and glares upon his fellow-men with the longings of a cannibal.

12. Who will hesitate to give his mite to avert such awful results? Surely not the dwellers in a city, ever famed for deeds of benevolence and charity. Freely have your hearts and purses opened, heretofore, to the call of suffering humanity.

13. Nobly did you respond to oppressed Greece and struggling Poland. Within Erin's borders is an enemy more cruel than the Turk; more tyrannical than the Russian. Bread is the only weapon that can conquer him.

14. Let us then load ships with this glorious munition, and, in the name of our common humanity, wage war against this despot, Famine. Let us "cast our bread upon the waters," and if we are selfish enough to desire it back again, we may recollect the promise, that it shall return to us after many days.

15. Give, then, generously and freely. Recollect that, in so doing, you are exercising one of the most godlike qualities of your nature, and at the same time enjoying one of the greatest luxuries of life. We ought to thank our Maker, that he has permitted us to exercise, equally with himself, that noblest of even the divine attributes, benevolence.

16. Go home and look at your family, smiling in rosy health, and then think of the pale, faminepinched cheeks of the poor children of Ireland; and I know you will give, according to your store, even as a bountiful Providence has given to you— not grudgingly, but with an open hand; for the quality of benevolence, like that of mercy,

"Is not strained:

It droppeth like the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath. It is twice blessed:
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes."

17. It is now midnight in Ireland. In a wretched

hovel, a miserable, half-starved mother presses in her arms a sleeping infant, whose little care-worn face shows, that coward Famine spares not age or

sex.

But lo! as the mother gazes anxiously upon it, and listens to its little moaning, the baby smiles! 18. The good angel is whispering in its ear that, at this very moment, far across the wide sea, kind hearts and generous hands, are preparing to chase away haggard hunger from old Ireland, and that ships are already speeding rapidly to her shores, laden with the food which shall restore life to the parent, and renew the exhausted fountains of its own young existence.

THE HAPPY FARMER.

1. SAW ye the farmer at his plough,
As you were riding by?

Or wearied 'neath his noonday toil,
When summer suns were high?

And thought you that his lot was hard?
And did you thank your God

That

you, and

yours, were not condemned

Thus like a slave to plod?

2. Come, see him at his harvest home,
When garden, field, and tree
Conspire with flowing stores to fill
His barn and granary.

His healthful children gayly sport
Amid the new-mown hay,
Or proudly aid, with vigorous arm,
His task, as best they may.

3. The Harvest-Giver is their friend, The maker of the soil,

And Earth, the mother, gives them bread,
And cheers their patient toil.

Come, join them round their wintry hearth,
Their heartfelt pleasures see,

And you can better judge, how blest
The farmer's life may be.

THE CRAZY MAN.

1. Ir was a chilly day in winter, and we were all seated in a comfortable school room. A man of most wretched appearance was seen passing by, drawing a hand sled, on which were several bundles of woollen rags, the remnants of garments worn till they could be of no further use.

2. He was clad in those but little better, and was apparently so weak, as to be scarcely able to draw his sled. Some looked out of the window and began to laugh. The instructor saw him, and remarked,

"You may all rise up, and see that wretched man passing by." They did so, and nearly all were diverted to laughter.

3. After all had seen him, the teacher told them they might take their seats, and then remarked, "I was willing you should look at that man; but possibly my object in giving permission was misunderstood, as I see the effect on your feelings, was very different from what was produced on mine.

4. “That miserable man, you at once perceive, is crazy. He has bundles of rags on his sled, which, perhaps, he values, though they can be of no service to him. You perceived, he looked pale and emaciated; he was so weak as scarcely to be able to draw his load. He is very poorly shielded from the

cold of winter, and will very probably perish in the

snow.

5. "Now tell me, my scholars, does this man excite your laughter? He was once a schoolboy, sprightly and active as any of you; his return from school was welcomed by joyful parents, and his presence gave pleasure to the youthful throng, who met each other in a winter evening, for merriment and sport.

6. "Look at him now; and can you sport with him who has lost his reason, and, in losing that, has lost all? Should I point to one of you, and be able, by looking down into future years, to say to the rest, Your associate here will hereafter be insane, and roam round a wretched maniac,' would you not rather weep than laugh?

7. "You saw me affected when I began to speak. I will tell you why. I had a friend once; he was dear to me as a brother; he was every thing I could wish in a friend. The character of his mind was

such, as raised in his friends high expectations.

8. "I have, indeed, seldom, if ever, seen his equal. He could grasp any subject, and what others found difficult, only served as amusement for him. I have many of his letters, which would not disgrace any well-educated man, although written by him when he was a schoolboy.

9. "I expected to see him taking a lead in the affairs of men, and that his opinions would be quoted by others. I saw him after an absence of two years. 'Where?' do you ask. It was in a cage! and even then he was chained! He was a maniac of the most decided character.

10. "The moment he saw me, he seized my hand with wild joy, and for a while refused to release it. He had, in his madness, torn the skin from his own, and when I freed myself, my hand was reddened by his blood.

11. "For years he has wandered about, whenever it was safe to liberate him. But he is now, and always will be, a maniac. I have known sorrow, have seen friends die that were near as friends could be; but the hour that I sat by the confined and crazy Bernet was an hour of the greatest anguish I ever knew.

12. "Remember, my pupils, from what has passed this hour, to render unfeigned thanks to God, for continuing your reason hitherto; and if ever again you are disposed to laugh, when a crazy man passes, remember what may be your own condition hereafter."

THE AVALANCHE.

1. THE day had been one of toil, and the night was disturbed and restless. Unable to sleep, I rose about midnight and looked out of my window, and lo! the moon hung right over a clear, cold glacier, that seemed almost within reach of my hand.

2. The silent, white, and mighty form looked like a monster from the unseen world, and I fairly shuddered as I gazed at it. It seemed to hang over the little hamlet, like a cold and silent foe.

3. In the morning, mounting our mules, we started for one of the heights, nearly eight thousand feet above the level of the sea. As we approached that peak of tempests, the Wetterhorn, whose bare cliff rose straight up, thousands of feet from the path to the regions of eternal snow, the guide screamed out, "Look! look!"

4. And it was time to look; for, from the topmost height of the Wetterhorn, suddenly arose something like white dust, followed by a movement of a mighty mass, and the next moment an awful