ribs being crushed together, and thought it was all over with me. To my no small joy I heard the voices of my companions, and one of them, with a single stroke of his cutlass, severed the monster's head. Instantly I felt relief; but even when freed from his folds I could neither stand nor speak. Fortunately water was near, and I soon came to myself; but there was an end of my pursuing the antelopes or any other wild beasts, at least for that day.

The serpent was a boa-constrictor, and though its bite is not fatal, it left a mark on my arm which for several years I did not lose. For a long time after I would cry out in my dreams at night, and to the present day I shudder when I think of it. The sensation was fearful when I lay under the paw of the lion, but nothing in comparison with what I felt when the serpent held me in its coils.

About seven months afterwards my father said he wished me to go with him on a trading expedition, and promised me that in future I should accompany him to the war. He made me, however, solemnly engage that if anything happened to him I would tread in his footsteps and carry on affairs as he did.

His immediate object was a trading visit to a king of the name of Darrula, who lived about two hundred English miles up the Congo river. We had three of our largest canoes made ready, manned by about thirty of our best troops. The canoe in which my father took his place had many advantages which the others did not possess, especially a kind of cabin with a comfortable covering. Our wares consisted chiefly of Irish linen, red flannel, English printed cotton, hard ware, and two casks of American rum.

After a voyage of six days we anchored at the landing-place of King Darrula, and leaving the vessels in charge of a watch of five men we marched in formidable array up the village. We were soon observed, and the king at the head of about twenty men came to meet us. The two princes manifested no small pleasure at seeing each other, and I was formally introduced to his Majesty. Darrula was a man of lofty bearing; there was, however, a fierceness about his large black eyes, and a wildness in his looks I did not overmuch like. He wore red flannel stockings, short boots, and large kneebuckles. A marine uniform, with gold epauletes, and a striped nightcap completed his costume.

As we entered within the railings of the village the most prominent building that attracted our notice was of course the palace, a respectable looking residence, two stories high. In honour of our arrival some of the people began to blow their horns, and others to beat their drums and tambourines.

The palisades around the palace presented a terrific sight. At the distance of about every three feet a human head was stuck on a sharppointed rail; some of them fresh, others in different stages of decay. I

observed on one side of the palace these dreadful trophies were wanting; I soon learnt why.

As my father entered the gateway, he stepped into a pool of blood, and without appearing the least surprised he turned to his colleague and said, half in jest and half in earnest, "How is it, King Darrula, that you still keep up your old practices? You know that I am always ready to purchase your criminals and prisoners of war. Why should you put them to death?"

Well," said Darrula, "you know, King Zembola, that I have many heads come into my hands. Those I sell you are only for pocket money. As a powerful sovereign I am obliged to ornament my palace with the rest. I have yet fifty places vacant, and have only beheaded three to-day!"

One of the heads belonged to a woman of rank who had incurred his displeasure. The second was that of a slave who had broken a piece of glass; and the third was that of a sickly prisoner that no one would buy. With cold indifference he pointed to the heads stuck on the pales, still streaming with blood, as he thus described them.

My father only said, "You carry things too far." But the impression the sight made on my mind was so deep that I could not help shuddering. When Darrula observed this, he patted me on the shoulder and said, My boy, I find you have not seen much of the world."

I inwardly felt that I should be heartily glad to get away from a land of such horrors, and all that Captain Winton had told me of the white people's life came afresh to my mind.

On entering the palace I immediately observed that though Darrula was an African prince his palace was not furnished like that of my father. The walls were for the most part hung with weapons of war, and the attendants that surrounded him were chiefly agents of cruelty and bloodshed.

The two chiefs sat down at a table, and all the rest, except myself, withdrew. Refreshments of various kinds were set before them, and they at once began their matters of business. After a few general things had been disposed of, Darrula asked how much rum and other wares his royal brother had brought. To this question my father returned a somewhat evasive answer, and wished to ascertain how many slaves Darrula had on hand. While he, as a genuine tradesman, thought proper to furnish no distinct reply.

At length they came to an understanding for fifty-five slaves; and I could easily see that my father would get about a hundred per cent. by his wares, and most likely a similar amount on the slaves when he reached home.

Darrula, in his way, was an entertaining man enough; but when I looked at his savage features I wished myself any where rather than in

his palace. The afternoon was spent by the men in bringing up the various articles that had been bartered for the slaves, and by the two princes in what might be called social intercourse over the firewater. My father took the precaution to go down to the canoes before sunset to give orders for fifteen of his men to keep watch during the night, and to make arrangements for the rest to stay at the palace.

In the evening, Darrula was generous enough to ask my father's men into the room where the two kings sat, to share in the supper which he had provided for our entertainment. During the meal a priest of the neighbourhood came in. I instantly recognised him as one who had visited us at home. He sat near my father; and after some time he took an idol out of his pocket, held it up, and moved his lips as if he were praying to it. At a moment when Darrula's attention was occupied about something else he whispered to my father and said, "King Zembola, listen to me; you have been my friend, and I am yours; I know you will not betray me. To-morrow morning when you are about to leave there will be an attempt to put you and your people to death, in order to take possession of your canoes. Take care; more I cannot say. Tonight you will be safe, but mind to-morrow."

I saw my father's countenance change, but he regained his selfpossession, looked at the priest, and said, "Thank you, I will not forget."

The night wore on; it became time to retire to rest; several of the men had dropped off to sleep without ceremony, and the king himself had become drowsy. My father and I withdrew to the chamber that had been prepared for us, but we did not close our eyes without first setting two of our men to watch the door and ascertaining that our firearms were in order. We then went to sleep, and awoke at daybreak. In the morning the two kings greeted each other in the kindest terms, and we were entertained with a sumptuous breakfast. In the forenoon the slaves were chained together, taken down to the landing-place, and embarked.

After everything had been settled at the palace, Darrula, with a dozen of his men, unarmed, accompanied us to the boats apparently in peace and friendship. When we arrived at the bank of the river he shook hands with my father in the kindest manner, wished us a pleasant voyage and a good market. After a pause, he exclaimed, "King Zembola, I have forgotten something!" turned suddenly round, gave a signal, and sixty men rushed out of the bush and instantly fired on us. Two of our men fell.

My father had so far taken the precaution as to order his men before to have their muskets in readiness and loaded. He commanded them to stand and fire, and they did so with terrible effect; fifteen or twenty were brought down, and Darrula and the rest fled. My father, who was as prudent as he was brave, thought it better not to pursue them, but to hasten as fast as possible to the other side of the Congo.

For hours my father sat in silence, but the features of his countenance

seemed entirely changed. At length he gave utterance to the thoughts he had so long pondered over. Lifting up his hand, he declared that he would not rest either day or night till Darrula atoned for this offence with his life. "I have often heard," said he, "that princes can be treacherous to each other in war, but in peace and friendship, never." Hereon he ordered his men to take some refreshment, and to give the slaves some, who seemed pleased that Darrula had been put to flight.

When at length we reached our landing-place the first thing my father did was to call his subjects together and relate to them the conduct of the treacherous Darrula.

(To be continued.)

DO YOU PRAY?

David did. His circumstances were indeed unfavourable. A crown was upon his head. The care of a kingdom pressed him. He might have said, "I have no time." But he prayed. He prayed much. Prayer formed one of his most influential habits. What proofs and illustrations abound in those wonderful writings, the Psalms! How touching, carnest, often sublime, were his cries unto God!

Daniel did. He was a statesman and courtier. He lived in the midst of idolaters. To them his religion was offensive. The king bade him not to pray unto the Lord. If he did, it was at his peril. The great men of Babylon conspired to make this very thing the means of his ruin. Still he prayed. He did it, not ostentatiously, but without concealment. His religious principle was stronger than his fear of men. Three times a day he kneeled, and prayed, and gave thanks before his God, as aforetime.'

St. Paul did. It was the first pulse and expression of his new life in Christ. "Behold he prayeth!" said the Spirit. The fact was the surpassing but conclusive proof of his spiritual change. From being Saul the persecutor, it was thus shown he had become Paul the saint. After that event, his life was one of prayer, as well as heroic labour; of prayer for himself, for his countrymen, for the Gentile world, for the blood-bought Church. Holier, more intense, sublimer aspirations probably never ascended from a soul on this side of heaven.

Our Lord Jesus Christ did. This is an impressive truth. It ought to be pondered by all who do not pray. The Saviour was perfect. He was divine. He had no sins to be forgiven. There were in him no evil passions to be subdued. He was subject to no temptation that he could not resist. He was assailed by no enemy whom he could not conquer. He had life in himself. He had creative power. He had infinite merit. But he prayed. He prayed earnestly,

Cold mountains and the midnight air
Witnessed the fervour of his prayer.

Yes; David, Daniel, St. Paul, our Lord Jesus Christ, all prayed. The prophets and the saints were men of prayer. Even God Incarnate

prayed for you. Do you pray?

CHRISTIAN CONTENTION.-God grant that we may contend with other. churches as the vine with the olive, which of us shall bear the best fruit; but not as the briar with the thistle, which of us shall be the most unprofitable.

BENEATH the waves of the sea there is a work going on which, for magnificence and beauty, outrivals the marvellous achievements of men. The structure gradually rises, but so imperceptibly that a generation of men can scarcely mark its progress, and so silently, that, as in Solomon's temple, no axe or hammer is heard. The foundations are laid in the bed of the ocean, and the walls for centuries have been pushing their way towards the light. The materials washed from the mountains on the shore, and, floated in every drop that pours into the deep, are polished and put together by the coral insect. The builders of this edifice are but a "little folk," but industry and numbers make up for their littleness. Ships from different ports pass over it, and as yet no chart tells of the hidden reef. By and by, in some great storm, when the waves roll from the deepest trough of the sea, this mass of rock may be discovered, and in some future age may peer above the surface of the ocean. Weeds and grasses may float against it-the ceaseless movement of the waves fill up its hollows-strange seeds from far-off lands catch and germinate in its soil-flowers spring up and diffuse their fragrance through the air, and birds build their nests and pour forth their songs in its forest-groves. Thus is the coral island formed.

The character of every human being is formed much in the same way. For years, beneath the surface of social life, like the coral insect, in obedience to the instinct of its nature, the child is gathering unconsciously to itself, and too often unconsciously to others, the materials for the future man. For this purpose nothing is rejected; nursery tales and toys, sunshine and shower, books and playmates, parental example and advice, all are received, and all leave their good or evil marks on the character of the child. It is this assimilating tendency that renders home influence of the first importance in the education of youth.

"Sire," said a lady to Napoleon, seeking a compliment, "who is the greatest woman in France?" "She who has the most children" answered the Emperor. He spoke as a soldier, and only looked on men as the rough material of war. A good man would have added, "and brings them up the best."

On the hearthstone is usually laid the foundation of manhood's weal or woe. For the first ten years of life the mother's heart and mind are the principal source of supply, and during those years of golden opportunities she may, in a great measure, with the blessing of God, trace the outlines of the future man. Precept and example can do much; prayer can do more. No man ever forgets what he learned at his mother's knee. He may strive to stifle it with business cares or worldly pleasures, but in every lull of life's storm he will hear that home voice, like the song of the seashell, whispering in his heart.

Man has been described as a bundle of habits. And there can be no doubt they go far towards making or marring that active force which we call manhood. But habits are of two classes, and there is a wide difference between them. Good habits can only be secured by long and persevering labour, while evil ones come of themselves, and can hardly be got rid of.

Occasionally we see men brought under the dominion of some master vice that shatters both body and mind, and sends them to end their days in an asylum. These cases are rare, and do not fail to excite our pity. Most men are slaves of small vices, which are no less fatal.