Alas! to what destructive snares
Example leads the way!

John soon became as bad as those
Who taught his heart to stray.

At home, his parents saw, with grief,
His mind to mischief given :
Ilis thoughts on idle mirth were bent,
But not a thought of heaven.

'Twas on a beauteous summer's morn,
When cloudless was the sky,
And every tree, and every field,
Was pleasing to the eye;

When, with his little sister fair,
John went upstairs to play;
And long and happy seem'd their sport,
And all their prattle gay.

But, hark! a dreadful scream is heard:
The mother runs to see;
Distraction in her looks-her heart
Beats loud with agony.

Swift on the wings of anxious thought,
She reach'd the chamber-door :
"O mother!" said the wily youth,

"Lucinda is no more!

"I saw her from the window fall,
I heard her dying moan.
Alas! my pretty sister's dead,

And I am left alone."

The mother raved, and tore her hair,

Her bosom's peace was o'er :

"My child! my child!" she wildly cried, Then swoon'd upon the floor.

The frighted urchin, stung with shame,
And fill'd with sore dismay,
Recall'd Lucinda from the place
Where she in secret lay.

His wicked heart, by mischief urged,
His mother to affright,

Had hid the child beneath the bed,
Conceal'd from mortal sight.

She stood before her mother now,
And prattled in her ear;

And strove by gentle words and looks
Her bleeding heart to cheer.

But, ah! no more she knew the babe
She oft had sung to rest;
For reason was dethroned, and joy
No longer warm'd her breast.

She linger'd on her dying couch,
Till came the close of day;
And then exhausted nature sunk,

Then fled her life away.

Too late the trembling youth confess'd
His own deceitful part;
Too late bewail'd with bitter tears,

The baseness of his heart.

Next morn, when rose the early sun,

His father call'd him in:

"Come, John," he said, "and now behold A melancholy scene!"

There lay his mother, stiff and cold,
A corpse upon the bed:

He lips wore coal'd, her cheeks were pale,
Her eyes no lustre shed.

"See there," the sire exclaim'd, "the fruit
Of your mischievous art!

Your sport has caused a mother's death,
And broke a father's heart!

"But I forgive you may the Lord
As freely pardon too!"

And while he spoke, the tears did fall,
Like drops of morning dew.

Ye giddy, thoughtless youths, whene'er
To mischief you 're inclined,
Let this affecting story check
The follies of your mind.

High-Wycombe.

J. T. BARR.

EASTERN SALUTATION.

THE manner of salutation as now practised by some of the eastern nations, is very ancient.

When at a distance they bring the hand down to the knees, and then raise it gradually until they can stand upright: marking their devotedness to a person by holding down the hand; as they do their affection by afterward laying it upon the heart.

When they come close together, they take each other by the hand, in token of friendship.

The country-people clap each others' hands very smartly, twenty or thirty times together, without saying anything more than, "How do you do? I

wish you good health." If this form of compliment be simple, it must be admitted that it is very affectionate. Perhaps it marks out a better disposition of heart, than all the studied phrases in use among us, in which sincerity is often sacrificed to politeness.

After this first compliment, many other friendly

questions are asked, about the health of the family, mentioning each of the children distinctly, whose names they know.

These salutations took up a great deal of time; and this may be a reason why the Prophet Elisha commanded his servant to abstain from saluting any one by the way, when sent to recover the child of the Shunammitess to life. It may be considered one proof among many, of the tediousness of eastern compliments.

MEMOIR.

A FEW RECOLLECTIONS OF AN

INTERESTING CHILD.

SAMUEL OKELL was blind from about three weeks old his mother died within a month after his birth, and his father before he had passed his first year. He was then taken to be with his grandmother and uncle alternately. His property, when he came of age, would have been considerable, as he was an only child. The person from whom the writer received these few recollections (Mrs. Laverock, of Warrington) had often an opportunity of seeing him, because, at that time, she lived with his uncle as housekeeper. She was going home from chapel one day, and had forgotten the text; so she said to the little boy, who was with her, "Samuel, your uncle will ask me where the text is, and I have forgotten." He replied, "The text is in the Epistle of St. James: Resist the devil, and he will flee from you.' She said that was the first time she ever thought anything particular