every jump he gin he shed some sassers, an' every squirm he fetched he dripped some candy! An' blistered! why, bless your soul, that pore creetur couldn't reely set deown comfortable fur as much as four weeks. THE FIRE-BELL'S STORY.-GEORGE L. CATLIN. Dong-Dong-the bells rang out Over the housetops; and then a shout Came mingled with clatter of engine wheel The sound goes ringing out over the town; From the brazen throat of the iron-tongued bell, Up in yon tenement, where the glare Through dingy windows; where flame and smoke See the affrighted ones look out In helpless terror, in horrible doubt, The ladders, by arms so strong and bold, Are reared; like squirrels the brave men climb To the topmost story. Indeed, 'twere time "They all are saved!" said a voice below, Yet nerved to strength by her deep woe's power, Up the ladders, a dozen men Rushed in generous rivalry then, Bravely facing a terrible fate. See! There's one who has gained the sill Are watching him now; and with eager cries Ah! ye who mourn A CHRISTMAS HYMN. Written in the Chapel of the Manger, in the Convent Church of Bethlehem, Palestino: In the fields where, long ago, Dropping tears, amid the leaves, Still the reapers shout and sing. Heard, in voices full and sweet, Ring from angel lips afar, While. o'er every glade and glen, Broke the light of Bethlehem's star. Star of hope to souls in night, To the Babe of Bethlehem. Not Judea's hills alone Have earth's weary gleaners trod, Is it given to "reign with God." By each love-watched cradle-bed, For the Hebrew mother's Child. May be holier ground than this, Where our holiest longings are, THE TEMPERANCE PLEDGE.-THOS. F. MARSHALL. Sir, if there be within this hall an individual man who thinks that his vast dignity and importance would be lowered, the laurels which he has heretofore won be tarnished, his glowing and all-conquering popularity at home be lessened, by an act designed to redeem any portion of his colleagues or fellow-men from ruin and shame, all I can say is, that he and I put a very different estimate upon the matter. I should say, sir, that the act was not only the most benevolent, but, in the present state of opinion, the most politic, the most popular, the very wisest thing he ever did in his life. Think not, sir, think not that I feel myself in a ridiculous situation, and, like the fox in the fable, wish to divide it with others, by converting deformity into fashion. Not so; my honor as a gentleman, not so! I was not what I was represented to be. I had, and I have shown that I had, full power over myself. But the pledge I have taken renders me secure forever from a fate inevitably following habits like mine-a fate more terrible than death. That pledge, though confined to myself alone, and with reference to its effect upon me only, my mind, my heart, my body, I would not exchange for all earth holds of brightest and best. No, no, sir; let the banner of this temperance cause go forward or backward-let the world be rescued from its degrading and ruinous bondage to alcohol or not-I for one shall never, never repent what I have done. I have often said this, and I feel it every moment of my existence, waking or sleeping. Sir, I would not exchange the physical sensations-the mere sense of animal being which belongs to a man who totally refrains from all that can intoxicate his brain or derange his nervous structure-the elasticity with which he bounds from his couch in the morning--the sweet repose it yields him at night-the feeling with which he drinks in, through his clear eyes, the beauty and grandeur of surrounding nature;-I say, sir, I would not exchange my conscious being as a strictly temperate man-the sense of renovated youth-the glad play with which my pulses now beat healthful music-the bounding vivacity with which the life-blood courses its exulting way through every fibre of my framethe communion high which my healthful ear and eye now hold with all the gorgeous universe of God-the splendors of the morning, the softness of the evening sky-the bloom, the beauty, the verdure of earth, the music of the air and the waters-with all the grand associations of external nature reopened to the fine avenues of sense;-no, sir, though poverty dogged me-though scorn pointed its slow finger at me as I passed-though want and destitution and every element of earthly misery, save only crime, met my waking eye from day to day ;--not for the brightest and the noblest wreath that ever encircled a statesman's brow-not, if some angel commissioned by heaven, or some demon, rather, sent fresh from hell, to test the resisting strength of virtuous resolution, should tempt me back, with all the wealth and all the honors which a world can bestow; not for all that time and all that earth can give, would I cast from me this precious pledge of a liberated mind, this talisman against temptation, and plunge again into the dangers and the horrors which once beset my path;-so help me Heaven! sir, as I would spurn beneath my very feet all the gifts the universe could offer, and live and die as I am, poor but sober. THE WIDOW.-C. F. GELLERT. [Translated by Longfellow.] Dorinda's youthful spouse, Whom as herself she loved, and better too- As o'er his couch in agony she knelt, And clasped the hand, and kissed the cheek, of clay. The priest, whose business 'twas to soothe her, came; The more they soothed, the more Dorinda cried; They had to drag her from the dead one's side. A ceaseless wringing of the hands Was all she did; one piteous "Alas!" The only sound that from her lips did pass : Full four-and-twenty hours thus she lay. Meanwhile a neighbor o'er the way Had happened in, well skilled in carving wood. And, partly at her own request, Partly to show his reverence for the blest, And save his memory from untimely end, Resolved to carve in wood an image of his friend. Success the artist's cunning hand attended; |