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son; but although some blood was shed, the incident was not considered serious, and we proceeded in our ramble.

We had not advanced far, when, on passing through some bushes near a heap of rocks, I heard a rustling in the leaves. Turning my eye in the direction of the sound, I saw a black snake, covered by leaves except his head and about two feet of his body. He was directly in my path, and, brandishing his tongue, seemed determined to oppose my progress. Bill had my gun, but I called to him, and he soon appeared. I pointed out the snake, but, refusing to fire, he approached the creature with a bold front; who, seeing that he could gain nothing by his threats, turned and fled through the leaves with amazing speed. Bill followed upon his trail, and came up with him just as he was seek ing shelter in the crevice of a rock. He had buried about two feet of his length, when Bill seized his tail, and, holding fast, prevented his farther progress. We then both of us took hold and tried to pull him out-but as he had coiled himself around the protuberances of the rock within, he resisted all our efforts.

Bill now directed me to bend down to him a pretty stout walnut sapling that was growing near. I complied with the command, and my companion, taking a piece of rope from his pocket, doubled the tail of the snake, and firmly lashed it to the top of the young tree. This being done "We'll let go now," said Bill," and see which will hold on the longest." So, loosing our hold of the tree and serpent, we stood by to see the result. The snake was so firmly tied as to render it impossible for him to escape, and the sapling pulled with a vigor and patience that were likely to prevail at last. We waited at the place for nearly an hour, when the serpent slowly yielded, and the sapling jerked him into the air. There he hung, dangling and

writhing, and thrusting out his tongue, but all to no purpose. Taking a fair aim with the gun, Bill now fired, and cut the reptile in twain.

We pursued our ramble until late in the day, when, on our return, we saw a gray squirrel leaping about upon the ground at some distance. The appearance of this animal in its native woods is singularly imposing. Its long, bushy tail imparts to it an appearance of extraordinary size, and renders its wonderful agility a matter of surprise. In the present instance, as the squirrel saw us from a distance, he ran to a tree, ascended the trunk, and flew along its branches. From these it leaped to those of another tree, seeming actually to move like a spirit of the air. At last it reached a large oak, and disappeared in a hole in the trunk.

Bill's jacket was off in an instant, and almost as nimbly as the squirrel himself he ascended to its retreat. I stood below with my gun, ready to fire if the creature should attempt to escape. At last Bill, peeping into the hole, and saying, in a subdued voice, "I see the varmint!" thrust his hand into the place. It was but a moment before he hauled him out, and holding him forth with one hand, while he held on to the tree with the other, he exclaimed, "Fire, Bob— fire-he bites like like a sarpent!' Accustomed to obey orders, I immediately fired, and the squirrel dropped dead to the ground. At the same time I saw Bill snapping his fingers, as if some stray shot had peppered them. He soon descended, and showed me that one of the little leaden missiles had passed through the ball of his thumb; he only remarked, however, "I should think, Bob, you might kill a squirrel without shooting a friend!"

Such are the adventures of a day in my youth; and such, or similar, no doubt, have been the experiences of many

a Yankee youth before. I record them here, partly for the satisfaction of reviewing the sweet memories of the past, and partly to point the moral of this chapter-that youth is a portion of life to which, in after years, we usually look back with fond regard, as the happiest, if not the most useful, part of our existence. Let my youthful friends mark the observation, and not be unmindful of their present privileges. Let them enjoy their young days, with thankfulness and moderation, and not be too sanguine of that future, which will disclose the melancholy truth that life is a journey, which affords the cares and toils and dangers of travel, without a restingplace. A resting-place is indeed found, but it is only given as life ceases. While we live we are journeying; there is no fixed habitation for man on the earth: he is an emigrant to another country, and not a settler here. Let us, in attempting to make our journey as cheerful as we may, still be careful that the place to which we migrate, and where we must abide, be in a happy country.

September he is gone to more genial lands.

It is only in tropical countries that the several species of humming-birds are seen in their abundance, variety, and glory. The islands that stud the ocean between Florida and the main land of South America, literally swarm with them. In the wild and uncultivated parts they inhabit the magnificent forests overhung with parasitical plants, whose blossoms hardly yield in beauty to the sparkling tints of these tenants of the air. In the cultivated portions, they abound in the gardens, and seem to delight in society, becoming familiar and destitute of fear, hovering often on one side of a shrub or plant while the fruit is plucked on the other.

Lively and full of energy, these winged gems are almost incessantly in the air, darting from one object to another, and displaying their gorgeous hues in the sunbeams. When performing a lengthened flight, as during migration, they pass through the air in long undulations, raising themselves to a con

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The Humming Birds.

THESE little fairies of the feathered race the smallest of birds, and perhaps the most brilliant-belong exclusively to our American continent and the adjacent islands. Most of them dwell in the warm climates, where flowers are ever in bloom, and where spring or summer hold perpetual sway. One species alone visits our chill New England climatethe little fellow of the ruby throat. He comes to us in May, and makes himself familiar with our gardens and trellices, sports amid the flowers, and holds companionship only with the "flush and the fair." His stay is short, for early in

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siderable height and then falling in a curve. When feeding on a flower, they keep themselves poised in one position,

as steadily as if suspended on a bough -making a humming noise by the rapid motion of their wings.

In disposition, these creatures are intrepid, but, like some other little people, they are very quarrelsome. In defending their nests, they attack birds five times their size, and drive them off with ease. When angry, their motions are very violent and their flight as swift as an arrow. Often the eye is incapable of following them, and their shrill, piercing shriek alone announces their presence.

Among the most dazzling of this brilliant tribe is the bar-tailed hummingbird of Brazil. The tail is forked to the base, and consists of five feathers, graduated one above another at almost equal distances. Their color is of the richest flame, or orange red, with a dazzling metallic burnish. The upper part of the body of the bird is golden green; the rump is red, and the under surface of emerald green.

Stokes' humming-bird may perhaps be cited as a rival of this little gem of beauty. The head and whole of the

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back is covered with scale-shaped feathers, those on the head being brilliant blue and changing to violet, those on the back being bright emerald green. The cheeks are purplish green, with small pink spots. Was there ever any lass of a fancy ball more gaily decked?

Such are a few of the species of this famous race. There are more than a hundred kinds, all noted for their littleness and their surpassing beauty. What a beautiful conception in the Author of nature were these little fairies! It is as if the flowers had taken wings, and life, and intelligence, and shared in the sports of animal life. And if we regard their beauty-the delicacy of their feathers their energy and power compared with their size-if we consider

the ingenious mechanism of their structure-can we sufficiently admire the Architect who made them and bade them go forth to add life, and beauty, and brilliancy to the landscape, while sharing themselves in the joys of existence ?

Madagascar.

On the eastern coast of Africa is one of the largest islands in the world, called Madagascar. It is 900 miles long, and contains about twice as much land as England, Wales, and Scotland, or three times as much as New England. It is some five or six thousand miles south

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east of the United States, and 1800 miles northeast of the Cape of Good Hope.

It is separated from the continent of Africa by the channel of Mozambique, through which vessels often pass in going to China. A long chain of mountains, some of which are 11,000 feet or two miles high, runs north and south through the island. In these mountains are volcanoes, though they are not so terrible as in South America.

Madagascar is a pleasant country, and produces many fine things, among which are sugar, honey, various fruit-trees, valuable gums, silver, copper, and tin ore; also precious stones, together with other more useful things, as cattle, corn, poultry, &c. The people are numerous, and consist of several tribes or races, some resembling negroes, others appear ing like Arabs, but the greater part bearing an affinity to the people who inhabit the islands of the Pacific Ocean. The whole population of the island is estimated at about four millions and a half, or about twice as much as all New England.

About twelve or fifteen years ago, a king by the name of Radama had subjected to his sway nearly all the tribes. He encouraged the Christian missionaries from England, by whose means a good deal of useful knowledge was diffused, and various arts were introduced among the people. Had his reign continued, it is probable that all the tribes would have been formed into one well organized and well governed nation, among whom civilization might have made rapid advances. But, unfortunate ly, Radama was poisoned by his queen, and since that time, though the people are considered as forming one kingdom, they are in a very disturbed and dismembered state. Many of them are little better than savages, and indeed all the people are slaves of the most degrading superstitions. One of the most re

markable customs is that of trial by the Tangena, a poisonous nut, that is given to persons suspected of any crime. The people are great believers in witchcraft, and if any one in a family is taken sick, it frequently happens that some of the members are accused of causing the illness by witchcraft, and the tangena is therefore given to them. It appears that the poison, when thoroughly administered, causes the most excruciating pains, and is almost certain death. If the person has a very strong constitution, or if he can bribe the officer who administers it to give a weak dose, he sometimes escapes; but in most cases it is fatal. There is a vast deal of pompous ceremony attending these trials: there is a sort of prayer or incantation before the dose is given, and during its operation, an appeal to the invisible power to punish crime, or vindicate innocence, as the case may be-though, in point of fact, the whole system seems to be one of trick, practised by a few artful and designing men.

If the person resists the effect of the poison, which rarely happens, he is taken to his house in great state, a procession being formed like that which is represented in the engraving. It appears from the accounts of the missionaries who have visited the island, that the practice of the tangena is so extensive as actually to diminish the population of the island; and what is remarkable is this, that the people seem to take a great interest in these trials, and actually encourage them, seeming to have great delight in them. It is indeed a fact that cannot be disputed, that in all nations not softened and civilized by the influence of Christianity, mercy seems to be unknown, and cruelty affords only a pleasing excitement.

"The clock upbraids us with the waste of time."

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