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love for him, and have our methods of taking hiitr in the bowls of tobacco pipes, or the claws of lobsters put upon sticks.
Chiefly from Bingley's Animal Biography.
STORY OF A CUCKOO AND WATER WAGTAIL. To the Editor of the Cottagers Monthly Visitor.
Mr. Editor, As your useful publication is intended not only to give instruction, but to instil affection, I send the following account of a cuckoo and a water-wagtail. . Two summers ago, the wagtail built its nest in the ivy, which covers a part of the ancient wall of the botanic garden at Bury St. Edmund's, near which the cuckoo was observed frequently to alight. It is well known, that the cuckoo depends upon other birds for the support of its young, and accordingly chose the nest of the wagtail to deposit its eggs in. But how wonderful is even the instinct of birds!—the wagtails were observed to be so careful of their/oster child as to deprive themselves of sufficient food, having to provide such an immense quantity of insects daily for this ravenous bird. As soon, however, as the cuckoo became perfectly fledged, it disappeared; but, as if its natural parents knew where their offspring could be again protected, a similar circumstance occurred the year following, precisely in the same situation, and in the manner before described; except that the young cuckoo was taken from the nest, and put into a parrot's cage, where the wagtails were observed to thrust themselves between the wires to give it support, and it was generally imagined that the cuckoo would become tame and domesticated; but at the period of migration, the old birds were seen hovering round its prison, while the young ofl
spring, anxious for its natural liberty, beat itself to death against the wires of the cage.
Your constant Reader,
N. S. H.
Rath Kr more than a fortnight ago, a female, about 25 years of age, of elegant manners and fluent address, took lodgings at the house of Mrs. M d,
in the Hampstead road, where she engaged for board and lodgings at 30s. per week. She became a most agreeable. inmate of the house the first fortnight; since which time, she changed to a state of dejection and melancholy. She received frequent letters; but, the only time she went out was on Saturday last, when she purchased a quantity of opium, which she took in the night.—A servant found her in a senseless state. Powerful emetics were administered by Mr. Hathway, the surgeon; and life was preserved. The cause of this rash act was disclosed on Monday, before a magistrate. The unfortunate lady was a French teacher at a yery respectable Ladies' Seminary, in Kent, when a young Prodigal of family seduced her affections; she gave herself up to his honour and protection, at the Christmas vacation, under the promise of marriage. They took an excursion to Southampton, where they remained some weeks. A.fter this, with a 5/. note, he sent her to London, promising to follow her in a few days; — but, in a fortnight, he wrote to state that he was that day about to sail for Italy, through embarrassed circumstancea. Terror, loss of character, and debt, drove the unfortunate woman to distraction. We are glad to hear, however, that her case has met the attention of several philanthropists.
New Times, Jan. 23rf.
When so much misery is caused by the treachery of the seducer, is there any crime of which we ought to have a more perfect horror? And yet, the punishment which the law inflicts is very trifling compared with the offence. The scorn of society ought, indeed, to mark the seducer as an object of abhorrence; and yet, if no such dreadful effect as the above follow, but little indignation is expressed. The misery arising from his crime is enormous, though the greater part of it is not made public; and yet, he is not branded with the infamy of mankind. The female endures all the misery, and all the disgrace; and still, knowing that such will be (he consequence, the cowardly seducer inflicts a distress in which he himself is not likely to be a sharer. If he has, however, any spark of right feeling, his conscience will be his tormentor.
We do not attempt to defend the female for her wicked conduct; she is, indeed, guilty, and she generally suffers a severe punishment for her guilt, even in this world,—May this misery lead her to repentance, and bring her to those means by which our holy religion teaches us that repentance is accepted, even the atonement of our Lord and Saviour! And may a new heart and a new life be the proofs that her repentance is sincere!—May God's good Spirit give these graces to all those who have gone astray, and keep them from adding to their crimes by self-destruction. V.
The Meaning Of The Word "PREVENT." We extract the following passage from a book of dialogues, which a correspondent has been so obliging as to send us:
Richard.—Pray tell me the meaning of a word in one of the church prayers, at the end of the communion service, and which the clergyman often uses before the sermon. This word puzzles me because it seems to contradict what we are always told,— that we are to pray to God to assist us in all we do.
William.—I cannot think what word can ever have led you to think otherwise; but, if you will tell me what word it is, I will endeavour, as well as I am able, to explain its meaning to you.
Richard,—The prayer I mean begins *' Prevent us, O Lord, in all our doings with thy most gracious favour."—Now, I always thought that, to prevent us, meant to hinder us from doing any thing.
William,—Why that is the common meaning of the word, as it is now generally used, and I was myself puzzled about it some time since. I, therefore, asked our clergyman the meaning of it, and he told me that, formerly, the prayers were all written in Latin, and that, in that language, to prevent meant to go before as a guide, and that when we say "Prevent us, O Lord, in all our doings," it is the same as if we said, "guide, or direct, or lead us, O Lord, in all our doings." You will find the same word used in the same sense, in the Collect for the 17th Sunday after Trinity. J. J>.
If there be any difficult word in our Church service, the clergyman of the parish, or any well-informed person, would, if consulted, have a pleasure in explaining it. There may be a few such words, but those may very soon be explained, and need be no hindrance to the devotions of sincere and earnest worshippers. Certainly, the word " prevent" is generally used now in a sense different from that in which it was used at the time when this prayer was first used by our church.—But its meaning, however, being now understood, we shall see that we have here a very beautiful prayer, containing that great and comforting doctrine of the scripture, that we may seek the grace of God to go before us in all our doings, and to ''further us with his continual help." Thus we require the help of God: first, to put us in the right way,. and then we need his "continual help" to enable us to go on in that way, and to persevere in it unto the end.
Our works then require to be "begun," "continued," and "ended" in the Lord. This prayer shews us that this is to be done, "that we may glorify God's holy name," thus shewing us, that God condescends to consider his glory concerned in the obedience of his people. It teaches us, too, that an endeavour, on our part, to do the works of Godliness, will be the means by which we are to " obtain everlasting life;" not, indeed, by any merit of ours; but, O Lord, "by thy mercy." All this is taught in this excellent prayer. And, indeed, if any prayer of our Church be taken, and well considered, it is wonderful how much real, true, Christian doctrine will be found in it. The doctrine, in the above prayer, is contained, likewise, in the Xth Article of our Church.—"We have no power to do good works, pleasant and acceptable to God, without the grace of God, by Christ, preventing us, (going before us) that we may have a good will, and working with us when we have that good will."
Love and kindness we may measure,
By this simple rule alone;
Just as if it were our own?
We should always eare for others,
Let us love like friends and brothers,
His example wc should borrow,
And endur'd such pain and sorrow,.