eminence of a tolerable height, and being, besides, in this passage, in the plural number.

Little Ararat is about 13,000 feet above the level of the sea, and is not always covered with snow. Both summits are distinguished by the barren and desolate appearance which they present to the beholder; a desolation which, however, is fully compensated by the interesting character of the associations connected with them, as well as by the majestic grandeur of

their outline.

Jubenile Reading.

THE LOST CHILD FOUND*. "HARK!" said the baron of Lucowiza to his lady, "the report of the artillery is getting nearer. If at last it should come here""Let us be prepared for the worst," replied the "What has hapresolute, high-spirited woman. pened to others may happen to us; and what others have endured we also may endure; and, There exists a firm persuasion among the if others are brought low, we are not too good to Armenians that, the relics of the ark being pre-enough to deliver us, if it seems meet to his wisescape similar misfortunes. But God is powerful served for some special and providential purpose dom; and let us pray to him, not only to spare on the top of Mount Ararat, no human being will ever be allowed to ascend it. In corrobora- us, but to give us resigned hearts that will put unbounded confidence in him, and unconditionally repose on his faithful, fatherly care." and the din of war seemed withdrawn to another It was evening. The cannonading had ceased, quarter. They ventured to retire to rest, for they had kept anxious watch on several preceding nights. But at midnight the inhabitants of the village were startled out of their deep sleep by the discharge of artillery; and, before they had left their beds, part of the village was in flames, which were carried by a violent east wind from one thatched roof to another. The fire had broke out in the neighbourhood of the castle: it soon woke out of sleep, he could not tell whether his caught the out-buildings; and, when the baron rest had been broken by the noise of cannon, or by the flames which glared upon his chamber windows. While putting on a few clothes, the danger became so great that he could not hope to do more than escape with his life from the burning castle.

tion of this notion they relate an adventure which happened to James, or Jacob, afterwards bishop of Nisibis, but who was at that time a monk in the monastery of Echmiadzin. During his residence there he had many disputes with the heathen Armenians respecting the authenticity of the scriptural account of Noah; he therefore determined, by a personal inspection of the remains of the ark, to satisfy himself of its actual existence. He made several attempts to ascend the mountain; but, each time having fallen asleep through fatigue after he had attained to a certain height, he found himself on awaking in the place from whence he originally set out. At length an angel appeared to him in a dream, and announced that his labours would be all in vain; but that the Almighty, as a reward for his exertions, had sent him a piece of

the miraculous vessel. This relic is said to be

preserved in the Armenian convent of Echmiadzin. The fact of the impossibility of ascending Ararat has been borne testimony to by many travellers from the time of Chardin to that of Morier, the latter of whom asserts that "no one appears to have reached the summit of Ararat since the food"; and he adds that "the steep sides of its snowy head were sufficient to frustrate any attempts of that kind."

At length, in the year 1829, Dr. F. Parrot, professor of natural philosophy in the university of Dorpat, undertook, at the expense of the Russian government, a scientific expedition to Mount Ararat. After three unsuccessful at

tempts to reach the summit of the greater peak, he at length accomplished the object of his mission, by means of steps, or notches, cut with a hatchet in the hard ice. He describes the top of this celebrated mountain as "a gently vaulted, nearly cruciform surface, of about two hundred paces in circuit, which at the margin sloped off precipitously on every side, but particularly towards the north-east and south-east." At about half a mile distant from the place where he stood he perceived a second summit, connected with the former by a slight depression, covered with perpetual ice. In this depression he thinks the ark rested; and he expresses his opinion that, supposing the summit of the mountain to have been covered with ice and snow immediately after the abatement of the Deluge, it is by no means incompatible with the laws of nature to expect that the remains of it may still be preserved beneath this icy crust. The truth of professor Parrot's statements was verified on affidavit by several of the persons who accompanied him.

"Have you got the child?" cried the baroness to the nurse, whom she saw running out of the house.

"Yes, I have it," she answered; "only make haste."

The parents hurried through the garden-walks and, though they called after her, the sound of after the maid; but she was soon out of sight, their voices was lost amidst the report of musketry, the cries of distress, and the crash of falling buildings. Urged forward by the fugitives from the village, they hastened to the adjacent wood for safety, and strained every nerve to get beyond

the reach of the cannon and the tumult of war. other way, and would be found again in the The nurse, they thought, could have taken no morning. Day came, as it surely will, after the the wood behind them, and had reached the clear longest and most troubled night. They had left open country. Here and there might be seen a little band of fugitives; some with a bundle, small or large, on their backs; others with only

From "The Weaver of Quelibrunn, or the Roll of Cloth; a Story for Christian Children;" translated from the German

of Dr. Barth. Edinburgh: Paton and Ritchie. 1851. Dr.

Barth is well known as a writer of little tales for children and young people. They are generally instructive, and con vey important lessons of gospel truth. Some of these have already been noticed by us in their English dress. The extract we have made above is from one-the Weaver of Quellbrunn-which has just reached us. It is told in a pleas ng manner; and we have no hesitation in recommending it By the care of the publishers the volume appears in a very as well adapted to be placed in the hands of young people. ttractive shape.-ED.

a scanty supply of clothing, which they had hastily put on. O how earnestly and inquisitively did the afflicted parents cast their eyes around after their lost child! They hastened breathless from one group to another, in order to find their precious treasure with the nurse; and every moment the quickness of their pulse, and the anguish of their hearts increased, as each inquiry in succession ended in disappointment. They did not give up all hope hastily: that a mother's heart could not do; but its feeble props broke down one after another, so that at last it entirely sunk and was lost. In the nearest villages all their inquiries were fruitless; and they could not go back, for war and all its horrors were every moment coming nearer: they were forced to go forwards, and, in doing so, probably went further from the direction their servant had taken; but no choice was left. We must now leave them, | commending them to that Almighty Comforter who is "rich in mercy to all that call upon him," while we return to Lucowiza.

On what a slender thread, to human eyes, often bangs a human life! That infant in the ark of balrushes, on the banks of the Nile, to how many accidents was he exposed! and yet to what a glorious career was he destined ! That little child, who alone of all his family was forgotten when the house was on fire, and then was suddenly rescued by his father, and became a distinguished and successful labourer in the service of Christ, on what a mere hair did his life hang! But along with these fine threads and hairs are interwoven other invisible ones, of heavenly texture and divinely strong. Holy angels are employed in protecting and rescuing those little ones on whose service they are sent forth; and hence it comes to pass that their lives are so often preserved in the most wonderful manner, over whom the Keeper of Israel and his hosts hold watch. You have noticed the incidents I have told you, but how they came about you cannot even guess; listen, then, while I proceed.

A mile from Lucowiza, farther inland, lies a village, the name of which I do not know; but would the name of a Bohemian village signify to you? This village also had, been visited by the calamities of war: part of it was burnt; the houses that were left standing had been plundered, and the fields around lay desolate. Unfortunately it was just harvest-time, the corn was cut, the sheaves were standing bound in the fields; but, ere the reapers had time to fetch them home, another reaper came, who, with an invisible sickle, cut down the reapers themselves, and many more besides. I need not tell you his name; but you will perhaps be reminded of the words of the palmist,"In the morning they are like grass which groweth up. In the morning it flourisheth and groweth up in the evening it is cut down and withereth."

The hostile bands came rushing on; and where yesterday dwelt peace, prosperity, and hope, was to be seen to-day the grim form of desolation, which the few who survived beheld with terror dismay. On the following morning, when the black cloud of war had rolled over the border, a countryman, whose cottage had escaped the flames, went out into his corn-fields to see whether he could find a sheaf or two to carry home. A few were still standing; but, looking

between them, he saw, to his great astonishment, what he had neither sought for nor expected-a child about two years old fast asleep. It seemed as if an angel had laid it there, for such a happy smile played over the features of the little sleeper that you might imagine it was dreaming Jacob's dream over again. The good countryman could not take his eyes off that little smiling face he was unwilling to wake it; but at last it awoke of itself. Now, indeed, as you might expect, the happy smile was gone; for the child no longer saw an angel, but a strange unknown old man: over its head was the wide-spread blue vault of the sky, and near it, instead of the white pillow of its cradle, the rough ground, with long stubble and a few sheaves. It called for its mother and Theresa; and, when neither of them appeared, a little cloud began to gather on its brow, and the drops trickled down its rosy cheeks. The man took it up in his arms, stroking and soothing it as well as he knew how; then, leaving the sheaves for which he had come thither, carried the child home. On the way, a doubt arose in his mind whether his wife would feel as kindly towards the little one as he did himself; but "No," he said, "it has long been a source of sorrow to her that we have had no more children since those whose bed death has made in the churchyard. She will be glad to have our loss made up in this way." And so it proved. The news that some sheaves still remained gave her joy; but she was more rejoiced at the living present that God's hand had bestowed; and, when the good woman fetched from their back garden a handful of strawberries, the cloud on the little weeper's brow soon dispersed; and, though it often called for father, mother, and Theresa, yet by degrees it became attached to its foster-parents, who, with tender love sought to make up the loss of its home to the best of their power. How the child came among the sheaves; whether its faithful nurse had been shot, and her forlorn little charge had wandered by itself into the corn-fields; or by what other means it was brought there, they could not tell. The inhabitants of Lucowiza had left the place, and the greater part of them never returned.

The seven years' war had just begun, and, of course, for some time, the communication between one place and another was rendered very difficult, and often quite impracticable. It is true that, as soon as the baron of Lucowiza had found a restingplace in a neighbouring country, he sent a trusty messenger, with orders to search the place and country all round, if perchance some trace might be found of the lost child; but, when the man reached the borders of Saxony, he fell ill of typhus fever, and died in the hospital of a small town, without having fulfilled his errand. The child itself was too young to give any information: it only knew that it was called Theodore. Theodore's foster-parents were not originally poor: they once possessed beautiful fields and meadows; but their cattle had been taken away, their house had been plundered, the fruits of their fields destroyed, and their barns contained no provision for the winter. It cost them much trouble to procure a few cattle again, and even to get daily bread; for, though they would gladly have sold part of their land in order to get some money, they could find no purchaser in these troublous times. Yet they did not let the little one want

for any thing. If they had only a single morsel, | jacket, or a patched pair of trousers, big enough for they would cheerfully go supperless to bed, rather than that their foster-child should suffer hunger The little creature throve fast; and the love that was bestowed upon him was not wasted: he soon gave signs of such grateful attachment, and was so attentive and obedient, that they were often ready to imagine that the child was really their own, and never for a moment repented having

It was about the hour when the gentry were accustomed to take their morning airing. A carriage drove up to the mansion in front of which Theodore was lying. A gentleman alighted from it, with a lady in mourning. They could not help noticing the lad, for he was lying not far from the door; and, having once seen him, they could not take their eyes off, but gazed at him with deep attention. It was not owing so much to the strange attire in which he was clad, or his long black hair, which touched the pavement; but over his features might be again seen that sweet gentle smile which played upon them when lay, a little one, as we have described, in the cornfield. Perhaps he saw again, in a dream, the angels ascending and descending on Jacob's ladder. The sorrowful eye of the lady was fixed on the sleeping youth, and could not withdraw itself. Soon also the gentleman became equally interested. "How is this?" he said to his wife; "would not our Theodore, if he were still alive, be about the size of this lad?" But the female--O holy mother's love, who can fathom thee !-only that Being who gave thee the eye that instantaneously saw the image of her own lost child, with the liveliest distinctness, embodied before her in that sleeping beggar-boy!

till morning dawn arose behind him, and, very to God, who had fulfilled the promise, “He soon after, the first rays of a September sun gilded | maketh me to lie down in green pastures; he the tops of the fir-trees. He came out of the leadeth me beside the still waters ;" and, while he forest on an open height. And what golden bird was musing on the relief afforded him by the is that which seems to float aloft in the air? Is twenty-third psalm during his wanderings in the it not a weather-cock? and underneath is a golden night, he was overcome by drowsiness, and in a cross on the lofty tower of a cathedral? It is few minutes was in a deep sleep. even so. Yes! the boy stands at last in sight of a city, miles distant from his last home-and yet it is in the right way. For the first time in his life Theodore beheld a city, and that a large one. He enters the streets; he feels as if in a new world. There are magnificent mansions, large churches, splendid shops, gentlemen and ladies nely dreessed; and, strange to say, amidst it all there are beggar boys like himself! How is it possible (he thought) that in such a beautiful rich city there can be any poor people! But as he was looking at these boys, with their touzled hair and dirty faces, he recollected that he had not washed himself that morning. From the high ground where he first caught sight of the city, he had noticed that a tolerably broad river flowed through it, so he went to wash himself in it. His clothes consisted at this time of a large black jacket, which had been a frock-coat before the skirts were cut off; a pair of old patched trousers of Manchester manufacture, which had belonged to a brewer's drayman; blue stockings, and a pair of cast-off women's shoes. He had no shirt, nor any covering for his head. But his thick black hair, which he now combed out neatly, hung in glossy locks on his shoulders; and, if his white skin had not been tanned by the sun, he might have been taken for a gipsy with a Circassianformed head. But what cared he just then for either Circassian or gipsy! He was as hungry as both together; and went from one street to another, in the hopes that one or other of those finely dressed people would give him something to eat. But, this hope failing, he ventured at last to ask for a loaf at a baker's, where he saw many in the window; but was roughly refused. "How is this?" thought he; "is it a custom in this city never to relieve a beggar? Then I would rather go back again to my village; for a villager has never refused me a piece of bread! Yet how do the beggar-boys live, whom I see here in the market-place, if nobody gives them anything? Perhaps I went to the wrong door." He went, accordingly, to another house, and asked the people who lived on the ground-floor for a morsel of bread, as he had eaten nothing since the evening before. As they did not know he had been walking all night, they thought he was imposing upon them, and showed him the door. Theodore was almost driven out of his senses by such inhumanity, but resolved to make one more attempt, and if that failed to seek out his former home, the beggar's lodging and the bed of straw. But it just struck him that he had a piece of money in his pocket, which a tradesman passing by had given him, and he thought, "Now I need not want; I can buy some bread." Unfortunately the coin was a foreign one, and the baker would not take it; but, as he saw the lad was hungry, gave him a piece of bread. On the other side of the street was a handsome house, with a court in front. Theodore crossed over, sat down on the pavement, and ate the bread, with thankfulness

be

When Theodore awoke, and could use his eyes and lips, question followed question; and by every fresh answer the conviction was increased that they had before them their lost child. But in such a case not mere probability, but certainty, is longed for; and this could only be obtained by inquiries on the spot. They resolved, therefore, to set out for Lucowiza the next morning. Meanwhile Theodore was brought into the house, and suitably clothed; yet he could not, all at once, adapt himself to to his altered circumstances. On waking the next morning he said, "Mother, today is a fine one for me; no rain, no snow, no storm; capital begging weather this!" My poor child i" replied his mother, while her tears flowed apace, 66 there is now an end of thy begging. I have mourned for thee ever since we lost thee, and constantly dressed in black. To-day I shall put on white; and from this hour thy life of toil is at an end; but thy begging-wallet, which thou broughtest home so empty, we will keep as a memorial, that thou mayest continue humble and grateful to the good Shepherd, who has guarded his wandering sheep, and brought it back uninjured to the fold."

Next day they travelled all together to Lucowiza, which its former proprietor had long before sold. Some of the former inhabitants had fixed themselves on the same spot again; but no one could give any account of the lost child. From Lucowiza they proceeded to the village where Theodore had passed six happy years. The poor widow, whom I mentioned before, was still living, and was delighted to see the boy once more. From her his parents learned enough to satisfy them that Theodore was their son.