful flower,

This Child of the summer herself had been born And fed on its nectar and wrapped in its leaves,

Had been cradled in velvet as soft as her own.

The fairest, the gayest, the freest from sorrow,

Each eye that beheld her still loitered to gaze-
The sunbeam grew brighter that play'd on her cheek,

As hour by hour she frisked in his rays.

“How I loathe thee, thou base Worm,” this Butterfly said,

* Through a joyless existence contented to toil“ Well-pleased that thy cumbersome form be permitted,

“ Unloved and unheeded to drawl o'er the soil.

“Come warm thy cold bosom, and light thy dim eye,

“And ask of the rain-bow its colours so fair, “ And drink of the perfume that steals from the flower;

b• Come leave thy base prison, and Autter in air:

“ What avails it, ihus dully to dream through thine hours,

“Unpleased and unpleasing, in yonder cold cell ? “ Where save that in scorn for thy meanness it spares thee,

“ Each foot that goes by thee may crush if it will.”

Now it chanced that some wise one these whispers of scorn

By accident heard as he loiter'd there by ; And pausing a moment to gaze on the insects,

In words of persuasion thus made them reply:

“ Let the earth-worm remember the hand that has formed her,

“ Well-fitted in darkness and coldness to dwell, “ Unkindled in summer, in winter unchilled,

“Secure and contented to sleep in her cell,

«'Twas the same hand that gilded the Butterfly's wing,

“ And taught her to revel in perfume and flowers, “ With spirits elate and unfitted for toil,

"To pass in the sunshine her life's fleeting hours :

“She cannot come down where the cold worm is dwelling,

“And rest her soft bosom on earth's chilling bed“ Nor toil like the Ant to procure her a home,

“ Where to bury in darkness her beautiful head.

“ Let the Butterfly know as she flutters her wing,

“ And exults in the form and the colours she wears, “The hand that denies them to those she despises,

“ Had granted them her, or they had not been hers.

“ And safer, perhaps, in obscurity's shade,

“ In coldness and darkness, contented to bide: “ They were wrong, if they might, to exchange their hard lot

“ With the beauty that flutters a moment and dies.”

And to others than these, if we might we would whisper,

Let the words of the wise one be never forgot, Lest they like the Grub and the Butterfly fancy,

That all must be wrong who resemble them not.

“PULVIS ET UMBRA SUMUS.” (Inscription on a Sun-dial in a Country Church-yard.) “We are but dust!”-turn hither, read

Its truth in every heaving mound

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“We are but dust!"--a few, few years

Will stay that voice, will quench that eye.But hope can light this vale of tears

With dreams of Immortality!
Then though the eye be dim, the voice
Hushed as the tomb, will we rejoice.

“We are but dust !"-our longest days

Pass as the fleeting “ shadow” by, And every hour, some loved one lays

In the cold grave's obscurity; Dear though he be, and passing fair, “ The worm feeds sweetly on him” there.

But there is One, on whom decay

Can work no change: he sits secure
Though rocks and mountains melt away“

And will for endless years endure-
Then ere this dust return to dust,
Make Him--the God of Gods—your trust.

HYMN.
Faith is God's gift-a powerful grace,

A wonder-working means;
Faith wafts the soul through boundless space,

To range in distant scenes.

By faith we wash away our guilt

In Jesu's precious blood--
Blood which for us Emanuel spilt,

To satisfy our God.

By Faith we Jesu's righteousness

For our acceptance claim ;
Robed in that spotless righteousness

We hope to hide our shame.

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