"Have you

manner. "Come hither, son," said he. never heard of men who are called ungrateful?" "Yes, frequently," answered the youth. "And what is ingratitude," "demanded Socrates? "It is to receive a kindness," said Lamprocles, "without making a proper return, when there is a favorable opportunity." "Ingratitude is a species of injustice, therefore," said Socrates. "I should think so," answered Lamprocles. "If then," pursued Socrates, "ingratitude be injustice, does it not follow, that the degree of it must be proportionate to the magnitude of the favors which have been received?" Lamprocles admitted the inference; and Socrates thus pursued the interrogations. "Can there subsist higher obligations than those which children owe to their parents; from whom life is derived, supported, and by whose good offices it is rendered honorable, useful and happy?" "I acknowledge the truth of what you say," replied. Lamprocles; "but who could suffer without resentment the ill humours of such a mother as I have?" "What strange thing has she done to you?" said Socrates. "She has a tongue," replied Lamprocles, "that no mortal can bear." "How much more," said

Socrates, "has she endured from your wrangling, fretfulness, and incessant cries in the period of infancy? What anxiety has she suffered from the levities, capriciousness, and follies of your childhood and youth? What affliction has she felt, what toil and watching has she sustained in your illness?"

CABINET OF NATURE.

THE MONSOONS.

The setting in of the Monsoon, or tropical sea wind, in the East Indies, is thus described by Forbes in his Oriental Memoirs. The scene was at Baroche, where the British army was encamped. "The shades of evening approached as we reached the ground, and just as the encampment was completed, the atmosphere grew suddenly dark, the heat became oppressive, and an unusual stillness presaged the immediate setting in

of the monsoon. The whole appearance of nature resembled those solemn preludes to earthquakes and hurricanes in the West Indies, from which the east in general is providentially free. We are allowed very little time for conjecture; in a few minutes the heavy clouds burst over us.

"I had witnessed seventeen monsoons in India but this exceeded them all in its awful appearance and dreadful effects. Encamped in a low situation, on the borders of a lake formed to collect the surrounding water, we found ourselves in a few hours in a liquid plain. The tent-pins giving way, in a loose soil, the tents fell down and left the whole army exposed to the contending elements. It requires a lively imagination to conceive the situation of an hundred thousand human beings of every description, with more than two hundred thousand elephants, camels, horses and oxen, suddenly overwhelmed by this dreadful storm in a strange country, without any knowledge of high or low ground, the whole being covered by an immense lake, and surrounded by thick darkness, which prevented our distinguishing a single object, except such as the vivid glare of lightning displayed in horrible forms. No language can describe the wreck of a large encampment, thus instantaneously destroyed, and covered with water; amid the cries of old men and helpless women, terrified by the piercing shrieks of their expiring children, unable to afford them relief. During this dreadful night, more than two hundred persons, and three thousand cattle perished, and the morning dawn exhibited a shocking spectacle."

The south-west monsoon generally sets in very early, in certain parts of India. "At Ajengo," observes the above author, "it commences with great severity, and presents an awful spectacle; the inclement weather continues with more or less violence, from May to October; during that period, the tempestuous ocean rolls from a black horizon, literally of darkness visible;' a series of floating mountains heaving under hoary summits, until they approach the shore, when their stupendous accumulations flow in successive surges, and break upon the beach; every ninth wave is observed to be generally

more tremendous than the rest, and threatens to overwhelm the settlement.-The noise of these billows equals that of the loudest cannon, and with the thunder and lightning so frequent in the rainy season, is truly awful. During the tedious monsoon I passed at Ajengo, I often stood upon the trembling sand bank, to contemplate the solemn scene, and derive comfort from that sublime and omnipotent decree. 'Hitherto shalt thou come but no further; and here shall thy proud waves be stayed.""

LIVES OF CELEBRATED CHILDREN.NO. II.

LUCRETIA MARIA DAVIDSON.

The following very interesting facts, are found in a Biography of L. M. Davidson, published lately. LUCRETIA MARIA DAVIDSON, was born at Plattsburg, on Lake Champlain, September 27th, 1808. Her parents were not rich, and as soon as she was old enough to assist her mother, much of her time was devoted to domestic work. She did not love to do household work, but she always did it with cheerful good will, because she knew it was her duty, and she loved to do her duty.

When her work was done, she ran away to her books with the greatest possible delight. Even when very young, she would hide away with books, pen, ink, and paper, rather than play with her schoolmates. Her father and mother used to wonder what she did with so much paper; but she was too bashful to show what she wrote. Her mother, therefore, was much surprised, when searching in a dark closet, she found a number of little books, made of writing paper, evidently done by a child. The writing consisted of little verses, written to the pictures she had drawn on the opposite page. She cried when she found her treasures had been discovered, and when they were given to her, she took an early opportunity to burn them secretly; this shows how natural it is for people of good sense to be bashful about their own productions.

When she was nine years old, she wrote an epitaph on a dead robin, which her friends have kept.

When eleven years old, she wrote some verses on the death of Washington, which her aunt considered so good,

that she thought she must have borrowed them from some book she had read. Lucretia wept at this suspicion, as if her heart would break; for she appears to have been a pure-hearted, noble-spirited child, who would rather have been thought a fool, than be suspected of any deception. As soon as she could dry her tears, she wrote a remonstrance to her aunt in verse; and her aunt no longer doubted that she could write poetry.

One little anecdote is told, which shows that she was truly a good child. Her mother was so ill, as to be confined to her bed for many months; and Lucretia, then only twelve years old, not only watched her sick bed devotedly, but actually took her mother's place, in superintending all domestic affairs. At this time, a gentleman, who had seen her verses, and heard how much she loved to read, sent her twenty dollars, to buy books. At first, she was overjoyed at the thought; for she longed to increase her little library, but looking towards her mother's sick bed, the tears came into her eyes, and she said, "Take this money, dear father; it will buy many comforts for mother, I can do very well without books."

Some people who did not know how much a strong mind and a good heart could do, advised her parents not to allow her to read and write; because, they said, it would spoil her for every thing else.

Lucretia happened to hear of this; and so fearful was she of not doing right, that she gave up her books, and her pen entirely, and devoted herself all the time to household work. She did not say any thing about her resolution; but her mother noticed how melancholy she looked, and that she sometimes shed tears, and tried to conceal them.-She said to her one day, "Lucretia, it is a long time since you have written any thing." The poor girl burst into tears. "Oh, mother, I have given that up long ago!"

"But why?" asked her mother.

She dried her tears, and answered, "I am convinced, from what my friends have said, that it is wrong for me to do as I have done. We are not rich, and now my eldest sister is gone, it is my duty to do all I can to assist my parents."

Her mother, on hearing this, gave her some very good

advice: she told her not to give up her writing; nor yet attend to it too much; to work sometimes, and write sometimes. This would have been a healthful course, both for her body and her mind; and perhaps it is a pity that she ever had a chance to study as much as she wanted to. Unlike other children, she could not be persuaded to leave her books; and she made her mind work so much harder than her body, she ruined her health and lost her life.

A gentleman, who thought very highly of her abilities placed her at Mrs. Willard's famous school in Troy. Her incessant study, made her so ill that she was obliged to leave school for a time. When she recovered, she was placed at the school of Miss Gilbert, in Albany; and there a more alarming illness soon brought her to the borders of the grave. She died August 27, 1825, before she was quite 17 years of age, in a peaceful, resigned state of mind, resting her hopes on the Lord Jesus Christ. The last word she uttered was the name of the gentleman who had placed her at school. She is said to have been as beautiful as she was good; but her face had an expression of sadness.

NOTICES OF RECENT PUBLICATIONS.

Memory's Tribute, or, Things profitable for reflection. First Series: The Baptism. By the author of the M'Ellen Family. Gen. Prot. Epis. S. S. Union. 1830. 12mo. pp. 36.

This little work, just published by the General Protestant Episcopal Sunday School Union, is as instructive as it is interesting. It has food for the head, and it has food also for the heart. It places us amid the attractive scenery, and sublime associations, of our northern inland seas. A clergyman is approaching a small village. And at the bland closing hour of a summer's day, he indulges in reflections on that eternal rest, of which this sweet repose of eventide is emblematic. He passes onward, and ascends to the summit of a neighboring hill; when suddenly his eye rests, in full view, on a transporting prospect. He sees the elevating grandeur and inspiring sublimity of LAKE ONTARIO. He lingers for a moment, to indulge appropriate sentiments. But his official duties call him to another scene. The villagers, assembled in their house of prayer, are anxiously waiting his appearance. He is welcomed; and without delay, he reads the impressive evening service of the Church. On leaving church, the clergyman, invited by Mr. Heyden, one