rapid river be approached, from the impossibility of stopping the headlong course of camels and horses with their riders, so that the foremost are often driven into the stream. Here the exhausted camels slake their raging thirst, and fill their empty reservoirs anew, for the wants of future days and the remaining journey; and here the weary way-worn travellers, after encamping for a time by the waters, fill their vessels and pass on their way.

There is another very potent and often fatal enemy with which those have to contend, frequently, who cross the desert; that is, the fiery simoom, or hot wind, driving on clouds of yellow sand, so dense and fine, as to prevent respiration, and either bury whole caravans, or sweep them into eternity, by stopping the breath of the ill-fated travellers. Against these pestilential blasts the nostrils of the camel are providentially guarded; being in the form of slits, which the animal can close at will, so as to prevent the infected air from being fatal to its life.

Whilst the useful camel requires of the owner scarcely anything for its food and safety, it bestows almost everything in meat, drink, and raiment, with all the needful conveniences for the conveyance of himself, family, and merchandise, to distant places. How truly wonderful are the works of God!

THE LITTLE GARDENERS.

GEORGE SPENCER and his sister JANE, had a little plot of ground allowed them by their Father, which they were to cultivate and plant themselves in such a manner, and with such trees and flowers, as they pleased. Right glad were they, when their Father, one day in the month of March, told them that he had marked out this piece of ground for them. "And now," said he, "I shall buy you a spade, and a rake, and a watering-pan; and I shall give you a few young trees and some flower seeds, and I will tell you how and when you must plant and sow

them; and I hope you will let me see a nice little garden, laid out and kept in good order, and that some day next summer, you will be able to present your Mother with a very pretty nosegay of flowers of your own growing."

Both Jane and George set to work in good earnest. George digged, and Jane, with a warm shawl round her neck and a pair of old gloves on, picked up the stones into a basket and threw them on a heap in a corner. The weather was cold, and sometimes rough and rainy, but they worked away till they got all done. They thought of the pretty flowers-the tulips, and roses, and dahlias, that would be looking so nice and smelling so sweet when spring and summer came. When the plot was well dug over, George told his Father that it was finished, and so one evening after tea, Mr. and Mrs. Spencer, and George and Jane, sat down, and with pen, ink, and paper, drew out a plan how it should be laid out. Jane could hardly understand how her little garden was to be laid out on paper. But her father told her that houses, and places of worship, and halls, and palaces, as well as gardens, were all now drawn out and sketched on paper first, and that they could not be done correctly except they

were. Jane was still unable to comprehend this, until her Father, having finished his task, shewed her on a sheet of paper how her little garden-ground would be laid out, and highly delighted she was.

The ground was laid out according to the plan, the trees planted, and the seeds sown. And day by day, George and Jane were to be seen at their favorite and healthful employment, drawing up the weeds and picking out the stones. The stones were all thrown along the walks, and when the fine weather came, a load of nice yellow gravel was spread over them, which made a sound and neat path, and which contrasted beautifully with the plants and flowers which were now springing up all around.

April, this year, had no showers, a thing seldom known, and therefore the wateringpan had to be used sooner than was expected. The warm sun brought out the leaves and blossoms early, and in the month of May many of the flowers had unfolded their beautiful forms. Jane watched them one after another as they appeared, and really she thought there never were more lovely flowers than these. She only felt regret because they so soon faded. Scarcely had they fully come out in all their beauty before they began to change. What a pity,

she thought to herself, that such pretty things should ever die! But so it is; as has beautifully, though somewhat plaintively, written

one

The morning flowers display their sweets,
And gay their silken leaves unfold,
As careless of the noon-tide heats,
As fearless of the evening cold.

Nipt by the wind's unkindly blast,
Parch'd by the sun's directer ray,
The momentary glories waste,

The short-liv'd beauties die away.

So blooms the human face divine,
When youth its pride of beauty shows:
Fairer than spring the colours shine,
And sweeter than the virgin rose.

Or worn by slowly rolling years,
Or broke by sickness in a day,
The fading glory disappears,

The short-liv'd beauties die away.

Yet these new-rising from the tomb,
With lustre brighter far shall shine;
Revive with ever-during bloom,

Safe from diseases and decline.

Let sickness blast, let death devour,

If Heaven must recompense our pains: Perish the grass, and fade the flower,

If firm the Word of God remains.