pressure of penury; and this morning's advertisement means, that the day seems near at hand when his children may cry for bread, and he have none to give. Not always, by any means, but how often might such advertisements tell tales like this!

Could we but look, through this long line of advertisements, into the hearts of those who have published them, what a revelation would there be of human life! Here are partnerships formed and closed; young men entering into business, old men going out of it; new inventions and speculations; failures, sales of household furniture, and dwellings. These have been attended by the most sanguine hopes, by utter hopelessness, by every form of fear, anxiety, and sorrow. This young man, just entering business, looks forward, with anticipations bright as the morning, to his marriage day. This sale of furniture speaks of death, diminished fortunes, a scattered family. There is not a sale of stocks, which does not straiten or increase the narrow means of widows and orphans.

This long column of ship news-a thousand hearts are at this moment beating with joy and thankfulness, or are oppressed by anxiety, or crushed down by sorrow, because of these records, which to others seem so meaningless!One reads here of his prosperity; another of ruined fortunes. And the wrecked ship, whose crew was swept by the surge into the breakers, and dashed on the rockshow many in their solitary homes are mourning for those who sailed with bright hopes in that ship, but who shall never return!

And, more than this-could these lines which record the transactions of daily business, tell of the hearts which indited them, what temptations and struggles would they reveal! They would tell of inexperience deceived or protected; of integrity fallen, or made stedfast as the rock; of moral trials, in which noble natures have been broken down or built up. Had we the key and the interpretation of what we here read, this daily chronicle of traffic would be a sadder tragedy than any which Shakspeare wrote.

LESSON XLVII.

The Seventh Plague of Egypt. The Tempest.-Anon.

'Twas morn-the rising splendour roll'd
On marble towers and roofs of gold;
Hall, court, and gallery below,
Were crowded with a living flow;
Egyptian, Arab, Nubian there,
The bearers of the bow and spear;
The hoary priest, the Chaldee sage,

The slave, the gemm'd and glittering page-
Helm, turban, and tiara, shone

A dazzling ring round Pharaoh's throne.

There came a man- -the human tide
Shrank backward from his stately stride:
His cheek with storm and time was tann'd;
A shepherd's staff was in his hand;

A shudder of instinctive fear

Told the dark king what step was near;
On through the host the stranger came,
It parted round his form like flame.

He stoop'd not at the footstool stone,
He clasp'd not sandal, kissed not throne;
Erect he stood amid the ring,

His only words—" Be just, Ö king!"

On Pharaoh's cheek the blood flush'd high,
A fire was in his sullen eye;

Yet on the Chief of Israel

No arrow of his thousands fell:

All mute and moveless as the grave

Stood chill'd the satrap and the slave.

"Thou'rt come," at length the monarch spoke; Haughty and high the words outbroke:

"Is Israel weary of its lair,

The forehead peel'd, the shoulder bare?
Take back the answer to your band;
Go, reap the wind; go, plough the sand;

Go, vilest of the living vile,
To build the never ending pile,
Till, darkest of the nameless dead,
The vulture on their flesh is fed.
What better asks the howling slave
Than the base life our bounty gave?"

Shouted in pride the turban'd peers,
Upclashed to heaven the golden spears.
"King! thou and thine are doom'd!-Behold!"
The prophet spoke-the thunder roll'd!
Along the pathway of the sun

Sail'd vapoury mountains, wild and dun.
"Yet there is time," the prophet said-
He raised his staff-the storm was stay'd:
"King! be the word of freedom given:
What art thou, man, to war with Heaven ?"

There came no word.-The thunder broke! Like a huge city's final smoke,

Thick, lurid, stifling, mix'd with flame,
Through court and hall the vapours came.
Loose as the stubble in the field,

Wide flew the men of spear and shield;
Scattered like foam along the wave,
Flew the proud pageant, prince and slave:
Or, in the chains of terror bound,

Lay, corpse-like, on the smouldering ground.
'Speak, king!-the wrath is but begun-
Still dumb?-then, Heaven, thy will be done!"

Echoed from earth a hollow roar,
Like ocean on the midnight shore;
A sheet of lightning o'er them wheel'd,
The solid ground beneath them reel'd;
In dust sank roof and battlement;
Like webs the giant walls were rent;
Red, broad, before his startled gaze,
The monarch saw his Egypt blaze.

Still swelled the plague the flame grew pale;
Burst from the clouds the charge of hail;
With arrowy keenness, iron weight,

Down pour'd the ministers of fate;

Till man and cattle, crush'd, congeal'd,
Cover'd with death the boundless field.

Still swell'd the plague-uprose the blast,
The avenger, fit to be the last;

On ocean, river, forest, vale,

Thunder'd at once the mighty gale.
Before the whirlwind flew the tree,
Beneath the whirlwind roar'd the sea;
A thousand ships were on the wave-
Where are they?-ask that foaming grave!
Down go the hope, the pride of years,
Down go the myriad mariners;
The riches of Earth's richest zone,
Gone! like a flash of lightning, gone!

And, lo! that first fierce triumph o'er,
Swells Ocean on the shrinking shore;
Still onward, onward, dark and wide,
Engulfs the land the furious tide.
Then bow'd thy spirit, stubborn king,
Thou serpent, reft of fang and sting;
Humbled before the prophet's knee,
He groan'd, "Be injured Israel free.”"

To heaven the sage upraised his wand;
Back rolled the deluge from the land;
Back to its caverns sank the gale;
Fled from the noon the vapours pale;
Broad burn'd again the joyous sun:
The hour of wrath and death was done.

LESSON XLVIII.

Danger of Prematurely Tasking the Mental Powers of the Young.-A. BRIGHAM.

MUCH of the thoughtlessness of parents, regarding the injury they may do their children by too early cultivating their minds, has arisen from the mystery in which the science of mind has been involved; and ignorance of the

connection between the mind and body; for we find them exceedingly anxious and careful about the health of their children in other respects. Entirely forgetful of the brain, they know there is danger in exercising many other parts of the body too much, when they are but partially developed. They know that caution is necessary with children in respect to their food, lest their delicate digestive organs should be injured by a too exciting and stimulating regimen.

A parent would be greatly alarmed if his little child, by continued encouragement and training, had learned to eat as much food as a healthy adult. Such a prodigy of gluttony might undoubtedly be formed. The method of effecting it, would be somewhat like that of enabling a child to remember, and reason, and study, with the ability and constancy of an adult. Each method is dangerous, but probably the latter is the more so, because the brain is a more delicate organ than the stomach.

The activity of most of the organs of the body can be very greatly increased; they can be made to perform their functions for a while with unusual facility and power. I will dwell upon this fact a little. A child, for instance, may be gradually accustomed to eat and digest large quantities of stimulating animal food. I have seen an instance of this kind, and when I remonstrated with the parents on the impropriety and danger of allowing a child but two years old, such diet constantly, I was told that he was uncommonly robust; and indeed he appeared to be in vigourous health; but soon after this he had a long inflammatory fever, of an unusual character for children, which I attributed at the time, to the stimulating diet allowed him. This diet appeared also to have an effect upon his disposition, and confirmed the observation of Hufeland, that "infants who are accustomed to eat much animal food become robust, but at the same time passionate, violent and brutal."

A child may also be made to execute surprising muscular movements, such as walking on a rope, and other feats; but these are learned only by long practice, which greatly developes the muscles by which the movements are executed. From frequent and powerful action, the muscles of the arms of blacksmiths and boxers and boatmen, those of the lower limbs of dancers, and those of the faces of buf