or dog, all are alike acceptable. He has as many cunning tricks as a fox for enticing his prey, and is an excellent climber of trees, where he crouches amongst the foliage, ready to spring down on any unsuspecting victim that may pass. It is found in Africa, India, and other parts of Asia. The jaguar's home is amongst the woods that surround the lakes and rivers of America. It is much larger than the leopard, and the body is thicker. It is the most powerful of American beasts of prey. The colour is usually a rich yellow, with large spotted rings, each ring having a small black spot in the centre. He also lurks amongst the branches of trees, and will even capture the monkeys for his food. How wonderfully these animals are adapted for their natural habits. The lion prowls about the sandy desert for its food, and is coloured like the soil; so that it is able to approach near the deer selected for its meal. The tiger is striped, and amongst the tall jungle grass cannot be quickly discovered, and is able to surprise its victims. The habits of the leopard and jaguar lead them to climb the tree for food or for safety, and amongst the foliage the markings of their fur resemble spots of sunshine glancing through the leaves. God is their Maker; God the Artist who so wisely and beautifully marked them. 'O Lord, how manifold are Thy works!' THE Watchnight is passed, and the New Year has come, Bringing gladness to many, but sadness to some; The Severn, the Thames, and the Humber. What bring you?' His eyes have a far-away look; I really believe he is freezing a brook Somewhere between Dublin and Kerry. And all the high peaks he may light on. Like a shroud, from Llandudno to Brighton. "What bring you to me?' He is tossing a wreck; And what to my friends?' He is off to Quebec; 'And what to my Queen and these regions?' All talking is idle; all questions he shirks, He must sicken and die, like the old one. LITTLE SALLY. BY MINA E. GOULDING, AUTHOR OF 'MOTHER'S PLACE,' ETC., ETC. Ir was a clear, cold afternoon in December. Sally was an old-fashioned, odd-looking child of nine years. Her hair was thick and dark, and, had it been nicely combed, it would have fallen in pretty ringlets over her neck. As it was, it hung about her head in a tangled mass. But a stranger, looking into Sally's face, would not have noticed her hair so much as her eyes, which were large, dark, and very bright. She had never been inside a school in her life, and would not have been able to tell the name of a single letter in the alphabet; but deep down in Sally's heart there was a craving for knowledge, which no one around her could satisfy. Just now all her wonder was centred in that one rosy cloud. Where had it come from? Where was it going? How was it that it kept up so high, and did not tumble down on the house-tops? All these questions Sally asked herself, but none of them could she answer. She watched it gradually disappear behind the house-tops, and when the last little corner passed from her sight, she murmured, "There now! if it ain't clean gone,' and slowly got down off her stool and looked round the room. What a miserable place that room would have seemed to you, could you have peeped in just then! Two dirty cups, a tea-pot with a broken spout and no lid, and a dry crust of bread, were scattered over the table; the floor was covered with odd scraps of paper and other rubbish, the fire was very low and almost choked with ashes, while a dirty saucepan stood on the still dirtier hearth. Sitting immediately in front of the fire, with his elbows resting on his knees, was a white-haired man, Sally's grandfather. Close beside him crouched a little dog, whom they called Toby. His coat was very shaggy, his tail was short, and one of his ears had had a piece bitten out of it years before; but, although his looks were not prepossessing, Toby was a faithful little fellow, and had done quite a noble life-work. So, in his case, we may well say, 'Handsome is that handsome does.' "Tis cold, Gran'fer, ain't it?' said Sally, sitting down beside Toby, and looking into the old man's face. The eyes which had been fixed on the fire were now turned to Sally; but Gran'fer could not see her, for he was blind. 'It is cold, lass,' he replied. 14 SALLY AND GRAN FER. 'You never see the clouds, I s'pose, Gran'fer?' remarked Sally, after a few moments' silence. The old man shook his head and heaved a sigh. 'There's one gone over just a minute ago; a rare beauty, all pretty and red. Who makes 'em ?' 'What questions you do ask, Sally,' replied Gran'fer, feeling for her head, so that he might draw his hands over her tangled curls. 'Meb-be I'd have found out if I'd had my eyesight; but I never see 'em, so I can't say. I might ha' knowed once, but then Gran'fer forgets things so.' Sally was silent. Gran'fer had turned his sightless eyes to the fire again, and he was evidently trying very hard to remember something which had been told him long ago. Presently he drew a long breath, and said, 'I thinks my mother used to say as God made the clouds. P'raps I'm wrong,' remarked the old man. 'Who's God?' asked Sally. Gran'fer seemed to think that God was somebody very strong and very clever, and he could make people rich or poor, and do as he liked with them; and he thought, too, that God wasn't much of a friend to poor folk. 'Where's Toby?' asked Gran'fer, presently. At sound of his name the little dog gave a spring, and placed his hind feet on the old man's knee, stretching his fore-paws up till they rested on his master's shoulder. 'Ain't he a good dog, now?' exclaimed the old man. 'You loves Toby, don't'ee, Sally?' he enquired. 'Why, yes! I loves him next to you and mother.' 'Ah! that's right. You'll look after Toby when I'm dead and gone.' These words fell so often from the old man's lips, that Sally was not long in finding a reply. 'Yes, I'll allus look after him.' 'That's Gran'fer's good little lass,' said the old man. 'Tell me over again how Toby saved your life, Gran'fer.' "Tis a many years ago,' began the old man, 'that I got Toby, and he were allus a good dog from the first. I hadn't had him many months 'fore he saved my life. I'd walked nigh twenty mile one day, an' I felt cold and bad all over; for nobody had seemed willin' to give the poor blind man a copper or a crust that day. At last I come to a place where there was a stone as I had often rested on afore, and I sat down there, thinkin' I was a dyin'. I felt my hands and feet get kind o' dead, and poor Toby, he climbed up, and licked my face and whined so pitiful like; and then, all of a sudden, he jumps down, and off he goes like the wind, and presently he comes back wi' a lady along of him. Who she was I don't know to this day; but she was kind to me, and would have me go to her house close by. Then Toby he come along by my side, a jumpin' and barkin' with delight. I got a warm supper, and Toby got some bones, and then the lady would have us sleep in one of the downstair places. She said as her mother was blind, and so she could pity me. 'And so Toby saved my life; for I should have froze that night if he hadn't been there; and I couldn't die quiet now if I thought he wouldn't allus be cared for after all he's done.' Gran'fer always wound up his story with these words; but Sally reminded him that he'd not told her how the kind lady talked to him. 'She told me,' replied the old man, slowly, 'about somebody as could open blind men's eyes. I can't mind ezackly what 'twas said about him, but I know she spoke his name; and she said, too, as there was a rest for poor blind men. But Sally, my lass, I've lived a many years since then, and never found the man or the rest, and I don't expect I'll ever find 'em now.' And then the old man shook his head again, and Sally fell into another day-dream. GLIMPSES AT EVERY-DAY WONDERS. BY SARSON. I. THE THERE are many wonderful things, dear children, in God's beautiful world. Some are hidden very deeply, but others are close to us, we see them every day, and yet some of us think very little about them. We will have some little talks together about a few of these wonders that are close to us, and we will begin with one that helps us to discern others. The eye is not only a wonderful object, but also a very beautiful one. Much about people's characters may be learned from the eye; and of the state of feelings, whether pleased or angry, glad or sorrowful. There is a light in it which meets the light of day. When the soul leaves its clay-house, that light. flickers and in a moment goes for ever out. Then we know that the spirit is departed. It has been a disputed point among artists whether there is more expression in the mouth or in the eye. Most children would say in the eye, because they so anxiously watch father's and mother's when anything is to be decided. in which they are interested, and it is no wonder, for the eye is the little window out of which the soul looks. God has set the eye in the face for use; and He has made it like a jewel to brighten and beautify. He has given the eye its rare colouring of blue, or black, or gray, or brown. We are not satisfied with looking at a baby's face till it has opened its innocent little eyes. Yet more wonderful than the eye itself is its design and uses. God made it for the light, and He prepared the light for it. The light is a messenger betwixt it and the objects filling it. It could not perceive them if the light reflected from them did not enter it, and paint pictures of them on the tiny membrane-the retina, which is placed at the back of the socket; and how wonderful, that on such a tiny surface a sweeping landscape may be spread, or a lofty mountain raise its peak. Has it ever occurred to you to ask how this is? Well, when rays of light pass EYE. through transparent substances of a certain form, they bend to a point which is called the focus, and produce images there of the bodies they come from. By means of a nerve these images are conveyed to the brain, and so is produced the sense of sight. When men began to make telescopes, they made them on the same principle as the eye is made, without knowing it; for the eye has its own lenses or natural magnifiers. There are three things which protect the delicate eye of man from injury. One is the perpetual moisture, which keeps it as bright and clear as the windows of our houses should be. Another is its exquisite perception of pain. If anything, however tiny, gets into it, there is no rest for us till we get it out. And then the eyelid, with the lash that finishes it so prettily, closes over it in sleep, excludes the light when it is too much for the pupil, and covers it if sand and dust are blowing about. The little birds who have not this provision, are given instead a wonderful power of flattening and rounding the eye, and they can do this with great rapidity. If they go through a thorn-hedge they flatten the eye. When they can safely do so, they let it protrude. Before rain, swallows fly near the ground in search of insects that have come below for warmth. Then they round their eyes till they are like little microscopes, and they can see and follow insects which our flatter optics cannot discover. Again, when the hawk swoops down upon the little bird or chicken from an immense distance, it has made its mark sure by flattening its eye, and so bringing the far object near, as the telescope does. I hope the bright eyes that read this paper will be made good use of by the little people to whom they belong. They have opened on a very beautiful world, and there are noble works of man and an endless variety of God's wonders waiting to instruct and delight them. |