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Ed. Yes, Emmeline; and it is an exceedingly spirited narrative of personal adventures at Rio Janeiro, Buenos Ayres; taking one's breath away by a ride through the Pampas, freezing us in a winter journey across the Cordilleras, and after visiting Chili, and Valparaiso, introducing us to some lively pictures of a digger's life in California.

Emm. He was a very venturesome man.

Ed. The author and hero proves himself to be a man of unusual daring; the prospect of danger seemed to whet his appe tite for enterprise, and while rushing through many perils, he still had time to notice droll things, and make droll observations by the way. The quiet, dry humour which peeps out here and there, in the most unexpected places, and in which only a German would indulge, compels a laugh even when the thoughts are grave; and serves to fix the reader's attention.

Aug. Another work from the same firm-THE LONG MOSs SPRING.

Emm. I cannot say much in approval. It is a small novel, written in a rhapsodical style, with sentiments of high flown love. It is not worse than other novels, I suppose; but as it does not come in a precisely "novel" shape, I did not expect to find it a sort of boarding school romance. America can send us better works, I am sure, than this; and, I only wonder that such enlightened publishers should have deviated from the practice of introducing good and useful literature, which has gained them so much credit and so many friends in the reading world.

Ed. There may be some danger, now that there is an American mania, that trash may get into this country along with the literary productions which have so justly gained a high position for transatlantic talent.

Mrs. M. But can nothing be said in favour of the “ 'Long Moss Spring"? Are there no points for commendation ?

Emm. Well, mamma, it is not one of my kind of books; but I must allow that it will interest the reader-and, I fear few readers care for anything more than to be amused—and it contains descriptions of American life, which are not without their value.

Aug. Emmeline, have you read LIGHT THROUGH THE CLOUDS.*

Emm. Yes, I read it this morning.

Aug. A book for girls, I perceive from the frontispiece. Emm. Yes; to show how joy and peace come through believing, and how all clouds of sorrow and affliction may be penetrated by the illuminations of heavenly grace.

*London: Seeleys.

Aug. Is it clever?

Emm. The story is told in a simple, unaffected manner; has no great originality, but illustrates the truths and power of the Gospel in a way sufficiently interesting to secure a perusal, and, I hope, will deepen serious thought in its readers' minds. Ed. The next work is MINISTERING CHILDREN.* Emm. Say you are delighted with it, please.

Ed. Furnish me with the reasons for the delight.

Emm. It is a story designed for children, to prove to them that they can be useful while they are children. Many children are introduced, and a variety of ministrations are assigned to them.

Aug. Ah, a "sisterhood" affair, I conjecture!

Emm. No; the narrative does not step out of the common walks of life, into any romantic regions, nor into very aristocratic circles, but deals with common persons and common sympathies. I like especially the authoress' views of money.

Ed. What are they?

Emm. That the talent of money should not be suffered to assume any undue supremacy in the service of benevolence. Let children be taught, and trained, and led aright, and they will not be slow to learn that they possess a personal influence everywhere; that the first principles of Divine truth acquired by them, are a means of communicating to others present com fort and eternal happiness; and that the heart of love is the only spring that can effectually govern and direct the hand of charity.

Mrs. M. Is it quite evangelical.

Emm. Entirely so. It is by the authoress of the "Female Visitor among the Poor," and shows how carefully the writer has kept her eyes and ears open as a school and district visitor.

Aug. MAJOR THORPE'S NARRATIVE.* You knew him, perhaps, Mr. Editor?

Ed. He was well known and highly esteemed by numerous friends.

Emm. Was he interesting?

Ed. His conversation was remarkably so, and his company was much sought, although there was always great difficulty in getting him to talk about himself. His courage and bravery had been severely tried, and he had proved himself a faithful soldier of an earthly warfare. He was equally well known for his devout zeal in a higher service and a more glorious cause. His tombstone tells us that though “distinguished by his king

* London: Seeleys.

for gallant service, he counted it his chief honour to serve in the ranks of the redeemed, as a soldier and servant of Jesus Christ."

Emm. What was his history?

Ed. His career was of no ordinary character. It commenced when he was only sixteen years of age, with the retreat through the mountains of Gallicia, under Sir John Moore. In that retreat he nearly died of hunger and excessive fatigue, being on one occasion left behind, and only recovered by the extraordinary generosity of brother officers. He subsequently served in the Peninsular war, and was repeatedly wounded--twice severely; once left upon the field at Albuera for dead, but found after the battle by two soldiers, who, perceiving that he breathed, carried him into the British camp. In 1812, when recovered of his wounds, he again joined the army, and fought in the battle of Toulouse, where he was again severely wounded, and where he rendered essential service. He next served in Canada, and was at the battle of Plattsburgh. He retired with his regiment to Europe, was present at the capture of Paris, and remained in France with the army of occupation till 1818. He afterwards served in disturbed Irish districts, and, for his prudence and bravery, was made Knight of Hanover in 1835.

Emm. I should think he was now tired of fighting.

Ed. At least for an earthly monarch. For the last nine years of his life he had the principal management of the Foreign Aid Society-a duty for which his foreign life well qualified him, as, thereby, he had become acquainted with many pious foreigners.

Mrs. M. And yet he had helped to slay his fellow creatures!

Ed. And his narrative-a plain and unfinished autobiography found among his papers-paints the horrors and cruelties of war in as dark a colour as any member of the Peace Society could desire them to be pourtrayed. His sketches are brief, but they furnish evidence of the folly and cruelty of setting men to murder one another in furtherance of some political scheme. The Major's account of the battle of Corunna, and of the Walcheren Expedition, are enough to sicken the mind of war, and to make the Christian sigh for the advent of the Prince of Peace.

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HERE is a story told of Napoleon Buonaparte which, to our mind, assists to soften the rugged history of his career. It is a story of the capture of a British sailor by the French fleet, at the time that preparations were made for the invasion of England. This poor fellow was suffered to wander about Boulogne, instead of being shut up in prison. We suppose they thought him of too little value to be very carefully guarded or watched,

He used generally to stand for hours on the shore with his face turned thoughtfully towards the English coast. And when he saw the birds in their unfettered flight, winging their way across the sea, he wished that he could soar with them, and reach, as they could reach, the white cliffs of Dover. And when the waves rose high in the fury of a tempest, he thought how gladly he could keep the midnight watch in some English vessel, even amidst the perils of the deep, if that vessel were but trying to make an English port.

At last, when care had banished sleep,

He saw, one morning, dreaming, doting,
An empty hogshead on the deep,

Come shoreward floating.

A strange smile crossed his countenance—a smile in which despair, hope, and triumph, mysteriously blended. He rushed into the surf, heedless of a wetting, and dragged the tub on shore. Then, with some difficulty, he managed to get it across the beach to a cave, which was near. Fortunately, it was an unfrequented part of the shore, and no one witnessed the exploit.

Day after day he went to this cave, and by dint of extraordinary labour, he fashioned this empty barrel into something like a boat, interlacing it with willows from the neighbouring woods. He hoped by means of it to escape from his captivity.

But, dear me! 'twas a thing beyond

Description! Such a wretched wherry
Perhaps ne'er ventured on a pond,

Or crossed a ferry.

For ploughing on the salt sea-field,

"Twould make the very boldest shudder,

Untarred, uncompassed, and unkeeled,

No sail, no rudder!

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