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9\u '-liniiiflc tit §iU 
 
 A littK- l)():it \v;is liumcliecl upon :i strc;iui to sail fo sonic place 
 faraway, hi il tlu'ic was a tiny bhu'-cyod child, liiii)i)v and 
 joyi.iis all tliv- ii\ ol(»ii<4 d;,y. cariiv^ onlv lor the jilcusurcs of the 
 present and thinkiii;^' little of the time to come. 
 
 The sun shone l)ri<,rhtly in the heavens, while the water, 
 tliincini,' and spuklinij, seemed to he covered with millions of 
 diamonds, and all nature appeared to have put on the fairest and 
 l)ri<rhtest colours. Mul it was not to he alwavs thus. Some davs 
 after, a cloud ohscured the sun, and the peaceful stream, hecom- 
 in<jf vuujrh and swollen, roared like an anjjrv lion. Then indeed 
 fear seized on the heart of the vouthful vova'<,'er ; hut all this soon 
 passed away, for on the stream of childhood storms seldom last 
 
 Ion 
 
 «i- 
 
 -they soon disperse, leavin<i^ a hrisj^hter j-^low of sunshine 
 than there was hefore. 
 
 But there were many perils and hidden dangers to avoid. 
 The hanks were lined with sharp and cruel rocks, on which the 
 little l)')at miuflit have heen dashed to pieces. Their u<,dv forms 
 were hidden hv hrit,'ht and manv coloured tlowers, amoii^^ which 
 the -^audy hutterllies tlnttered about from l)loss<)m to lilossom. 
 Olten the child would fain have plucked the l)rilliant prize, for 
 he thou<,Hit not of the hidden rocks. But there was an unseen 
 Irieiid to direct his course, who warned him of his dan<,a'r. Once, 
 indeeil, his waywardness had hrou-^rjit the hoat too near to the 
 shore, and he put fortii his hand to pluck a scarlet blossom, but it 
 was scarcely in his <riasp when it drooped and faded away, and 
 ere the look of disappointment had passed from his face he saw 
 that the sides of his boat had been p^razed and in some places cut 
 by a projectinjif clitf. But the time came when the hoat should 
 leave the stream ofChildhood and sail out into the ocean of Lite, 
 the wide, wide world. Fear and jov were minj^led in the vounj^f 
 voyag-er's heart, for he knew that worse ()an<,'ers than he had 
 ever yet encountered were before him, and that many a stronjj 
 and stately vessel had sunk a wreck beneath the waves of that 
 rou^'h sea. But he louLCcd for a clian<je, and felt an inward joy 
 wiien he thought that he would no more be confined l)v the banks 
 of the narrow stream, but w<nild steer his course which way he 
 pleased over the mightv oc^-an. 
 
 ^ ears have passed. — andcastingf our eves over that wide ex- 
 panse of water, what do we see ? We see the skv black as night, illu- 
 mined onl\ bv vivid Haslies of licfhtnin'r ; we hear deafenin"- ueals 
 
of thunder minjjlcd with the roar of the hhist ; we Sec the water 
 risin},' nKiiintains hij,rh, and tlu- ><torn» hird flying wildly .ner'the 
 waves, and in tlic midst of all a ship tossed about like a'tov in the 
 hands of a jjiant. Can it escape the awful fate that awaits it? 
 AVill it i»e engulfed in the yawnin<,' I)illows. or will it weather 
 the storm ? There seems to he no hope, l)ut we will wait and see. 
 On hoard, terrible are the fears that arise in the mind of the 
 voya^jer. Looking; at his compass he sees that he has deviated 
 from his rijrht course, and by his chart he finds that he is nearint; 
 a rock-I)ound coast. He has but one hope left. Falling on his 
 knees he implores the help of the Great Pilot, for in his pride 
 and self-conhdence he has taken the guidance of the ship into his 
 own hands, and has discovered his mistake when it is almost too 
 late. Ihit now under the eye of the skilful Pilot the ship is saved 
 from its impending fate, and as it approaches the right course 
 the storm and darkness clear away and all is bright as before. 
 
 The fears of the youth have indeed been realized, ami miuiy 
 perils like this have been passed through, man\- storms encoun'- 
 tered, and many a time all hope has seemed lost and despair has 
 seized upon his soul. Hut an unseen power has come to his 
 assistance and he has been saved. At times he has been almost 
 cast upon the rocks by some treacherous current, but a strong and 
 favourable wind has arisen and he has been sent safely out of the 
 reach of peril. At times tin; voyager, wearied with his journey, 
 has almost wished it had never been begun. 
 
 Years again pass on, and we once more cast our eyes over the 
 water, anil in the far distance we see the well-known ship. We 
 know her again, although she is somewhat changed. Iler sides 
 are stained with the constant wash of the waves, and her sails are 
 in seve-al places patched. But where is the bright-eyed boy, or 
 the merry youth, or the strongman,— where are they? Can this 
 old and bent form, this feeble grey-head, be he who was once 
 so playful and happy, so bright and merry, so strong and active? 
 
 It IS, his voyage of life has been long and w earisome, but it is 
 
 now nearly over. The distant port, the Golden City, is in sight, 
 and he wdl soon have reached it. And now as he calls to 
 mind the various stages of his voyage, its trials and difficulties, 
 he thmks what a ditlerent course he would have chosen if he had 
 known what was before him. 
 
 But now a steady breeze is filling the sails and the Pilot has 
 his vessel well in haml, and very soon she glides into the harbour. 
 At last his voyage is over and the Golden City reached, and the 
 aged voyager has found his rest. Deep emotions fill his breast 
 as he gazes on the long- looked for Paradise, and then with a 
 smde ot heavenly joy upon his countenance he vanishes within 
 Its shming portals never to return. 
 
iJ 
 
 ^ Pontrcttt mm ^torjj. 
 
 On the southern side of the Mountain of Montreal there stood, 
 aljoiit twelve years a,<,'o, an old house, once inhabited hy a man, 
 who, it is said, huns himself. Report said that his frju)st was 
 always to he seen roamin^r about the premises at ni^'ht time. 
 
 Hy the side of thi«» house was a precipitous hill, wiiich was a 
 favourite resort for tohofr<ranin<( in the winter season. A tohoj,^- 
 fjan is a sle<l<,'e made of a long narrow strip of wood curved up 
 at one end. It is capable of holding two or three persons seated, 
 and is very light. 
 
 My home was in Scotland, and T had come out to Canada to 
 spend the winter in the gay City of Montreal ; evervthing was 
 new to me, and I entered with enjoyment into all the amusements 
 of the season. One evening, two companions of mine, Tom 
 pakers and Arthur Fisk, called for me, as I was to go toboggan- 
 ing on this hill with them. We started otl" about ten o'clock ; it 
 was a beautiful night, the stars and moon were shining cold and 
 clear, and the bare leaHess branches of the trees around were 
 covered with frost that shone like diamonds under the rays of the 
 moon. 
 
 What a magnificent sight burst upon our view as we reached 
 the summit of the hiil ! Below us wer the thousand lights that 
 glimmered in the citv, which lay spre. * before us like a pano- 
 rama. I stood gazing long in admiratioii of the brilliant spec- 
 tacle, until I was suddenly aroused by the voice of one of my 
 companions, who called out : 
 
 "Jim, if you do not hurry up, you will not have much sliding 
 to-night. Come, it is your turn now to have a slide. Are you 
 watching the haunted house, expecting to see the ghost that we 
 were telling you of yesterday roaming about?" 
 
 " Nonsense," T replied ; " do you reallv believe that story."" 
 
 "Why, of course I believe it," was' Tom's reply ;" don't 
 you ?" 
 
 " No," I said, " I am not such a coward as to be frightened 
 by a tale like that. I don't believe a word about this haunted 
 house or the ghosts." 
 
 " He pretends he is not frightened in the least," .said Tom, 
 " while I am sure we can see his face growing a shade paler 
 even in the moonlight," and they both laughed heartily at me. 
 
 " What," I retorted, beginning to get angrv, "do you mean 
 to insinuate that I am afraid of ghosts? I'll bgt you anything 
 that I will remain here alone for ^two hours," 
 
6 
 
 '• All ri.,'lit," Tom cried ; "it is now ;ih(nil liajf-pasl (cij oVIock 
 I hciifvc," tiiUin;,' (,iit liis watch and lioidinir it up to the li.rhl ,,r 
 the moon ; "wl- will have an hour's tol.o^riraninir, an,] th.ii Arthur 
 and 1 will leave \ou to tlu- tcniicr mercies ol" the <'ho>t." 
 
 1 agreed to this arran<,'ement. and between toT)oL"'aniii<r and 
 chattmj,', the time Hew swiftly l)v, till Tom declared that it 
 was fully live minutes beyond the time tixed tor .^oin.r honie iii<l 
 tliat they couldn't stay a second later; so biddiu-'ne " "ood- 
 m},'ht," with many partin<r injunctions to take care of mvsdf 
 they went otl, and were soon lost to \ie\v amoni,' the trees.' ' 
 
 For some time I stood and watched, expecting; to catcii an- 
 otlier ^dimpse of them, when they reacheil the foorof the Momi- 
 tarn and turned into the road leadinjf to the city. Hut 1 siw 
 them no more. A kind of lonely, desolate feelinjr stole j^raduallv 
 over me. as I thou-,dit ofhavin.<r to remain there all aloirc : but it 
 was too late to drawback now, so I determined to make the best 
 oi it. 
 
 As I found it was rather cold to stand still, I be-an to pace 
 backwartis and forwards like a sentinel, to keep mvself warm 
 and after takinjj this exercise till I was tired, I was" restin-r' niy! 
 selt on a loj,r of wood, wishin-r it was time to return home, when 
 all at once I was startled at seein^^ a man movin;,^ sl„ulv amon<r 
 the trees a tew yards from where I was sittiufr. lie was ^radiP- 
 ally comin.,r nearer and nearer, so, sprin-rin<r up, I advanced and 
 demanded what he wanted. 
 
 '• Oh, nothiu};." replied he, •• but I see vou have a toboirL'an 
 with you. Wdl yon allov/mc to jj^o and l)rin:V niine also, and then 
 we wdl have a race to,>rether.?" I said I had no objection wliat- 
 cver to his company, and departin^^, he soon retmned ; but what 
 was mv horror to see him (lrai,rLri„ir alon-jf behind him a collin 
 instead ol a toboir^ra,,. His face and lij,mre had chan-^ed also 
 .le was tall and thin, while his face was of a deathlv hue, and it 
 was marked on one side by two bloody spots. His eves <vere 
 starincr and bloodshot, and a sickly sniile i)layed over his dis- 
 torted features. L stootl jjfazin<( at this apparit'ion, rooted to the 
 spot, when suddenly he opened his lips and said in a low and 
 sepulchral voice as if comin^^ from the.-,Mave : " Youiiir nian, why 
 do you hesitate .= Come and have a ride with me and try my 
 tobo<rj(an; I am sure it is better than the one you have." and sav- 
 ing so he clutched my arm with his loiiij skinny tin<,rers, while 
 an unearthly lauj^-li. which froze my blood with tcTior, ran-r 
 out clear and distinct upon the midpi<,dU air. In vain I striKr.ded 
 to tree myself from his vice-like j,nasp, but at lenj,rth I succecnled 
 by a violent elVort. Now, I thouirht, was the time to make my 
 escape from this dreadful beinjr, so, breakin<,r away from him, I 
 jumped on my toboggan, which was fortunately lying near, and 
 
ilasliftl with lij^litiiiiij; ^pccil down the hill. Hiil what was my 
 hornir, mi loukinj,' back, to sec tliis awful beiii},' pmsuinj; mc 
 mouiitfd on the coHiii ! 
 
 Coltl (hojjs of perspiration stood like beads upon my forehead, 
 and my tremhiiu^ hands in vain attempted to steer. Hut nearer 
 and nearer lie came, and sometimes I fancied I felt his hotlireath 
 upon my cheek. At one time I thouj^lit I had vfained tlie race, 
 and had left him far behind. We were just then passin}^ the 
 haimted house, which till that moment I had tpiite for},'otten. 
 Suddenly every window and door seemed to tly open, a brilliant 
 li;^ht streamed forth upon tlie air, and a crowd of spectres rushed 
 out towards us, tillin<^ the air with unearthly cries. They seemed 
 to ur>,'e my pursuer on in the race. On he came with increas- 
 inj; speed, till, with an cxidtant yell of triumph and mockery, he 
 sprang upon my tobo<,'<jfan, Hunjj his lonj; arms around my neck, 
 and dufj his bony fingers deep into my throat. With a groan of 
 anguish and despair, I rolled over into the snow and remembered 
 no more. 
 
 "Where am I? And who is this?" were the questions 
 
 I uttered as I awoke from a long and deathlike sleep, one even- 
 ing ai)out a week after the adventure above recorded. I gazed 
 about me in astonishment, trying to collect my scattered senses, 
 until all at once, like a flash of lightning, came back to my mind 
 the events of my adventure that evening on the hill, and my race 
 for life witii the ghost. On enquiring of the nurse that was 
 attending me, I was told how I had been found by n.y two friends, 
 who, having become alarmed at my prolonged absence, had set 
 out in search of me. They found me lying at the foot of the hill 
 sensele- with my face covered with blood, and it appeared that 
 I had c H...; in contact with a large log while riding down the 
 hill, l)ecause the toboggan was overturned a few yards from where 
 1 was. 
 
 But never shall I forget that evening as long as I live, and I 
 can never hear any person mention ghosts without my flesh creep- 
 ing. Ever siiall my visit to Montreal live in my memory with 
 the " Haunted House" and its " Ghost." 
 
8 
 
 th.Jnlnl!;:;;:''';"*^ for n,y hcahl, n„m place f. place ann.n^ 
 tlm^L n.i.il ic-tieats m which ..„r cmitry ahounds, I vstc-.l for the 
 
 us.ul event. I he ...tense inteiest ce.it.v.l appaivntlv in a lit- 
 tle c. ta^e wh.ch st..„.l Lack fn„n ,he n.a.l. al.I.o.st hi.llen ,„ 
 VK-w I.y he luxur.ance ..(the shn.i.l.ery ,sur,-o,.n,lin. it. ), e 
 <|..H,..K,.t ...y hostess, I learnt that a lovely chil.l, 'he (..Ivo.e 
 ema.,„.,^of a la.ijje (a..,ily, ha.l l.een stricke.. ,!„;., i.y t he , ' 
 
 a^aitlnl^trUriah"' ''"' ''' ''">■ ""^^ '^'^ '" '-• '>^"^^ ""-. 
 Mme.l l.ya.iatmal h.ipnlse, and a desire tu jjaze np.,n the 
 face of o,.e whose p.a.ses tllle.l the air so lately echoi...^ iith her 
 men-y lan.d, ,.>,ne<l the th.-on^ of lowly yilh.j/e.s, old .m Z^l 
 vho e.,tere.l the cottage to take a last look at the face of tl.dr 
 eloved h.end. It was in.leed a beautiful spot, f.tted .atle f. 
 the ahode ol angels tha., that of the fell dest.<.yer. uJ vvl 
 shall say that the soul ^yhich so lately te..a.,ted th s clay was' 
 Kua.de.l l,y m.n.ster..,j,. spi, its in its upwani lli^H.t.' An o pre 
 s.ye s,le.,ce pervaded the cha.ni.er of death, :md on a co ucl at 
 ....e e.,d o. the .oo.n ay the ho.ly of little Nell. IJeautiful i , I fe 
 her heauty see.ned o..|y to have been e.,ha,;ced by death,-a ca .al 
 ..•.server would have tl^.u^ht it sleep. The seMnbla.,ce of slee 
 
 hat Nv hat lay before mc .., such exquisite loveliness, was a fonu 
 
 •v'lh'n- '' 'r,'"^' r' t'^-' r^ivi.,e Ceato,-, and waiti.,j,. fo X 
 
 eve, lied '' ' ' '" " ^"''^' *'"'" ^^■'>'^'' ^'^^'^ l'.calirhad for' 
 
 lle.^ couch wasadon^ed with winte.berries a.ul leaves, plucked 
 
 by the hand ol aHect.-m froni those shelte.ed spots in t e mee 
 
 woods whe.e she had loved to wander. WhilJ slowly pa^ss, 
 
 on which the l.-ht ol Heaven had shone, and this wish wi^ 
 ahnost a.U.c.pated by little play.uates cage to pay hei • tt ut 
 
 clasped in her wasted hands. 
 
 The silence of the room was only bioke.i by the ilutteri.i.r 
 movements of Nellie's pet bird, whiclAlew u,Lis5^y Vom " 1^' ^ 
 s de ol , s ht le cage, as if it realized the loss it had sustained 
 the death of its little mistress. "mhh.u in 
 
 I could not but draw a contrast between the dead child and 
 the hying bird ; the one when in life, so noble dnd with a heri't 
 

 
 so siroM^r, 1)111 „ow motirmlcss Ioicvct; the ..iIkt, insiu'niHcaiit 
 ami Mail, yctwitli all the lilc blijl in it, ami .sffiuii.« as if it would 
 ivati III the taccs oftlK.sc aK.iiml tlu; sad truth coiiciTiiiMK her at 
 the Huumi ol whose voice he would once have chirped forth his 
 lucniest notes. 
 
 ^maj)itt«ticn. 
 
 1/ 
 
 I he nature of the faculty called rma},'ination, or the Creative 
 I ower, IS a topic upon which inanv dillerent opinioi.,, have heen 
 expressed, mvolvin<r much controversy ; hut upon this, as upon 
 other similar sui)jects, no satisfactory conclusion has as yet heen 
 arrived at. The <iuestion, is it or is it not a distinct facultv, 
 apart troni all other faculties, and haviiif,' a function to perform 
 totally ( It erent from that of the other mental powers, is one which 
 many philosophers have lonff and vainly attempted to decide 
 I.Ike ineniory, it reproduces in thou},'ht what has heen formerly 
 seen or lelt, hut, at the same time, it presents not an exact ima.'e 
 of tiic orifrmal, hut enlarfres and adds to this imajje. Unlike me- 
 iijory, It deals not only with the past hut also with the future. 
 Ihe two faculties aj,nee in repiesentin<j what is at the moment 
 not present to the senses, hut, while the one represents it in the 
 exact orijrmal form, the other, laying aside all conditions of time 
 and space, represents it expanded and changed. 
 
 This faculty is possessed in very different degrees by difTercnt 
 persons, insomuch that some philosophers wish to assert that Ima- 
 gination IS (,t two kinds, the one weaker and the other stronger, 
 and these they term respectively the Passive and the Active Im.i- 
 gination. By the- former they umlerstand such imagination as a 
 person possesses, when, in reading a book, he jjictures to himself 
 tiie scenes which are described or the ditferent characters repre- 
 sented m It, while, at tiie same time, he would be unable to des- 
 crit)e those scenes and characters himself. By the latter, they 
 mean such imagination as the author possesses, by the force of 
 which he is enabled to write the work, or such as enables the 
 artist to paint an original picture. This view of the faculty, 
 liowever, as having a two-fold nature, is, I believe, considered by 
 the majority of philosophers to be incorrect, for they say that the 
 < itlerence just mentioned is one of degree and not of kind, that 
 th« reader and author of the work both possess the same faculty, 
 but not the same amount of it. 
 
 Some philosophers contend that the Creative Power is not a 
 simple faculty, but is one compounded of various other powers 
 
10 
 
 of tho inimi, such as mcmoiy, abstraction, jii(l;,nnciu aiul taste 
 JJiit tins theory aj,Miii is thoii-ht hv most metaphysicians to he 
 wro.i<,Mnasmnch asIma<rinatioii possessesone -,eatelement which 
 IS wantin^r ,n all the other powers of the niin(l,viz., the ideal clc- 
 ment_ 1 he otiier taculties deal with simple facts, ideas of the 
 actual only, while Imagination deals with the possible. lint 
 It Ima-Miation is merely a faculty made up of other faculties, 
 and Its function is. merely to analyse and reconstruct ideas 
 already existm<r, where is its creative dement? If this 
 •r.'-n-' I '"" f!"i^t'"»'* of Imagination, in what respect would 
 It d.Her from simple invention or the power of comhinin- ideas 
 of already existing objects into new forms. Thus, when an 
 artist produces a hue painting, should we say that it was nothing 
 inore than a mere combination of colours according to certain 
 lavvs.? Has he simply arranged the paints which he had on iiis 
 ])alette in due proportions upon his canvas.' If this be all the 
 power that an artist displays in a great masterpiece, why can wc 
 not all be Raphaels and MichaelAngelos.? No! it is evidenti 
 that another power than that of simple combination is needed, i 
 one would produce works to equal those of the great masters. 
 
 It IS true that Imagination calls in to its aid other mental 
 powers, such, for instance, as association and reasoning, but that 
 It IS simply a compound of these principles and has no indepen- 
 dent power of its own, is a theory which but few philosophers 
 entertain. '■ 
 
 This creative faculty, in its highest form, is one which cannot 
 be acquired. It may be greatly improved bv use, and also by the 
 diligent study of nature and of great works of art. It is, however, 
 only to a certain degree that it can be cultivated, and unless a 
 person naturally possesses a large share of this power, it is not 
 probable that he will ever be able to produce any great imao-ina- 
 tive work. The more he possesses it also, the better will he be 
 able to appreciate the works of others, but a great amount of it is 
 required if he would produce great original works himself. 
 
 Ihis faculty is not entirelv under the C(jntrol of the will -is 
 are many of the other mental powers, but is to a great extent 
 spontaneous, causing thoughts to rise up in the iniud at times 
 when they appear wholly uncalled for. But, at the same time, it 
 is slightly controlled by the will, for you may at such times, by a 
 voluntary efiort, turn your attention to things around you, and 
 tiuis stop the tram of thought which Imagination has caused. In 
 Its highest form, it partakes of the nature of inspirntion : the <neat- 
 est poets and artists compose their finest works, not by a^'mere 
 e l(..t of the will, but as their imagination presents its pictures to 
 their mental vision. 
 
 Without this Creative Power, we should be deprived of much 
 
11 
 
 pleasure, both in atlmiriii- the works of the i,'ieat masters, and in 
 presentmn: pictures and tli<)u<,dits to ourselves, which, tlioujrh thcv 
 may not I)e worth exposing to the view of others, are vet sufficien't 
 to divert our attention and raise us above tiie ever-picscnt world 
 of facts, which otherwise would i)e our onlv subject of thought. 
 vVith rejrard to the existinj^ results i)r()duced bv the Ima'r7na- 
 tion. It must be remembered that the otlke of th'is faculty Ts to 
 conceive the supra-sensible in the form of the sensible, or in the 
 words ot the jjoet, " to iiody forth the forms of thincrs unknown." 
 Novv, takin<4 '"to consideration the amount included in the term 
 "unknown," we can form an idea of the <,M-eat extent of the field 
 with which the Poet, Artist, or other imajrinative jjenius has to 
 deal. Assisted the senses, especially tiiat of si<,dit, to draw 
 ideas from th«; outward world, how many and various are the 
 pictures winch the vivid Imagination may present to the mind, 
 liut yet, though I say with the assistance of si<,dit and the other 
 senses, too much iirportance should not be attached to this, when 
 we consider that our crrcatest Poet coiliposed the finest of epic 
 poems, with his eyes closed forever to the beauties of external 
 onjects. 
 
 The hijrher purposes of the Tmajrination are most assuredly 
 to present to us ideas of the s|)iritual world. The most sublime 
 iterary productions of this power are of course those which have 
 been penned by the divinely inspired prophets, psalmists and 
 apostles ot old. Indeed the Bible in manv parts shows clearly 
 the work ot a vivid and powerful imagination. Ranking next, 
 probably, to those inspired books, we may mention the Pilgrim's 
 1 rogress ot Bunyan and :Milton's great poem descriptive of the 
 spiritual world as presented to him by his imagination. VVc see 
 this power of a great imaginative genius manifested in the awful 
 picture which he presents of the Lower World and its occupants. 
 .Ihe Italian poet, Dante, and others, have written on similar sub- 
 jects, i)ut It their productions are of equal merit they certainly are 
 not superior to the work of the great author of "PaVadise LcJst." 
 
 1 he less awtul results of this Creative Faculty are those ficti- 
 tioiis tales and legen.ls which treat more especially of this world 
 and Its lite. The mythology of the ancient Greeks and Romans, 
 the old Arabian tales and fables, romances and legends of the 
 olden tunes, all these are products of the imagination. Then 
 among the results of more modern date, are the Drama and Fic- 
 tion, of which at the present day wc have an ahncst endless 
 variety, gooil and bad. Poetry, also, of many kinds, may be class- 
 eel with imaginative works of this lighter character. 
 
 Often, however, when the imagination is exercised upon the 
 unknown, it gives rise to ideas of dangerous and pernicious rbar- 
 ucter. Lspccudly may tiiis be observed in the conceptions ot the 
 
12 
 
 spiritual world formed by the heathen nations. They seem to he 
 nist.nctively conscious of the existence of some Superior Beinfj, 
 who rules the utlairs of this world, and sends upon them good and 
 evil. 1 hey also have ideas of a spirit in themselves, and that 
 this spirit when they die, docs not die also, hut passes from the 
 i)ody into some other state. But here their instinctive ideas fail, 
 and having never heard who this Ruler of all tilings is, nor any 
 explanation of the conditions under which the spirit exists, and its 
 .ite, after it has passed from this mortal hodv, they are left to their 
 imagination to conceive of these things for themselves. Thus, 
 they are led to say that the spirits of tlieir chiefs have gone into 
 beasts ot the forest, and these they worship, and -dso idols of wood 
 and stone, which may be embodiments of demoiiiac ideas. Then 
 they imagine that there are many gods to whom thcv must con- 
 tinually otler sacriHces, sometimes even of their fellow-men, to 
 appease their anger, and they wear charms to ward oft' evils 
 whicli they think would otherwise come upon them. 
 
 All this is but one example of what imagination, when allow- 
 ed full scope, and without the restriction which education and 
 reason put upon it, can do. There are manv others also, but 
 tiiough, even amongst ourselves, false views of society and charac- 
 ter, as well as ot rehgiun, are often presented, let us hope that this 
 IS an illustration of it in its worst form ; that this is the extreme 
 to whicii an unrestricted imagination can go, and we must not 
 forget, in looking on the dark side of its results, the existence of 
 the bright one, in contemplating which everyone may sec that it 
 lias done much through all the world's history for the improve- 
 ment and hapijiiiess of man. 
 
 ife §m$ d ih " Wi$nMlui 
 
 tt 
 
 One of the London docks, in January last, presented a scene 
 of some little commotion. The " Northfleet," a large sailing- 
 vessel bound f n- Australia, and carrying about four hundred pas- 
 sengers, mostly emigrants, was on the eve of her lono- voyage 
 Friends took their last farewells of each other, feelincr that per- 
 haps they might never meetagain. At last, all who"" were not 
 going, were forced to land, and the great ship was slowly tugged 
 out of the dock, and moved down the Thames to Gravesend. 
 
 As the next day was hazy, and the sea rough, the ship came 
 down the channel only as far as Dungencss, and there anchored 
 close in to the snore, and apparently out of the way of all danger. 
 
 We can imagine the scene on board ; some of the passengers 
 
13 
 
 had probably begun to feci the pangs of sea-sickness, and bad 
 already retired to rest ; others were still on deck, taking a last 
 look at the shores they loved so well, and thinking of the dear 
 ones from whom they had so lately parted ; while others a<^a'in 
 were looking, forward to the long voyage before them, :mu1 ^^jic- 
 turing to thcmsehes the new world for which they were bound. 
 Little did they imagine that ere another sun shou'ld rise, many 
 of their number would indeed be in a new world ! 
 
 At length the passengers go below, and the deck is cleared of 
 all but the watch, pacing slowly up and down. Tiie night is 
 dark and rainy, and in the distance the coast is seen faintly, like 
 a black bank, with a tew bright lights on it shining through th- 
 misty atmosphere. Around lie many other ships, also richno- at 
 anchor for the night, and their tall masts rise up like spectral 
 figures in the gloom. 
 
 But look! What is this dark form suddenly looming up 
 through the mist? In vain the watch shout and signal again and 
 again. On it comes, and with a loud cracking noise the sharp 
 bow of the strange steamer drives into the ill-fated " Northilcct," 
 cutting a fearful gash in iier side, and laying it right open. And 
 then— then, instead of standing by to render all the assistance in 
 their power, the cowardly perpetrators of the deed clear oH' and 
 escape in the darkness, leaving the unfortunate people to their 
 awful doom. 
 
 It was but the work of a moment, and almost instantly the 
 deck was crowded with half-dressed passengers, wild with fri<>-ht, 
 already apprehending their fearful fate. Husbands sought their 
 wives ; mothers rushed frantically about in search of their little 
 ones ; while some, in that dreadful hour, took refuge in prayer, 
 and others, panic-stricken, filled the air with their heavtrendin<r 
 shrieks and cries. And above all rose the sound of the alarn> 
 bell incessantly rung, while every few moments a rocket sent up 
 would illuminate the appalling scene with its ghastly light. 
 
 But amid all the din and r.proar, the captain never lost his 
 presence of miml. and calmly issued orders which his gallant 
 crew faithfully obeyed. Boats were quickly lowered on both 
 sides of the vessel, and the captain taking a last, fond farewell of 
 his young wife, put her into one at the stern, committing her to 
 the care of the boatswain, and commanded that the women should 
 first be saved, at the same time threatening to shoot down any- 
 one who disobeyed his orders. But love of life was strong in the 
 hearts of all ; the boats on each side of the ship were overcrowded 
 and sunk, and one man, impelled by terror, leaped into the boat 
 at the stern right under the captain's eye, whereupon the latter 
 fired at him twice, the second sliot taking effect in his leg. 
 
 In the meantime, while these incidents were taking place, the 
 
14 
 
 eflbrts to attract attention and oI)tain aid had not ceased. Simvils 
 ol distress were constantly made, but all ti.ese endeavours were 
 futde. Although several ships were at ancimr o.dv a few hun- 
 dred yards oH not one seems to have perceived the'disaster. tiie 
 vvatch probably bein- asleep at the time. Had such not been 
 the case, it is thousfht that all lives mi-ht have i)een saved. Whit 
 a terrible conse(|uencc of ne<,dect of duty ! 
 
 Durin<,r all this time the vessel had" been rapidlv nilin<r witli 
 water, :in(l tlie l)(»cesaiKl cargo on the lower deck were now afloat 
 and could be heard underneath thumping against the upper deck 
 on \yhich the people were collected. A small steam tug, attracted 
 by the signals of distress, at length came up ; but, before it could 
 render any assistance to the unfortunate passengers, while its red 
 hgiits cast a horrible glare on the crowd of upturned faces, piti^ 
 [111 in their terror and despair, the stern of the doomed •' Xortli- 
 tleet slowly rose in the air, and then with a swift. rushin<r mo- 
 tion, the noble vessel went down by the head, leaving nearfv four 
 It-mdred people struggling helplessly for life in the water. Of 
 all those who two days before had left the dock at London, with 
 buoyant hopes tor the future, and apparentlv with everv prospect 
 ot u successful voyage, only about seventy were saved.' 
 
 Although it must ever be with feelings of mingled awe and 
 iiorror that we reflect upon so sad a calamitv as the loss of the 
 "_ .\orthde..t," still we cannot but look back with heartfelt admira- 
 tion upon the brave conduct of that noble captain, who met death 
 like a hero, at his post. And we cannot express in too stron<r 
 terms our contempt of those cowardlv Spaniards who were the 
 sole cause of the disaster, and yet refused either to acknowledge 
 their culpability, or to aid in remedying to some extent the evil 
 they had done. 
 
 Ever since the banishment of our first parents from the Gar- 
 den of Eden, the world has been fettered bv chains. 
 
 Look at the prisoner in his grated ceil, with what min-'-led 
 feelings of pity and disgust we behold the ciiains witli wiiich he 
 • s bound, l-'or while we feel compassion for his miserv, we can- 
 not but loathe the crimes that stain his heart and hands. 
 
 'I'housands of yoing men are tlragged down into the deep 
 pit ot degradation by the heavy fetters of drunkenness. While in 
 the hands of this tyrant, many a word has been spoken, and 
 
15 
 
 many a tcM-rihlo deed done. Hint lias bvousht niin and discrraco on 
 loved ones. Oh ! if wc coulvl Init sec the cruel hands of intein- 
 pevancc sundered and its cups dashed to the «,n-ound 1 
 
 The chains tliat Mammon for<res for his votaries are hrii^ht 
 and <|;litterin<j, hut ns"all that s^ditters is not gold," so wealth 
 with its bindinj,^ links is often found verv delusive and unsatisfac- 
 tory. 
 
 Not the hrazcn fetters witli whicli the Philistines hound Sam- 
 son, weighed more iieavily than do tliose of fashionable societv 
 on its chafed and fretted (Jevotees. If thev attempt to go hevonli 
 a certain point, the fear of what their sJt will sav draws them 
 back with relentless hand. 
 
 Hut the chain of circumstances presents itself to mv mind as 
 strongest of the strong. Aspiring sons of genius are evervwhcre 
 to be found, that would take " the wings of the morning" and 
 fly to meet fime ; but when they rise a "short distance from the 
 ground, and just as they see ahead of them the glittering spire of 
 her castle, they find themselves drawn back by strong unyielding 
 links—then are they compelled to give up th'eir vain hopes, and 
 descend to their old monotonous ever\-dav life. And indeed 
 this chain is tlic particular one that clanks at my heels. Many 
 times I dream day-dreams, and am a heroine of great beauty and 
 brilliant talents. 1 am courted and admired by all. In Eiirope 
 I thul myself entertained by England's Qjieen, and visit all the 
 courts and palaces with a train of attendants. But I am suddenly 
 startled by the voice of our respected instructor g-iving out a 
 topic for our next week's composition. Then I awake to' a real- 
 izing sense of the fact that I am a school-girl in Bute House. 
 U ith this awakening, comes the consciousness of the fact that I 
 am bound by another chain, that of friendship, which circles our 
 warm hearts, and links us verv closely to each other. Older 
 people tell me that it is as b'rittle as glass, and will break as 
 easily, but I cannot but feel now, that however manv years may 
 roll o\ er my head, ho\yeyer far I may wander froni this classic 
 spot, I sliall still be linked to it by this mystic band, and " dra<»- 
 at each remove a lengthening chain." " '^ 
 
 Compared with this, I iliul dislike to be but a fetter of straw. 
 One kind action and it snaps like tow before the fire. This feel- 
 ing, however, if allowed to strengthen into hatred, becomes also 
 a chain, and no force upon earth can loosen its hold, the divine 
 grace alone can break its iron bands and free the heart from its 
 fetters. 
 
 Several links arc about to drop ofl' from the chain of this 
 school, and form other connections in the world outside. Yes, 
 some are going away, never to return, no, never. Solemn 
 thought, no one on earth knows their future ; perhaps it may be 
 
/ / 
 
 happy, perhaps Involved in gloom and sorrow. Although it is 
 pleasant to tlunk they will be free from the tasks of study' there 
 
 vcv\nTlu y ^^" '' ^'-'PPy ^''"^"^ «f companions. Last 
 >ca one golden Imk from our chain was silently and eently 
 
 icttesot clay, and now awaits us in her happy home on hi-h 
 Let us so hve that wiien the great chain of successive tren^ • H ; 
 surromuls the throne of God, we may there take our pi cis nd 
 hnd our c.rele unbroken, without a niissing link. ^ ' 
 
 6'fexC:'^^^^