ancient writer says, 'the whole tree becomes like a tent supported by many columns.'

2. Sometimes a Brahmin, who in India is held to be a most holy man, makes a little shed by the great trunk of a Banyan tree, and beneath its boughs he spends his days. The tree gives him plenty of room to pace about in meditation; it shelters him from the fiery rays of the sun as well as from rough weather; and he hardly ever leaves the place.

3. The people, who almost adore him, bring him all he needs to satisfy the simple demands of nature, and he on his part blesses them and names them in his prayers. The Banyan being thus looked upon as a sacred tree is generally found growing near the chief temples.

4. In a certain island there is a very large Banyan that has 350 trunks, each about the size of a good English forest tree; it is said that 7,000 persons can worship at one time under the leafy dome. After this we need not be astonished to hear of a whole regiment of cavalry2 sheltering under a Banyan, or of great public meetings 3 being held there.

5. Though the Banyan is so large a tree, its fruit is no bigger than a cherry. Its leaves serve the

s Public meetings. It is just the sort of place for such meetings. It is far better to be one of several thousands under the green shadow of such a noble tree, than to be shut up in a gaslighted hall.

thoughtful Brahmin for plates. Can you fancy the hermit dressed in a long white robe, and with a big beard, eating his simple dinner off a Banyan leaf, and living all his life beneath the shade of the great tree?

6. And just as the tidy English cottager tends his yew, and clips it into the shape of a castle or a peacock, so does the Brahmin assist his Banyan to grow with regularity. He directs its drooping branches where to touch the ground, and forms them into properly shaped arches. The Brahmin loves and cherishes his Banyan, under whose sunproof and rain-proof shelter, composed of tens of thousands of heart-shaped leaves, he passes his quiet life. Perhaps, however, he would be more useful if he came out into the busy world, and shared its toils and cares like the rest of us.

7. The poet Southey says of this tree :

'Twas a fair scene wherein they stood,

A green and sunny glade amidst the wood,
And in the midst an aged Banyan grew :
It was a goodly sight to see

That venerable tree.

For, o'er the lawn, irregularly spread,

Fifty great columns propped its lofty head;
And many a long depending1 shoot,

Seeking to strike its root,

Straight like a plummet 2 grew towards the ground; Some on the lower boughs which cross'd their way,

1 Depending, hanging down.

2 Plummet, a ball of lead tied to a string.

Fixing their bearded fibres, round and round,
With many a ring and wild contortion 1 wound
Some to the passing wind, at times, with sway
Of gentle motion swung ;

;

Others of younger growth, unmoved, were hung
Like stone-drops from the cavern's fretted2 height.
Beneath was smooth and fair to sight,

Nor weeds nor briers deformed the natural floor,
And, through the leafy cope3 which bowered it o'er,
Came gleams of chequered 4 light.

So like a temple did it seem, that there

A pious heart's first impulse would be prayer.

AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG.

FROM 'THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.'

1. GOOD people all, of every sort,
Give ear unto my song,

And if you find it wondrous short,
It cannot hold you long.

1 Contortion, a twist, a twining round.

2 Fretted, as it were, eaten away: 'like as a moth fretteth a garment.'

3 А соре is a covering for the head; it means here the leaves which cover the top of the tree.

4 Chequered, broken up into squares. The light, as it breaks through trees, makes a sort of pattern on the ground, something like the squares of a chess-board.

2. In Islington there was a man,

Of whom the world might say,
That still a godly race he ran
Whene'er he went to pray.

3. A kind and gentle heart he had,
To comfort friends and foes;
The naked every day he clad
When he put on his clothes.

4. And in that town a dog was found,
As many dogs there be,

Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound,
And curs of low degree.

5. This dog and man at first were friends; But when a pique 1 began,

1

The dog, to gain some private ends,
Went mad, and bit the man.

6. Around from all the neighbouring streets The wond'ring neighbours ran,

And swore the dog had lost his wits,
To bite so good a man.

7. The wound it seemed both sore and sad, To every Christian eye;

And while they swore the dog was mad,
They swore the man would die.

8. But soon a wonder came to light,
That showed the rogues they lied;
The man recovered of the bite,

The dog it was that died.

GOLDSMITH.

' A pique, a bad feeling, a readiness to be angry.

CANADA.

PART I.

I. THERE is not in the world a nobler outlook than that from off the terrace at Quebec. You stand upon a rock overhanging the city and the river, and look down upon the masts of the guard ship below. Acre upon acre of timber comes floating down the stream above the city, the Canadian songs just reaching you upon the heights; and beneath you are fleets of great ships, English, German, French, and Dutch, embarking the timber from the floating docks. The Stars and Stripes are nowhere to be seen. Such are the distances in North America, that here, farther from the sea than is any city in Europe west of Moscow, we have a seaport town, with gunboats and three-deckers, morning and evening guns, and bars of God Save the Queen,' to mark the opening and closing of the port.

1

2. The St. Lawrence runs in a chasm in a flat table-land, through which some earlier Niagara seems to have cut for it a way. Some of the tributaries are in sight, all falling from a cliff into the deep still river. In the distance, seawards, a silver ribbon on the rock represents the Falls of Montmorenci. Long villages of tiny white cots straggle along the 1 The Stars and Stripes, the flag of the United States.