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portant question naturally suggests itself, in reference to I her death; that is, whether it was peaceful or otherwise. j With much pleasure I can say, she died in peace. My 'desire is, that my last days may be like hers.

When she was first afflicted she dreaded the thoughts of death; but she prayed to God, and the Lord heard her prayers, and blessed her with the influences of his Holy Spirit. Hillah became happy in the love of God, then the fear of death was removed, she was resigned to God's gvacious will; and assured her weeping friends that she was going to glory. When she died she sweetly fell asleep in Jesus. May I and you, my dear reader?, meet her at the right hand of God, where all tears shall be wiped from off all faces, and where the weary are at rest.

Her parents were ungodly, although her mother had formerly been a Sabbath-school teacher; but the death of little Hillah, of whom both of her parents were very fond, together with her patience under affliction, and her pious and peaceful end—has been blessed of God in turning them from a course of folly into paths of peace, and they are now enjoying Christian fellowship with the people of God; and are walking in those ways which, if they persevere, will lead them to that happy place where they will again meet with their absent, but happy child.

"Bright to the sun expands the vernal rose,
And sweet the lily of the valley blows:
Sudden impetuous whirlwinds sweep the sky,
They shed their fragrance, droop their head and die;
Thus this fair child, from life's storms retired,
Put forth fair blossoms, charm'd us, and expired."

Geo. Pariungton.


"TaErare coming towards the bridge; they will most likely cross by the rocks yonder," observed Raoul.

"How—swim it?" I asked. "It is a torrent there!"
"O, no!" answered the Frenchman; "monkeys would

rather go into fire than water. If they cannot leap the stream, they will bridge it."

"Bridge it; and how?"

"Stop a moment, captain, and you shall see."

The half-human voices now sounded nearer, and we could perceive that the animals were approaching the spot where we lay. Presently they appeared upon the opposite bank, headed by an old, grey chieftain, and officered like so many soldiers. They were, as Raoul stated, of the comadrrja, or ring-tailed tribe.'

One, an aide-de-camp, or chief pioneer perhaps, ran out j upon a projecting rock, and after looking across the stream, as if calculating the distance, scampered back, and appeared to communicate with the leader. This produced a movement in the troop. Commands were issued, and fatigue parties were marched to the front. Meanwhile several comadrejas I —engineers, no doubt—ran along the bank, examining the trees on both sides of the stream.

At length they all collected around a tall cottonwood tree that grew over the narrowest part of the stream, and twenty or thirty of them scampered up its trunk. On reaching a high point, the foremost—a strong fellow—ran out upon a I mh, and taking several turns of his tail, round it, slipped off and hung head downwards. The next on the limb, also a stout one, climbed down the body of the first, and whipped his tail tightly round the neck skid forearm of the latter, dropped off in his turn, and hung head down. The third repeated this manoeuvre upon the second, and the fourth upon the third, and so on, until the last one upon the string rested his fore paws upon the ground.

The living chain now commenced swinging backwards and forwards like the pendulum of a clock. The motion was slight at first, but gradually increased, the lowermost monkey striking his hands violently on the earth, as he passed the tanuent of the oscillating curve. Several others upon the limbs above aided the movement.

This cominued until the monkey at the end of the chain was thrown among the branches of a tree on the opposite bank. Here, after two or three vibrations, he clutched a limb and held fast. This movement was executed adroitly, just at the proper point of the oscillation, or swinging, in order to save the intermediate links of the monkey chain from the violence of a too sudden jerk I

The chain was now fast at both ends, forming a complete suspension bridge, over which the whole troop, to the number'of four or five hundred monkeys, passed w ith the rapidity of thought.

It was one of the most comical sights I ever beheld, to witness the quizzical expression of countenances along that living chain.

The troop was now upon the other side, but how were the animals forming the bridge to get themselves over? This was the question which suggested itself. Manifestly, by number one letting go his tail. But then the tree to which the chain was attached on the other side was much lower down, and number one, with half a dozen of his neighbours, would be dashed against the opposite bank, or soused into the water.

Here, then, was a problem, and we waited with some curiosity for its solution. It was soon solved. A monkey was now seen attaching his tail to the lowest on the bridge, another girded him in a similar manner, and so on, until a dozen more were added to the string. These last were all powerful fellows; and, running up to a high limb, they lifted the bridge into a position almost horizontal.

Then a scream from the last monkey of the new formation warned the tail end that all was ready ; and the next moment the whole chain was swung over, and landed safely on the opposite bank. The lowermost links now dropped off like a melting candle, while the higher ones leaped to the branches and rame down by the trunk. The whole troop then scampered off into the chapparal and disappeared.— HeitTs Adcentures in South America.


Morgan Jones was a country boy of a willing disposition. To do any one a good turn was a pleasure to him; for a kinder-hearted lad was not to be found. His parents being poor, and his health bad, he received only a little education.

It had so happened that Morgan's uncle Andrew was in the city in the month of May, and this afforded him an opportunity of attending several of the public meetings of religious benevolent societies. Great was Morgan Jones' delight in listening, on the return of his uncle, to the account of what he had heard and seen.

When Morgan had listened for some time to his uncle's narrative of the different languages into which the Bible had been translated; of the great good done by Sundayschools and Sunday-school libraries; of the millions of religious books and tracts which had been scattered through all lands; of the good that had been done by missionaries in our own land, and in distant climes among the ignorant heathen, he felt a growing desire to do something, however little it might be, in the cause of piety and humanity. There was, however, this difficulty in tho way—he had formed the mistaken notion that some amount of learning, riches, talents, books, and leisure time, must be necessary to enable any one to do good; and greatly was he surprised when his uncle advised him to become a friend and promoter of all the societies he had mentioned. The following is the conversation which took place between them:—

"You have listened, Morgan, very attentively to my account of some of the societies; and I hope that you will make up your mind from this time forward to support them."

"I wish I could, uncle. If I had riches, nobody should give more cheerfully than I would; but how can I do good, when you know that I have no money?"

"O, you may do very well without money."

"Can I? That appears very strange. I thought that j everybody who helped such societies gave them money. And then I have no learning."

"O, you may do much without learning."

"If I could do anything I would. Only tell me how to begin: for you know I have no talents."

"O, you may do much without talents."

"Why, you seem to think that I can help them without anything. I cannot give them books."

"O, you may do much without books."

"You do surprise me. Those that help these societies must bestir themselves, and go about for them; and I have no spare time."

"O, you may do much without a great deal of spare time."

"I never heard of such a thing! Why, uncle, do you know what you have said? You make it out that I can do good to these societies without having much money, learning, talents, books, or spare time; what can you mean?"

"I will tell you. There is no doubt that those who have spare time, books, talents, learning, and money, may do more good than others; but there is no reason at all why you should not do as much good as you can. Listen to me, while I try to make it plain to you, that it is in your power to support all the societies that I have mentioned."

"Do, please, tell me, and I will begin directly."

"Though you are not rich enough to subscribe to the Bible Society, and have no Bible to give away; though yOu are not learned enough to translate it into a foreign language; eloquent enough to plead for it at a public meeting; nor have time at you disposal to go about in its service; yet this you may do—you may (seeking help from above) so recommend the Bible, by reading it, loving it, obeying it, and living a life in agreement with it, that others may be led to follow your example. Do this, and you will be a good Mend and supporter of the Bible Society."

"Thank you, uncle. I do really see, now, that the poorest person in the world may do good."

"You may not be able to open a new Sunday-school,

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