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express the wish that one might be sent away from the comforts of civil society, to encounter the wants and sufferings of solitary exile; to suffer an ignominious death; to be deprived of burial, and become a banquet to the birds of prey. The sable plumage and harsh discordant voice of that bird, serve to aggravate the horrors of desolation.* In the prophecies of Isaiah, it is accordingly foretold, that the raven, with other birds of similar dispositions, should fix his abode in the desolate houses of Edom: "The cormorant and the bittern shall possess it; the owl also and the raven shall dwell in it: and He shall stretch out upon it the line of confusion, and the stones of emptiness." (Isai. xxxiv. 11.) The Prophet Zephaniah, in like manner, makes the raven, as seen in our woodcut, croak over the perpetual desolations of Nineveh :"Both the cormorant and the bittern," (in the Septuagint and other versions, "the cormorant and the raven,") "shall lodge in the upper lintels of it; their voice shall sing in the windows; desolation shall be in the thresholds: for He shall uncover the cedar work." (Zeph. ii. 14.) In those splendid palaces, where the voice of joy and gladness was heard, and every sound which could ravish the ear and subdue the heart, silence was, for the wickedness of their inhabitants, to hold her reign for ever, interrupted only by the scream of the cormorant, and the croaking of the

raven.

:

The writer in Prov. xxx. 17, appears to give a distinct character to some of the ravens in Palestine, when he says, "The eye that mocketh at his father, and despiseth to obey his mother, the ravens of the valley shall pick it out, and the young eagles shall eat it." He may, in this passage, allude to a species of raven which prefers the valley for her habitation to the clefts of the rock; or he may, perhaps, refer to some sequestered valley in the land of Promise, much frequented by these birds, which derived its name from that circumstance; or, as the rocky precipice, where the raven loves to build her nest, often overhangs the torrent, (which the original word nahal also signifies,) and the lofty tree, which is

Buffon's Natural History, vol. iii., p. 13.

equally acceptable, rises on its banks, he might by that phrase merely intend the ravens which prefer such situations.

cast into the shall find no maw of the

Bochart conjectures, that the valley alluded to was Tophet, in the neighbour. hood of Jerusalem, which the prophet Jeremiah calls the valley of the dead bodies; because the dead bodies of criminals were cast into it, where they remained without burial, till they were devoured by flocks of ravens, which collected for that purpose from the circumjacent country. If this conjecture be right, the meaning will be this: "He who is guilty of so great a crime, shall be subjected to an infamous punishment; and shall be valley of dead bodies, and grave, but the devouring impure and voracious raven." It was a common punishment in the East, (and one which the Orientals dreaded above all others,) to expose in the open fields the bodies of evil-doers, that had suffered by the laws of their offended country, to be devoured by the beasts of the field, and the fowls of heaven. He insinuates, that the raven makes his first and keenest attack on the eye; which perfectly corresponds with his habits, for he always begins his banquet with that part of the body, as is well known to shepherds, whose lambs and weakly sheep he often attacks, making his first onset by picking out their eyes.

Every species of food is acceptable to the raven; but he prefers the flesh of animals. A vile and disgusting bird, he hovers near the field of battle, in expectation of gorging himself with the slain; he attends at the place of execution, to feed upon the bodies of malefactors; he watches the habitations of disease and infection, to riot on the putrid carcase; and when these resources fail, he marks the lamb and other weak defenceless animals, and preys on living flesh. It is pretended that he will even attack larger animals with success; and, supplying what is deficient in strength, by cunning and activity, will fasten upon the backs of wild cattle, and eat them alive and in detail, after having picked out their eyes. What renders his ferocity more odious, is, that it is not in him, as in some other

If

animals, the effect of necessity, but a desire of carnage; as he can subsist on fruits and seeds of every kind, on insects of every name, and even, it is said, on poisonous matters; so that no animal so well deserves the name of omnivorous. to these base and truculent dispositions we add his lugubrious plumage, his harsh and mournful note, his ignoble mien, his ferocious look, infection exhaling from his body, we shall not be surprised, that, in every age of the world, and among every people, he has been regarded as an object of aversion; that he was pronounced an unclean bird by the Jewish lawgiver, and the use of his flesh prohibited among the holy people.

To some it may appear surprising, that so vile and abject a creature should be so frequently recognized in Scripture, as an object of care to the Maker and Preserver of all things. When the Most High challenged Job out of the whirlwind, He demanded :-" Who provideth for the raven his food? when his young ones cry unto God, they wander for lack of meat." (Job xxxviii. 41.) In the songs of the temple, it is stated, as an argument for praising God, that "He giveth to the beast his food, and to the young ravens which cry." (Psal. cxlvii. 9.) Our Lord, in the New Testament, directing His disciples to trust in God for their daily subsistence, bids them, "consider the ravens; for they neither sow nor reap; which neither have storehouse nor barn; and God feedeth them." The ravens do not abandon their young, as some ancient

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authors pretend; but cherish them with as much care and attention as other birds generally do, till they are able to provide, in some degree, for themselves. Voracious gluttons by nature, they soon become clamorous for more than the parent birds are able to supply. In these straits, Divine Providence condescends to relieve their sufferings, by exciting their instinctive sagacity to greater and more skilful exertions to procure the necessary supplies. But the care of Providence is not confined to the young; it extends also to the parents, that, like their brood, "neither sow nor reap, have neither storehouse nor barn;" and supplies them with food from His inexhaustible stores. Whatever may be their character and habits, they are the work of infinite wisdom and power; and if it be not unbecoming the Almighty Creator to make such creatures, it cannot be unbecoming to provide for their support. They, too, have their sphere of action, and their qualities and instincts are usefully employed both for themselves and the other parts of the terrestrial creation; even the meanness of their character is of no small advantage to the considerate mind, in allaying his fears, and in exciting and establishing his confidence in the wise and bountiful arrangements of Providence. The argument of our Lord is exceedingly strong and pointed. If the Almighty hear not in vain the croaking of a young raven, He surely will not turn a deaf ear to the supplications of His people.

our tender Father sees good. We have had some souls of late slip from our company to the church above, and some among us would be thankful to follow them; yet, we are willing to tarry the Lord's leisure, and "love is all the will Divine." Often Satan tells me I shall have much to suffer before and in death; but it does not bring care. I commit it to the Lord, and am daily entreating grace, both to live and to die, especially the latter, not because my health is worse. I am better than for some time past, yet death seems near, and I find it a profitable prospect; yet am I pained that I cannot get faster forward, and bring more glory to my Lord. I feel that prayer continually in my heart, 'Show me Thy way that I may know Thee;' the answer seems to be, 'Lie still in My hand, keep thine eye on Me, and all shall be well:' and there I find lasting rest. We have some dear souls here, who know what it is to live each moment in converse with Jesus. From these I learn many precious lessons, and their simple lively tale renders our private meetings very profitable. Last week, one class night, a dear woman, who had for years been an outward hearer, and with whom my precious husband had long taken much pains, was in the midst of the class set at liberty, and could not help breaking forth aloud in the praises of her redeeming Lord. Another, awakened about half a year since, was also set at liberty, as we were conversing alone a little time ago. Of this soul I have great joy, as she appears to be a

singular gift of heaven, and the promise given me at the conversion of my dear nephew, was renewed for her: Thy sons shall come from far, and thy daughters shall be nursed at thy side.' She seems to me to have learned the lessons of an adult Christian in a few weeks. O Lord, what a poor snail have I been when compared with this soul! Last Sunday night, another, who was seeking a renewed nature, felt herself deeply struck at the meeting, and has found a great change ever since. And this last week, a young woman, servant to a gracious soul in this town, who has long fought against conviction, has been laid on a sick bed, torn with condemnation, and now tastes of that peace which Jesus has promised to all who wait for and believe in Him. I tell you these little heads because I would have you to help us to pray and to praise. I can never be thankful enough for my room; it has been made a great blessing indeed, and the high seat is a great help to my weak body, as I cannot now stand to speak throughout the time. I have as yet the full use of my voice. You sometime ago asked me for a bit of my dear husband's hair. There were then so many promised, I feared we should part with too much; but I now send you a little, and may a share of his spirit accompany it, and give your soul to taste a drop of that comfort wherewith his cup did so richly overflow. We expect Mr. Wesley again in three weeks.

THE BANKS OF THE TAVY.
No. VII.

"Ye solemn woods, how pleasing 'tis to skim
On this calm flood, and find you thus at rest,
In one of Summer's most unruffled moods;
When scarcely steals a vagrant air abroad,
To bend the reed, or creep among the flowers."
THE tide was still flowing, but we were
now far up among the hills, and to the
eye the quiet stream gave no sign of tidal
action. O the sweetness of that hour's
life! We moved, and yet we were at

"Yours affectionately, "MARY FLETCHER."

rest; our very motion as we glided deepened one's sense of delicious repose. Often in my youthful dreams, I had been softly borne along upon the surface of a smooth transparent stream which in its expansions here and there reposed like a miniature lake amidst pensile woods, and then narrowing again between banks of water flags and lilies, and overshadowing old oak-trees, barely allowed a passage for my airy skiff. My dreams were now verified, and they seemed renew them

selves in my memory like visions of fulfilled prophecy. Had I in the night wanderings of my boyhood sometimes floated on the Tavy? Let nobody laugh. Nobody, did I say? Yes, those may laugh whose sleep was never broken by

"Shadowy joy or solid woe."

They cannot care or know much about dreams or dreamers; and I believe it is taken for granted, in some quarters, that what is not understood may very properly be laughed at. Well, laugh who will, I shall go on with my dreaming on my pet stream. It looked now as if it had fairly given itself up to quiet rapture amidst the charms which courted it in witching alternation, and which appeared to enrich its enjoyment by their peaceful rivalries. On one side it received with reverent tenderness the graceful advances of the swelling lawn. Was there ever any thing so nearly approaching to the "living green" of an immortal world as that bright slope which the waters kiss beneath the shadow of those guardian elms! On the other hand, the grand old wooded hills hung over the river with deep silent affection; and their hush seems to deepen now and then, as the sanderling skimmed along the shadowy bank and gave out its plaintive note, or the swallow twittered as it swept between the leafy pentice and the stream, or a fish leaped as the oar softly cut the glassy water, or a gentle rippling told how the current played with the dipping branches of some venerable oak.

"But what is that, boatman?" said I, pointing to some old walls just peeping above the trees far up on the hill-side.

"It is nothing but an old mine, Sir," was the reply. "Muckworms are restless things, Sir, often poking their noses where they shouldn't in search of pelf. They don't care where they dig, or what they disturb, so they can but find the copper or the tin, or the like of that. I suppose they thought there was something worth digging for yonder, and they kept on picking, and blasting, and threatening to turn the dear old hill inside-out, until their money was spent or their credit was gone, and all for nothing."

"Are you sorry or glad for them, boatman?

"Well, Sir, if I loved shining dust as some people do, I should be sorry, no

doubt; but I love these quiet woods well enough to be glad when anybody or anything that tries to break their peace and spoil their beauty gets smashed themselves before they have done much mischief."

"Ah, you love these woods then, and I like you all the better; it was a narrow escape for our beautiful Tavy, wasn't it?"

"Yes, Sir; but no thanks to the muckworms after all. We must have copper and tin I suppose, but somehow I can't like the people who seek for them in such places as this. It seems to touch one's very life-core to the quick to have nature torn to pieces on speculation. But never mind, the muck-worms have done nothing here but to put up a monument of their own losses; and if the old walls get covered with moss and ferns, as I hope they will soon, I, for one, shall think the restless people have not spent their labour and money in vain."

"Why you have no merey towards mining-folks, boatman. Perhaps you would be of another mind if you had a share of their profits."

"Well as to that, Sir, money is well enough in its place; and when a fellow is rather short of 'tin,' he might be tempted a bit even to cross his heart in order to fill his pocket; but I would rather, nevertheless, be pinched for lack of a penny, and have a meal a day less now and then, than see this river-side burrowed by muck-worms. Who likes to see beauty insulted and abused? It makes one's blood boil."

"Well said, boatman! but stay we won't get up to boiling point just now; that would be an insult to the holy quietness of Tavy-side." No, I wanted to feel the stillness as it deepened. And so we glided silently upward, passing now, a luxuriant alder-tree in gentle dalliance with the stream; and now, a willow, delicately saluting the water which mirrored its beauty. Here, was a clump of golden ragwort, or purple fox-glove, bathing, with its rich corymbs and spikes gracefully held above the surface; there, clusters of wild roses, laughingly floated on the tide. Now, we swept past little islands of rank grass, prettily adorned with enamel - work of marsh-marigold and stitchwort; and then through a succession of overhanging rocks, and tangled woods, and hollow glades. Masses of exuberant