into seven segments, from the lowest of which the tail begins; this is armed with a hard pointed and crooked sting, and it has in it a very strong poison. This poison kills all the small animals that the creature attacks; and is extremely painful, and often very dangerous to man. The place becomes inflamed, and the surrounding parts often turn black; and good management, and carefulness are required to prevent mortification. How thankful we ought to be who live in a country where there are no such noxious ani. mals as these. It has been said that, when a scorpion is surrounded by burning coals or wood, so as not to be able to escape, it will strike its sting into its own body, and destroy itself; but this is altogether an idle and foolish story.

This creature is common in the East in old houses, and about dry and decayed walls, and you can hardly move a piece of furniture without danger of being stung by them. The scorpion is extremely bold and watchful. "At the approach of an enemy it seldom hews any signs of fear, but, with its

tail lifted up, and sting in readiness, as if fully confident in the force of its poison, it waits the attack with courage and intrepidity, and seldom desists, till either it is itself killed, or its foe put to flight.

CONVERSATION

BETWEEN

MARY

WILLIAMSON AND JANE MARSON.

(Continued from p. 264.)

Jane. Well, I think there is always some plague about the school, and the reading, and the writing, and the working, and one thing or other. The mistress has been finding fault with me again.

Mary. Why, what's been the matter to-day, Jane?

J. Oh, I could not say the hymn that was set me, and so my mistress found fault, and said, I had not looked at it at home, as she bid me.

M. And had you?

J. No, I hardly had; I put it off till the last minute, and then it was too late. My mother called me in several

times to learn it, but I did not mind her at first, and then I had a scolding from her; and then, when I did go in, I took the book in my hand, but I did not try to learn any thing till the very last.

M. I don't wonder then that you could not say your hymn.

J. And the mistress has set me to learn it again this afternoon, and it is a half holiday, and so I shall lose my play. And then, besides, she scolded me about my other lessons. It came to my turn to read in the class, and I did not know where the place was, I was looking off the book, and she said I was inattentive and careless.

M. And was not she right?

J. Why, I was thinking of something else.

M. Yes, but if we would do any thing well, we must think of that one thing for the time, and of nothing else. J. Oh yes, I dare say that is all right.

M. Why, Jane, as I said the last time we talked together, my father nd mother send me to school, and ey expect that I should learn, and I

mean to try and to do all I can to improve, as long as they think proper to send me.

J. Oh yes, it is all very proper, I dare say. But it has never been my way to consider these things in such a

manner.

M. But why should not we? My mother I know could find a good deal for me to do at home; I could look after one of the little children, or I could help her in several ways, or I could sometimes earn a trifle for her. So that I know it would be very convenient for her, in many respects, to have me at home: but yet she is willing to put herself to a great deal of inconvenience and trouble for the sake of sending me to school; and it would be then very ungrateful in me if I was not thankful for this, and did not try to do all I could to learn, and improve myself at school.

J. Why, it's just the same with my mother; but I tell you that I do not take these things in the way that you do.

M. But I think we ought to consider them in this

I look way.

upon

it

that when we learn to read at school, it is not only for the sake of saying that we can read, but it is for the sake of getting something out of the books that may be of use to us, and teach us what is good. Now all our books teach us that we are to obey our parents, and do what they desire of us, and try to be grateful for their kindness to us, and endeavour to make them happy; and I think if we ever do any thing that vexes and disturbs them, we cannot help feeling very unhappy ourselves, and when we think of all that they have done for us, and all the labour and pains that they go through to provide for us, and to do us good, it seems to me quite dreadful to hurt their minds, or to do any thing that may give them pain and sorrow. And we read in the word of God himself, "Honour thy father and thy mother."

J. Ah, well, if you talk in that manner I shall be glad to have no more to say to you just now.—I am off,

(To be continued.)