and in nearly the following words:

"In the first place, whenever the premises are on fire, do not run away, but find the spot where it is burning, and endeavour to put it out, as a few pails of water at first may soon extinguish it.

Secondly, Do not open any window, or let in any air to increase the draft.

"Thirdly, If the flames increase and cannot be put out, wet the blankets well from the pitchers, jugs, and water in the room or other places, for each person. to be covered with, to go out at the door; stoop as much as possible, or rather creep along the ground, for the smoke ascends, and there is less of it near the floor.

"Fourthly, If the door cannot be got at, shut the room doors, to check the rapid progress of the flames; cut the cords from the sacking of the bedsteads, or tie the corners of the sheets together, fasten them to the bedposts near the windows, and slide down on them; throw the bedding down first to fall upon, and keep the wet blanket on all the time, if possible.

"Let the children slide down first, then the women, and the master of the family last."

The time I expect to accomplish the above, after it is ascertained that the door cannot be got to, would be but a few minutes; as every one would assist with activity, and with less fright, knowing that all would be safe, from this or some such measure for universal security.

I shall feel obliged by your insertion of this in your next number, having already felt the benefit arising from its adoption in my family.

I am your's, respectfully,

W.

Anecdote.

THE PEASANTS' GRATITUDE.

THE celebrated Physician, Dr. GLYNN of King's College, Cambridge, of amiable and eccentric memory, in the course of his professional duties, benevolently attended the wife of a countryman, near Ely. Having cured the poor woman of a lingering disorder, the gratitude of the whole family knew no bounds; but it was out of their power to make any pecuniary recompence.

Some time after this, as the Doctor was in his College chambers, he heard the tread of a heavy footstep on the stairs. Presently his old acquaintance,

the husband of the woman he had cured, marched into the room with a bird cage in his hand.

The Doctor immediately recognized him—" Well, friend, how is the good woman? "How do you all do?" "Quite well, thanks to God and your Honour; and I've brought your honour a present.

"A present!" said the Doctor-"You're very "good; but I take no fee-no fee, friend-Come, let's "see, what have you got in the cage?"

"It

Why, your honour," replied the man, grieved us, to think we could not make you amends for your goodness to my wife;-Young and old; we were always talking about it;-at last, we all thought that we'd give your honour the only thing we have, to call a present;-so as we have only one thing of value in the world, we thought we'd e'en bring it to your honour.-Poor MAG! to be sure, the children cried sadly at parting with it,-but when Wife said it was for the good Doctor, they gave up at once;—and so your Honour, (presenting the cage,) I've brought you the Magpie.-I hope you will be kind to the poor thing.

"The Magpie!" said the astonished Doctor! But reading at once what was passing in the man's heart." I thank you heartily for the present, and you may depend upon me, I will take great care of it," talking at the same time to the bird, which echoed very readily the name it had been used to be called by. "And you will be sure to feed it regularly" said the man enquiringly.

"Feed him! fine fellow," said the Doctor, "he shall never want food if I can help it."

The grateful cottager then shut the door, and was half-way down the flight of stairs, when the Doctor called to him, and, as if it were an after-thought, said "Hark ye friend! I have been thinking, that so much as I'm from home, the feeding of MAG must depend upon my servant here, who may forget to feed him; and if any harm should happen to the poor bird, I should never forgive myself, for I never was so taken with a bird in my life." "The only way" continued the Doctor "of making me easy, will be for you to keep my bird for me.-Then I can call and see it. So take the cage carefully home again, and I shall be heartily glad to allow you half-a-crown a week for your care of my MAG."

To this the honest countryman joyfully assented,and with a light heart walked back again with his cage and bird; happy to think that the Doctor had accepted his present, and doubly happy, to think he could further shew his gratitude by taking care of the Magpie for him.

M MVOL. I.

Poetry.

ORIGINAL AND SELECTED.

ON THE

APPROACHING HARVEST.

Now o'er his corn the sturdy farmer looks,
And swells with satisfaction to behold
The plenteous harvest which repays his toil.
We too are gratified, and feel a joy
Inferior but to his, partakers all

Of the rich bounty Providence has strewed
In plentiful profusion o'er the fields,
Tell me ye fair, Alcanor tell me, what
Is to the eye more cheerful, to the heart
More satisfactive, than to look abroad,
And from the window see the reaper strip,
Coach Look round, and put his sickle to the wheat?
Or hear the early mower whet his scythe,
And see where he has cut his sounding way,
E'en to the utmost edge of the brown field
Of oats or barley? What delights us more,
Than studiously to trace, the vast effects
Of unabated labour? To observe

How soon the golden field abounds with sheaves?
How soon the pat and bearded barley fall,
In frequent lines before the keen-edged sythe?
The clatt'ring team then comes, the swarthy hind
Down leaps and doffs his frock alert, and plies
The shining fork. Down to the stubble's edge
The easy wain descends half built, then turns
And labours up again. From pile to pile
With rustling step the swain proceeds, and still
Bears to the groaning load the well-poised sheaf.
The gleaner follows, and with studious eye
And bended shoulders traverses the field
To cull the scattered ear, the perquisite

By Heaven's decree assigned to them who need,
And neither sow nor reap. Ye who have sown,
And reap so plenteously, and find the grange
Too narrow to contain the harvest giv❜n,
Be not severe, and grudge the needy poor
So small a portion. Scatter many an ear,
Nor let it grieve you to forget a sheaf,
And overlook the loss. For He who gave
Will bounteously reward the purposed wrong
Done to yourselves; nay more, will twice repay
The generous neglect. The field is cleared;
No sheaf remains, and now the empty wain
A load less honourable waits. Vast toil succeeds,
And still the team retreats, and still returns
To be again full fraught. Proceed, ye swains,
And make one autumn of your lives, your toil
Still new, your harvest never done. Proceed,
And stay the progress of the falling year,
And let the cheerful valley laugh and sing,
Crowned with perpetual AUGUST. Never faint,
And ever let us hear the hearty shout

Sent up to heaven, your annual work complete
And harvest ended.

HURDIS.

AUGUST.

Now past each gentle zephyr, summer gale,
The raging heats of SIRIUS prevail:

No more the air refreshing breezes yields

Whose balmy breathings scent the mantled fields:
Fair FLORA now to CERES leaves the plain,

Diffusing plenty o'er her wide domain;

She opes her stores, and strews them through the mead, And golden harvests all the surface spread.