on his master's well-known countenance. All felt, that like the good centurion in Scripture, he had but to say to any of them, 'do this, and he doeth it; come, and he cometh.' Their hearts, under Providence, were in his hand, and they felt it was well it should be so!

But there was in young Norman's reverential gaze, something deeper and more filial than any, and strange to say, on this day alone, when all seemed elated and emboldened, it was tempered for the first time with fear. For Norman had a suit to prefer, before that evening should close, on which hung his own and another's happiness; and not all the softened feelings of the day of jubilee would, he feared, reconcile the old pastor to the thought of parting with his Lilly! How this was to be brought about or even hinted at, was more than even a lover could devise -so to Providence he left it, as he had been taught by his pastor to leave all besides.

And strangely was the knot cut, and the difficulty removed, ere the thought had well passed from the young man's troubled mind. Among the healths of that eventful evening, 'absent friends,' the one ever dearest to the hearts of Scotsmen, was not forgotten; and then, for the first time, did the pious father allow himself to whisper a regret that his daughter, the only stay of his old age, should dwell divided from him by duty, in the new world. True, she was solacing by her kindness, and cheering by her society, the labors in Christian usefulness of a worthy countryman, whom the spiritual necessities of his exiled brethren had induced to forego home and kindred for their sakes. But

they had been long, long absent on this labor of love, and a father's heart would yearn, on the proudest day of his life, for a glimpse of his long banished, and only child!

The vain wish had crossed like a passing cloud, the rarely dimmed serenity of his mind, and left but a halo behind, when, as Lilly and Norman were leaving the house to prepare for the juvenile fete, two plainly dressed, but respectable looking people, opened with something of strange familiarity the garden gate, and asked if Mr. Maxwell was at home.

'He is,' replied Norman, answering for the bashful and surprised girl; but very particularly engaged with friends, who would be loath to part with him to-night, even on business.'

6

'Lilly, my own Lilly!' sobbed out the female traveller, clasping her daughter to her heart—and then finding breath to say, How is my dear father?' 'Oh, well! well!' cried the delighted girl, hanging round her father's neck in frantic joy; 'come and see him directly!'

'Not just directly, my own Lilly!' said he, composedly; -seventy-four is no age for surprises, even joyful ones— Sir,' (turned to Norman, who stood studying, all lovers will guess how earnestly, the parents on whose fiat hung his life,) 'my wife had set her heart on reaching home on her father's day of jubilee. We had a quick passage and a safe one, God be praised! to Liverpool, and, travelling day and night, were set down by coach this morning at BHow to get on in time was the difficulty-but the back

woods have made us good walkers, and here we are, not too late for the grace-cup of thanksgiving to him who has brought us safe to our father's door, and to friends, who will make us welcome for his sake!— Please, sir, to pave the way for our meeting.'

Norman hailed the omen, and came as deliberately as joy would let him, into the room. 'There are strangers without, sir, who wish to speak with you; and as they have tidings from New Brunswick, perhaps your friends will consent to spare you, though unwillingly.'

'From New Brunswick!' exclaimed the old man, hastily rising, then sinking down again from the painful agitation, 'you have seen and spoken to them—is all well? Norman, my son, tell me truly.' 'All well, even as your heart could wish; but there are those without, who could tell you better, far better than any words, about those you love!' 'Are they still without?-oh, bring them in, pray- -our friends will excuse.' 'But will you promise?' The old man cast a bewildered gaze around — caught a glimpse of Lilly's beaming face as it peeped eagerly in at the half-open door, and exclaiming, 'My bairn! my bairn!' sank back insensible on his chair!

We bore him gently out to the open air, whose reviving freshness, and still more, the voice and aspect of his darling daughter, soon restored him to himself. Who could describe their meeting, half as well as one throb of long severed hearts will bring it home to every bosom? Suffice it to say, it was a meet consummation for such an anniversary!

Ꭰ

1

THE adaptation of the forms of various animals to their modes of life, affords a wonderful proof of the existence of a wise and intelligent Creator. Let us take a single instance the Lion, which is placed by Buffon at the head of quadrupeds, and consider how far its construction is evidence of the point in question.

In the first place, this beast is formed to live upon flesh, and requires for his support about twenty-eight pounds of animal food, daily. Now it is obvious, that in order to support this immense demand of sustenance, the lion must wage an unceasing war upon other animals, and this must draw upon him the hostility of all, and make him the dread of all. Those who can cope with him will therefore

attempt his destruction, and those who are his inferiors will shun him with the greatest care.

How then can he subsist, surrounded by formidable enemies, and avoided by all the art and instinct of those upon which he must prey. In the first place, he is endowed with such strength that not a single animal of the forest can be said to be his master. The elephant and the rhinoceros, may sometimes brave him, but they are not sure of victory. All the other animals of Africa, the giraffe, the buffalo, the quagga, and the hippopotamus fly before him, and acknowledge his supremacy.

But notwithstanding his strength, the lion is not swift of foot, and is ill adapted to the chase. How then can he seize the antelope, the wild ass, the deer, and the buffalo, upon which he lives. These are all very fleet, and some of them surpass the horse in swiftness. How then is the lion to seize them?

The course he pursues is this. He hides himself in a thicket, where these animals are accustomed to feed, or to pass for water. Here he waits in stillness, until his victim approaches. He then gradually draws near, and his feet being cushioned with long hair, he is able, notwithstanding his great weight, to steal upon the object of his attention without even rustling a leaf. Thus, although the animal he seeks to destroy is suspicious in a high degree; though his scent is acute, his ear quick, and his eye penetrating, the lion is provided with the means of coming unsuspected upon him, and having reached a point of sufficient proximity, with