me up."" The child repeated this two or three times distinctly, and said his little prayer. Then he kissed the cold, almost rigid features before him, and went quietly to his little couch. The next morning, he sought, as usual, his mother, but found her stiff and cold.

This was her last lesson. He has never forgotten it, he probably never will. He has grown to be a man-a good inan, and now occupies a post of much honor and profit in Massachusetts. I never could look upon him without thinking about the faith he so beautifully exhibited by his dying mother.

FLOWERS IN THE SICK ROOM.

AMONG the terrors of our youth we well remember there were certain poisonous ex halations said to arise from plants and flowers if allowed to share our sleeping-room during the night, as though objects of loveliness when seen by daylight took advantage of the darkness to assume the qualities of the ghoul or the vampire. Well do we remember how maternal anxiety removed every portion of vegetable life from our bedroom, lest its gases should poison us before morning! This opinion, and the cognate one that plants in rooms are always injurious, is prevalent still, and it operates most unfavorably in the case of the bed-ridden, or the invalid, by depriving them of a chamber garden which would otherwise make time put off his leaden wings, and while away, in innocent amusement, many a lagging hour. Now we assure our readers that this is a popular superstition, and will endeavor to put them in possession of the grounds on which our statement is founded. In doing so, we do not put forth any opinions of our own, but the deductions of science, for the truth of which any one acquainted with vegetable physiology can vouch.

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Plants, in a growing state, absorb the oxygen gas of the atmosphere, and throw off carbonic acid; these are facts, and as oxygen is necessary to life and carbonic acid injurious to it, the conclusion has been jumped at that plants in apartments must have à deleterious influence. But there is another fact equally irrefragible, that plants feed on the carbonic acid of the atmosphere, and are, indeed, the grand instruments employed in the laboratory of Nature for purifying it from noxious exhalations of animal life. From the spacious forests to the blade of grass which forces itself up through the crevices of a street pavement, every portion of verdure is occupied in disinfecting the air. By means of solar light the carbonic acid, when taken in by the leaves, is discomposed, its carbon

going to build up the structure of the plant, and its disengaged oxygen returning to the air we breathe. It is true that this process is stopped in the darkness, and that then a very small portion of carbonic acid is evolved by plants; but as it is never necessary for a patient to sleep in a room with flowers, we need say nothing on that subject. Cleanliness and other considerations, would suggest having a bedroom as free as possible during the night, and our object is answered if we show that vegetation is not injurious in the day. That it is, on the contrary, conducive to health, is a plain corollary of science.

Perhaps the error we are speaking of may have originated from confounding the effects of the odors of plants with a general result of their presence. Now, all strong scents are injurious, and those of some flowers are specially so, and ought on no account be patronized by the invalid. But it happens, fortunately, that a very large class of plants have either no scent at all, or so little as to be of no consequence, so that there is still room for an extensive selection. This, then is one rule to be observed in chamber gardening. Another is, that the plants admitted should be in perfect health, for while growing vegetation is healthful, it becomes noxious when sickly or dead. Thirdly, let the most scrupulous cleanliness be inaintained; the pots, saucers, and the stands being often subjected to ablutions. Under this head also we include the removal of dying leaves, and all flowers, before they have quite lost their beauty, since it is well known that the petals become unpleasant in some varieties as soon as the meridian of their brief life is passed. By giving attention to these simple regulations, a sick chamber may have its windows adorned with flowers without the slightest risk to the health of the occupant, and in saying this we open the way to some of the most gentle lenitives of pain, as well as to sources of rational enjoyment. If those who can go where they please, in the sunshine and the shade, can gather wild flowers in their natural dwellings, and cultivate extensive gardens, still find pleasure in a few favorites in-doors, how much more delight must such treasured possessions confer on those whom Providence has made prisoners, and who must have their all of verdure and floral beauty brought to them!

In all waters there are fish that love to swin against the stream-and in every community persons are to be found who delight in being opposed to every body else.

Xenophon tells us of an Egyptian, who being sent by his wife to purchase perfumes, brought her a jar of fresh water.

THE Royal Amphitheatre, London, was several years since the exhibition of the celebrated and favorite horse of Napoleon, called by his master "Superb," then thirty-eight years old, and a beautiful animal. We find the history of the creature given as follows in an English journal of that time.

This noble animal was captured by General Orloff, in 1813, in the disastrous retreat from Moscow. He was a great favorite with the Emperor, and the companion of many of his most successful campaigns. He remained in the possession of Orloff, at St. Petersburg, till 1834, when he was presented to the father of M. Tourniaire, then Director of the Imperial Circus, and much esteemed for his professional abilities, as well as respected for his devotion to the memory of the late Emperor. Orloff, in presenting him, literally said, "Jacques Tourniaire, you were greatly attached to the late Emperor of France, and your attachment honors you. You are known to be a friend to horses; and, satisfied of the care he will receive at your hands, to you I confide this, my greatest favorite. Superb is too slight for my use-I have grown too heavy for him. To sell him to a strange master is a fate I cannot think of subjecting him to. To you, therefore, I entrust him; and as you loved him to whom he first belonged, you will, I am sure, cherish Superb for the memory of his owner, as well as for his own sake." This trust was discharged with exemplary devotion by the

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elder Tourniaire, who, on his death, in 1839, left him to Mons. Tourniaire, whose tenderness towards him is but evidenced by his advanced age. Superb was a white, or rather very light grey, Arabian, and sixteen hands high. He is now (at the time of writing this) incapable of much exertion, and little is assigned him in the piece now being performed; but it is interesting to see him introduced on the stage, with one who is the very resemblance of his imperial master; and affecting to witness him-his ear still quick to the martial tone of the warhorn-join, riderless, in the mimic procession of that extraordinary man, with whom he was a great favorite.

[From Mrs. Whittlesey's Magazine.] AFFECTING ANECDOTE.

In one of our western towns, a minister of Jesus Christ was one morning told by his wife that a little boy, the son of a near neighbor, was very sick, near to death, and asked if he would not go and see him.

"I hardly know what to do," said the good man; "his parents, you know, do not belong to my congregation, and are, besides, greatly opposed to the doctrines which I preach. I fear my visit would not be well received."

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But," rejoined the wife," when you was sick a short time since, the mother of the lit

tle boy sent in kindly every day to inquire how you were, and I think they will expect you to come and see their son.'

This was sufficient inducement and he was soon on his way to the dwelling of sorrow. The mother was hanging in anguish over her precious and beautiful child, who was tossing from side to side in the delirium of a brain fever. The minister, after watching him a few moments, turned to the lady and said, "This poor fellow should be kept perfectly quiet, madam; he should not be excited in any manner."

"Sir," said she, "will you not offer a prayer?" At first he hesitated, fearing the effect upon the child, but on second thought kneeled by the bed-side, and uttered a few petitions in His name who said, "Suffer little children to come unto me." The moment he commenced speaking, the little sufferer, who till now seemed unconscious of his presence, ceased his moans, lay still upon the bed, and fixing his large dark eyes upon him, listened intently to every word. The minister rose from his knees, said a few words to the mother and went home, leaving the child in a perfectly tranquil state. The next morning, the first intelligence which greeted him was that little Frank had died during the night.

He had become extremely interested, and the apparent effect of the voice of prayer upon the dying boy had surprised him. He went again to visit them, attended the funeral, and at length learned from the mother the following facts:

She had two children. Frank was the

oldest, and the second was a daughter of five years. A few months before, little Alice had gone to spend the night with some companions in the neighborhood whose parents were Christians, and were training their children to follow their steps. As they were about retiring to rest, these little ones said to their visitor,

"Come, Alice, kneel down with us and sayOur Father' before we go to bed." The child, bewildered by their words and kneeling attitude, answered,

"But I do not know what Our Father' is." Well, don't you want to learn it?" said

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one.

"Oh, yes," said Alice; and being a bright little girl, she committed to memory the precious form of prayer which has gone up from so many lips since the Saviour first uttered it. The next morning, full of animation, and delighted with her new acquisition, she returned home; and the moment her brother Frank appeared from school, she began to tell all about her visit, and beg him to learn "Our Father," and say it with her. From that time, the mother said, kneeling together, they had repeated the Lord's Prayer with

great earnestness and delight, and had also learned several other prayers, in which they

seemed much interested.

A few days before he was taken sick, Frank came to her with a book in his hand and said,

Oh, mother, here is a beautiful prayer; may I read it to you?"

It was the remembrance of this which induced her to make the request that the minister would pray by the bed of her suffering boy, and this was the secret of the calming influence which that prayer exerted. He continued thus tranquil a long time, but at length his distress returned and the hour of death drew near. About midnight, suffering and agonized, he begged of his mother to send for the good minister to pray again; he must have somebody to pray. The parents disliked to call at that hour of the night, and knew not what to do. At last the mother went up stairs, and taking the little Alice from her bed, brought her to his bedside, and told her what Frank wanted. Immediately she knelt down and slowly and solemnly repeated the prayer which they both so much loved, and, unasked, said,

"Now Franky lays him down to sleep,
I pray the Lord his soul to keep;
If he should die before he wake,
I pray the Lord his soul to take."
The first words soothed the ear of the suf-

ferer, and with the last his spirit fled.

Witnessed earth ever a sublimer spectacle? At the dead hour of night, in the chamber where waits the king of terrors, surrounded by weeping friends, the child of five years, roused kneels in her simple night dress, and undishastily from the sweet slumber of childhood, turbed, unterrified, lisps in childish accent the prayer which heaven accepts, and on whose breath missioned angels bear upward

the ransomed soul.

I would learn a lesson. They labor not in vain who sow precious seed in the free soil of youthful hearts.

THE FATAL JOKE.

BY HIELEN C. GAGE,

I was once present-where a small party of young persons where warmely discussing the subject of practical joking. After a long and interesting debate, the question seemed about to be decided in its favor, when a gentleman whose singular melancholy and dejected air at once attracted our attention related the following story:

In younger days I was remarkable for my fondness of practical joking, even to such a degree that I never allowed a good opportunity to pass unimproved.

My orphan cousin Robert, to whom I was

fondly attached, was of a different nature from me. He was sober, sedate and graceful almost to a fault, very thougthful and very bashful. This stupidity, as I called it, was of ten a check upon my natural gayety, and it was seldom that I could induce him to join my boyish sports, though he sometimes did gratify me. Poor Robert! the green turf of his native valley, on whose bosom the fairest flowers that New England could boast of, have blossomed and withered, and passed away to eternity, leaving behind them a lasting impress of their loveliness, now covers his mouldering ashes. Yes, Robert is dead, and I am the cause of his untimely end, the circumstances of which will serve to convince you of the folly of "practical joking."

It was late one evening early in September, that Robert and myself returned to our room to talk over the exciting scenes of the day, for it was the night after the election, and a fine holiday it had been to us. I had just returned from a visit to some friends in the city, and had, of course, brought with me many curious things which Robert had never seen or heard of. Among them was a mask, the use of which I explained to my unsophisticated cousin, who laughed and wondered why the people could wish to look horribly enough to

wear one.

I was in my gayest mood, just ready for an adventure; and seeing he was disposed to make fun of my mask, I proposed an experiment.

"What!" exclaimed my cousin, "you do not intend to wear it to bed, do you?"

"Far from it," I replied, "it is you who should wear the mask! not I. I am quite ape enough without it."

"A very just remark, indeed," he observed, gravely.

I had never seen him in better humor, and I thought it best to unfold my plans at once. At our next door lived a wealthy gentleman, with whose daughter my bashful cousin was already smitten. That very night, as we passed by, on our return from the village, he had called and bade her good night, and received in return one of the sweetest smiles from the happiest eyes and charming lips I ever beheld. I was his bosom friend, and to me he always entrusted his secrets, (alas! how little did I deserve such confidence,) yet he always blushed when I spoke of Julia.

Some evil spirit, I know not what else it could have been, prompted me, when I proposed to have a little sport at her expense. My plans were these: He was to dress himself in a suit of clothes to correspond with the mask, which by the way was the most frightful looking thing I ever saw, repair to the dwelling of his friend, and call her to the door by rapping. I was to stand near to witness the result, and participate in the joke.

He blushed, hung his head, and of course refused. I had expected this, but flattered myself that I could easily persuade him to the contrary. It was, however, a harder task than I had anticipated, for his unwillingness seemed greater than ever; the reason I readily understood.

I poh'd and pshaw'd and threatened to expose to all the boys his cowardly disposition, as I was pleased to term it, and tender feelings to Julia, which as yet none of them had discovered. This last argument proved more successful than the other, for he well knew that I never suffered the idlest threat to remain unfulfilled; and the fear of being laughed at, besides betraying that which he most wished to conceal, conquered, and he yielded, though reluctantly, his consent. I even exulted over my triumph, though I have often since wished my lips had been struck dumb before I uttered those words that sealed the after fate of two pure beings. But in my thoughtlessness I rushed heedlessly on in whatever I undertook, regardless of consequences. My wild reckless spirit had never been tamed.

Finding that there was but one alternative, and that to submit cheerfully to my whim, he suffered himself to be arrayed as my fancy suggested, with good grace, and even laughed quite heartily as I added garment after garment, in order to make him look as frightful as possible; yet, after all, I could see that his mind was ill at ease, and I half condemned myself for being the cause of his unhappiness.

When at length all was arranged to my satisfaction, I placed the horrid mask over his face, and led him to the mirror. He started back, and involuntary placed his hand to his head as if to take it away, but my interference prevented. He even pleaded that the penalty I had threatened to inflict in case he refused to go might be spared him. But I was inexorable; I was anxious to see the result, and the delay caused by his unwillingness vexed me. A renewal of my threats of exposure succeeded in removing all obstacles, and we immediately set about our adventure. Cautiously as thieves we crept through the yard and each took his station, Robert at the door and I at the window nearest him.

The curtain was partly drawn aside, so that I could easly distinguish every object in the room. As I had anticipated, she was alone. The domestics had retired, and I knew her old father too well to believe that he was any where but in the arms of Somnus; for he was one of those sensible persons whose maxim is, "Early to bed and early to rise."

Julia-and I shall never forget how lovely she was-sat beside a small table in the centre of the room apparently absorbed in a book. Her fair hand supported her head, and her hair fell gracefully down her neck in beautiful ring