CHRIST'S GLORY VISIBLE IN HIS HUMILIATION. His birth was mean on earth below; but it was celebrated with hallelujahs by the heavenly host in the air above: he had but a poor lodging; but a star lighted visitants to it from distant countries. Never prince had such visitants so conducted. He had not the magnificent equipage that other kings have; but he was attended with multitudes of patients, seeking and obtaining healing of soul and body. He made the dumb that attended him to sing his praises, and the lame to leap for joy; the deaf to hear his wonders, and the blind to see his glory. He had no guard of soldiers, nor magnificent retinue of servants; but health and sickness, life and death, received and obeyed his orders. Even the winds and storms, which no earthly power can control, obeyed him ; and death and the grave durst not refuse to deliver up their prey when he demanded it. He did not walk upon tapestry; but when he walked on the sea the waters supported him. All parts of the creation, excepting sinful man, honoured him as their creator. He kept no treasure; but when he had occasion for money the sea sent it to him in the mouth of a fish. He had no barns nor corn-fields; but when he inclined to make a feast, a few loaves covered a table sufficient for many thousands. None of all the monarchs of the world ever gave such entertainment!

By these and many such things, the Redeemer's glory shone through his meanness in the several parts of his life. Nor was it wholly clouded at his death. He had not, indeed, that fantastic equipage of sorrow that other great persons have on such occasions; but the frame of nature solemnized the death of its author,-heaven and earth were mourners,-the sun was clad in black,—and if the inhabitants of the earth were unmoved, the earth itself trembled under the awful load. There were few to pay the Jewish compliment of rending their garments; but the rocks were not so insensible,—they rent their bowels. He had not a grave of his own; but other men's graves opened to him. Death and the grave might have been proud of such a tenant in their territories; but he

came not there as a subject, but as an invader,-a conqueror. It was then the king of terrors lost his sting; and, on the third day, the Prince of Life triumphed over him, spoiling death and the grave. MACLAURIN.

CHRIST'S ENTRY INTO JERUSALEM.

RIDE on! ride on in majesty !

Hark, all the tribes Hosanna cry!
Thy humble beast pursues his road,
With palms and scattered garments strewed.

Ride on! ride on in majesty !

In lowly pomp ride on to die!

Oh Christ! thy triumphs now begin

O'er captive death and conquered sin.

Ride on! ride on in majesty !
The winged squadrons of the sky
Look down, with sad and wondering eyes,
To see the approaching sacrifice!

Ride on ! ride on in majesty!

In lowly pomp ride on to die!

Bow thy meek head to mortal pain,

Then take, O God! thy power and reign!

MILMAN.

THE OAK.

IN point of strength, durability, and general use, oak claims the precedence of all timber; and to England, which has risen to the highest rank among the nations mainly through her commerce and her marine, the oak, "the father of ships," as it has been called, is inferior in value only to her religion, her liberty, and the spirit and industry of her people. The knotty oak of England, when cut down at a proper age,-from fifty to seventy years, is really the best timber that is known. Some timber is harder, some more difficult to rend, and some less capable of being broken across; but none contains all the three qualities in so great and so equal proportions. For at once supporting a weight, resisting a strain, and

not splintering by a cannon-shot, the timber of the oak is superior to every other. Excepting the sap-wood, the part nearest the bark, which is not properly matured, it is very durable, whether in air, in earth, or in water; and it is said that no insects in the island will eat into the heart of oak, as they do, sooner or later, into most of the domestic and many of the foreign kinds of timber. It has been used in England in ship-building from the time of Alfred, who first gave England a navy capable of contending with her enemies upon the sea, to that of Nelson, in whom nautical skill appears to have been raised to the greatest possible height. It is more than probable that the inferiority of some of our more recently-built ships, and the ravages which the dry-rot is making among them, have arisen from the use of foreign oak instead of that of native growth.

The age to which the oak can continue to grow, even after the core has decayed, has not been fully ascertained. In the New Forest, Evelyn, the celebrated planter, counted in the sections of some trees 300 or 400 concentric rings or layers of wood, each of which must have recorded a year's growth. The largest oak of which mention is made was Damory's Oak in Dorsetshire. Its circumference was sixty-eight feet, and the cavity of it, which was sixteen feet long and twenty feet high, was, about the time of the Commonwealth, used by an old man for the entertainment of travellers as an alehouse. It was shattered by the dreadful storm of 1703; and in 1755 the last vestiges of it were sold as firewood. The oaks most celebrated for being the records of historical events are, the oak in the New Forest, against which the arrow of Sir William Tyrrel glanced before it killed William Rufus; the Royal Oak at Roscobell, in which Charles II. concealed himself after the defeat at Worcester; and the Torwood Oak in Stirlingshire, under the shadow of which the Scottish patriot Wallace is reported to have persuaded his followers to attempt rescuing their country from the thraldom of Edward.

Lib. of Entertaining Knowledge.

to the Duke of Beaufort, near Troy House in the
of Monmouth, was diverted by observing a
very composedly upon the ground.
his motions. In a few

in

sitting

He stopped to the squirrel darted like he had

to the top of a tree, beneath

he was down with an acorn with his

been sitting. In an
mouth, and began to burrow in the
After

hands.

a small hole, he stooped down, and it, he darted up the

the acorn; then tree again. In a moment he was which he buried in the

to as long as the observer

The industry of this little

manner.

of securing him against

with another, This he continued

proper to watch

is directed to the in the winter; and,

as it is probable that his memory is not sufficiently

to enable him to

the spots in which he deposits

, the industrious little fellow, no doubt, loses

up, and are desThus is

every

a few

year. These few

tined to supply the

of the parent tree.

to the industry and

Britain, in some measure,

of a squirrel for her pride, her glory, and her

Old England has a tree as strong,

As stately as them all,

As worthy of a minstrel's song,
In cottage and in hall.

'Tis not the yew-tree, though it lends
Its greenness to the grave;

Nor willow, though it fondly bends
Its branches o'er the wave:

Nor birch, although its slender tress
Be beautifully fair,

As graceful in its loveliness

As maiden's flowing hair.

Tis not the poplar, though its height
May from afar be seen;

Nor beach, although its boughs be dight
With leaves of glossy green.

All these are fair, but they may fling
Their shade unsung by me;

My favourite, and the forest's king,
The British Oak shall be!

Its stem, though rough, is stout and sound,
Its giant branches throw
Their arms in shady blessings round
O'er man and beast below;

Its leaf, though late in spring it shares
The zephyr's gentle sigh,

As late and long in autumn wears
A deeper, richer dye.

Type of an honest English heart,
It opes not at a breath,

But having open'd, plays its part,
Until it sinks in death.

Its acorns, graceful to the sight,
Are toys to childhood dear;
Its mistletoe, with berries white,
Adds mirth to Christmas cheer.
And when we reach life's closing stage,
Worn out with care or ill,

For childhood, youth, or hoary age,
Its arms are open still.