Romans that hath brought succour to the town.' But his
courtiers whispered together, and they said at last, 'O
King, the Emperor Constantius is indeed at Antioch, and
the person whom thou seest is one more than mortal.'
Then Sapor hurled his javelin in anger against the walls,
and retired in moody silence to his tent. And, as the
Persian host withdrew themselves from their posts, the
Bishop St. James gazed down upon them from the ram-
parts, and he pronounced the curse of the Lord upon them.
A short interval elapsed, when an immense swarm of flies
appeared in the west.
attacked with fury the
elephants, and horses, and
wherever they alighted.

They passed over the city, but
Persian camp, stinging men,
scattering confusion and dismay
Terrified at what had happened,

the Persian king commanded the tents to be struck, and with great haste recrossed the Tigris.-From the Rev. J. Fletcher's Travels.

THRASHING CORN IN CHILI.

THE trelia, as this process is called, is a great rural feast. We rode over the track of stubble from whence the corn had been cut, putting up partridges in numbers as we cantered along, till shouts, and a crowd, showed us where

the entertainment was to be seen. A company of horsemen were keeping together an enormous herd of horses, principally mares and foals; it was said there were three thousand, and a most singular appearance they had, for these animals are never used except for this purpose. The rest of the year they are allowed to graze at liberty, on the lower slopes and valleys of the mountains. The best are picked out for sale, and the use of the estate.*

* The mares had been subjected to a process that did not add to their beauty; this was a close crop of their tails and manes. I was told this was necessary to prevent their falling a prey to the puma, which abounds here, and which, darting from ambush on the horse, is generally thrown off by the startled animal, if he has not this means of securing his hold.

A huge circle was railed in by enormous posts, the interstices fenced with bushes: this was filled with the straw, unthrashed, to a height of full six feet. The horsemen drove the herd of horses up a lane formed of empty wagons, into the corn-ring. At first they could only get on by furious jumps, but before the whole drove were in, half the grain at least was trodden down. Several horsemen now stood in the entrance, and the rest, dividing the horses into droves, with shouts, yells, and whirling lassoes, began to make them gallop round. Every two or three minutes, the whole body turned, and galloped the contrary way. The fatigue of the poor animals must have been tremendous, and the horsemen at the entrance had frequently to stand back, and allow some weak foal to go out. This opportunity was generally taken advantage of by others also, and then began a hunt; the horsemen who were outside were in instant pursuit, and with wild shouts flying ponchos, and unerring lassoes ready, galloped after them. Few ever allowed a lasso to be thrown; but when they found that speed would not clear them, resigned themselves to their fate, and came sulkily back. In fact, such is the severity of the shock occasioned by being caught, that an animal who has once felt it, never forgets it. After the horses had, with a few short intervals, been driven about for three hours, they were let out; nor did any seem anxious to wander far, so exhausted were they all.

After the treading is completed, the peous separate the corn from the straw, by throwing it up to the wind, till, at last, nothing remains on the floor but the grain itself.— Walpole's Four Years in the Pacific.

NOTICE TO CORRESPONDENT.

E. M's first chapter is promising, but the Editor can form no judgment without seeing the remainder of the tale.

John and Charles Mozley, Printers, Derby.

Audrey. Where is Mary?

Miss Ormesden. Poor Mary is in disgrace. I came down to speak to her mother, and before I was at the bottom of the stairs, heard a pert voice finding out some bad spelling in a bill of her mother's. Mrs Hunt tried to excuse her, but I had reason to think such things often happened, and that they admired her too much to check her properly, so I took her up to my room, and talked to her. Poor child, she cried heartily, and was very sorry and ashamed; but I thought it best to mark it by sending her to help in the ironing, instead of letting her sit here with us.

Helena. Ah! papa said he was afraid Mary was growing conceited.

Audrey. Poor Mary, I am very sorry for her. Do let
APRIL, 1851.

VOL. I.

P

me go and fetch her, godmamma, I dare say she has been quite sorry enough.

Miss O. No, my dear, it is better not. I am afraid we have been setting her up of late more than was good for her.

Audrey. She seemed so shy at first.

Miss O. We wanted to conquer her shyness, and did rather too much.

Helena. I saw she was pleased at answering some things better than Audrey, and she talked so much more last time.

Miss O. I am afraid we have rather turned her head. She came home in too elated a state the other day after going to the house to see the prints.

Audrey. O, I am so sorry! I did not mean to do any harm. Ought I not to have asked her ?

Miss O. O no, my dear, don't distress yourself. You are not to blame, for if any one ought to have been cautious it was I. I believe that girls like Mary are in great danger of that fault of self-consequence.

Helena. Head girls in schools, and young teachers? Ah! Jane found such a conceited set in her parish, that she could not think what to do with them.

Miss O. They are the first in their own world, and by their own merit in favour with the authorities, and more cultivated than their parents, who are apt to take too much pride in them to check their presumption; they are perfect in the school range of books, and have not much opportunity of seeing how much there is beyond.

Helena. In fact they are like the duck that hatched the ugly duckling, and told the brood that the world was much larger than they supposed, for it took in all the next field.

Audrey. Poor children, what are they to do?

Miss O. They should look on self-opinion as a temptation of the world-as one of those that comes to us from

living with other people, and comparing ourselves with them, and fight against it as such.

Audrey. I wonder if they see the danger?

Miss O. Whether they do or not, those who have to do with them should be very careful not to lead them into temptation.

Helena. How, godmamma?

Miss O. I hope you will be careful, Helena, for it is a fault to which young ladies who have to do with Sunday Schools are very liable. They get into a fit of enthusiasm about some favourite scholar, show her off, and make much of her till she grows conceited, and when the stimulus of their notice is removed, the poor girl does not know how to go on without it.

Helena. But she ought.

Miss O. She ought, indeed-it is her own fault, her own danger, if she does not; but is it not a fearful thing to think that while we have been teaching her the highest and holiest things, we have at the same time been acting the part of the wicked world, and fostering in her the pride of life?

Helena. O, that is terrible. But what is to be done? One cannot help liking and noticing the best girls.

Miss O. Far be it from me to say we should not, we must not do so. But then we must do so in fear and anxiety, thinking whether our notice is given for their good or our pleasure. Besides, I think it will generally be found that the girls who attract this notice and favour, are more apt to be of the clever, lively, forward kind, to whom it is likely to be most hurtful, not what I should call the best

"The voices low and gentle,
And timid glances shy,'

to whom it would do good instead of harm.

Helena. Papa gave that hymn to Anne Pierce to learn the other day, and he was very much pleased with the