writing he desires to possess, and with a wish to secure only the autographs of those in whom, from the peculiar bent of his mind, or the character of his education, he has learnt to take an interest. The last letter written by the felon to his attorney, or the poetical effusions which have gracefully occupied the closing hours of the assassin, are to him, at this period, wholly valueless. The signature of Byron spelt with an i, or of Bonaparte with a u, possesses to him no special interest on that account. In the signature of the statesman whose character he admires, in the scrawl of the author whose wisdom he loves, in the spots where their hands have rested, in the words which have mirrored their minds, he revels with a peculiar enjoyment, which, to the outer world, and, strange to say, to the more experienced of his brother collectors, is unknown, or has long been lost. He is in the childhood of his vocation, and will never be so happy in it again. As he proceeds, he becomes more experienced, and, the freshness of his enjoyment passing away, his desires become more indiscriminate, and his tastes somewhat less pure. He gathers autographs of anybody, begins to traffic with collaborateurs of his own standard, and becomes, to say the truth, rather a troublesome person in the society in which he moves. He is now approaching the dangerous crisis of his career. The time is approaching when he must range himself. Either he will become a mere chiffonnier of caligraphic oddities; the autographs he amasses will be valuable to him, not for the worthiness of the writer, but for the rarity of the scrawl; he will place Jonathan Wild in his collection before Johnson, because he wrote less: or, worthier aim, he will progress into the antiquary, and become an authority. Mere signatures will cease to interest him, unless they authenticate a principle or affirm a fact. He will become, to some extent, a

contributor to the knowledge of his day, and authors and their readers will appreciate gratefully the skill with which he rides his intellectual and amusing hobby.*

THE PILGRIM PASSING THROUGH THE DESERT OF THIS WORLD.

O DRY and stony path! O weary road!

O heavy, heavy load!

There comes no drop of rain, the springs are dry,

And burning is the sky.

I faint. O Thou on whom my hope is stayed,
Lend me, O Lord, thine aid.

How barren are these thirsty plains! I see
O'er all this space no tree.

The few dry thorny plants upon the waste
Are poison to the taste.

Hungry and thirsty unto Thee I cry ;
Lord, help me, or I die.

I must not faint. O Thou to whom I cry,
Thou art for ever nigh.

This wilderness and desert were thy choice,
These works have heard Thy voice.

Methinks its tones from crag and barren hill,
Echo around me still.

Lord, I have offer'd up my life to Thee,

Do what Thou wilt with me.

If in the desert all my life be spent,

I am therewith content.

I will not faint nor utterly despair,

Since Thou art also there.

*Condensed from an able review article in the "Athenæum," on some recent publications on this subject.

Rejoice, my soul! Against the distant skies

Behold the date-trees rise.

There is fresh grass, a spot of fertile land

Amid this barren sand.

There may'st thou eat and drink thy store's increase,
And sleep at night in peace.

And though as soon as dawns the coming day,

We must renew our way,

We will not murmur, having by the way

Most blessed company;

Since after all our cares and labours past,

We shall reach home at last.

L. E. G.

THE COMMON-PLACE BOOK.

MRS. TOWNLEY had just completed her morning's reading of the usual chapters of the Bible.

Now, dears, you may bring your scriptural Common-place Book, for I have a few interesting facts relative to the Sacred Volume which I wish you to preserve."

Oh, thank you, mamma," burst from two young voices at once; and they quickly proceeded to get their books and the writing materials.

While they are absent for a few minutes, we will just explain, that the family of Mr. and Mrs. Townley consisted of a son and daughter, William Henry and Mary. The boy was eleven years of age, and his sister a year and a half younger. Their education was principally directed by their parents, occasionally assisted by masters. But the first object Mr. and Mrs. Townley had in view, was to form their young minds in accordance with the revealed will of God, making this the basis on which to build up a comely structure of human intelligence and usefulness.

Among other means which had been adopted for these children's instruction, was that of encouraging them to write in a book, prepared for the purpose, any useful facts and observations which came under their notice in the course of their daily instruction. They were each provided with two books, one for recording common things, the other for sacred subjects. These were called Common-place Books; and they proved to be a source of much present gratification, as well as a storehouse for future reference.

From the judicious and careful manner in which their kind mamma had placed many of the most interesting portions of the sacred volume before their minds, they had already acquired a habit of fixing upon suitable subjects for their common-place book; and, as some of our younger readers may feel inclined to adopt the plan, we give a specimen page below, to show the arrangement:

The book should be of copy-book size, but much thicker; ruled throughout with faint blue lines, and divided into three spaces by red lines, with red lines for the heading, that is, where the words "index margin," "facts," and "observations," are placed. To be the more complete, the book should have an alphabetical index, similar to that of an account book. The index margin is an index to each page.

Mrs. Townley had met with a few curious facts,

which she was desirous should be added to those already collected.

Now, mamma," said the children on their return, "we are quite ready; we hope you have got something nice for us to write."

"Well, dears, I think you will say that what I have to tell you is, at the least, curious, and certainly must have taken somebody a great deal of time to find out. This is the first :-The middle book of the Old Testament is Proverbs.

66 How curious!"

"The middle chapter, is the twenty-ninth of Job; the middle verse, is the eighteenth of the twentieth chapter of the second book of Chronicles."

"These are certainly curious facts, and I only give them to you as such-they convey no instruction; but, as you know, dear children, I wish sometimes to blend a little reasonable entertainment with more serious matters."

66

Yes, dear mamma, we remember your favourite proverb, The bow which is always bent, will the soonest be broken.' Now, I dare say, we shall have the middle book, chapter, and verse of the New Testa

ment."

"Well, I have no doubt but that I could furnish you with this information also, but I have something else from the Old Testament."

"Oh! thank you, thank you, dear mamma. What a nice collection this will be!"

"Are you ready for the next curiosity ?"

"We are quite ready," exclaimed both at once. "The twenty-first verse of the seventh chapter of Ezra has all the letters of the alphabet in it." "How odd!"

"And the nineteenth chapter of the Second Book of Kings is exactly like the thirty-seventh chapter of Isaiah."