sin' the building of Babel; legs being likely to be broken, sides staved in, een knocked out, and lives lost; there being only ae door, and that a sma' ane; so that when we had been carried off our feet that length, my wind was fairly gane, and a sick qwam cam' ower me, lights of a' manner of colors, red, blue, green, and orange, dancing before me, that entirely deprived me o' common sense, till, on opening my een in the dark, I fand mysel' leaning wi' my braidside against the wa' on the opposite side of the close. It was some time before I mindit what had happened; so, dreading scaith, I fand first the ae arm, and then the ither, to see if they were broken-syne my head-and syne baith o' my legs; but a', as weel as I could discover, was skin-hale and scart free. On perceiving which, my joy was without bounds, having a great notion that I had been killed on the spot. So I reached round my hand, very thankfully, to tak' out my pocket-napkin, to gi'e my brow a wipe, when lo, and behold, the tail of my Sunday's coat was fairly aff and away, dockit by the haunch buttons!

CHILD LOST!

"Nine," by the cathedral clock!
Chill the air with rising damps;
Drearily from block to block

In the gloom the bell-man tramps-
"Child lost! Child lost!

Blue eyes, curly hair,

Pink dress,-child lost!"

Something in the doleful strain
Makes the dullest listener start,
And a sympathetic pain

Shoot to every feeling heart.
Anxious fathers homeward haste,
Musing with paternal pride
Of their daughters, happy-faced,
Silken-haired and sparkling-eyed.
Many a tender mother sees

Younglings playing round her chair,
Thinking, "If 'twere one of these,
How could I the anguish bear?"

"Ten," the old cathedral sounds;
Dark and gloomy are the streets;
Still the bell-man goes his rounds,
Still his doleful cry repeats-
"Oh, yes! oh, yes!

Child lost! Blue eyes,
Curly hair, pink dress,-
Child lost! Child lost!"

"Can't my little one be found?
Are there any tidings, friend?"
Cries the mother, " Is she drowned?
Is she stolen? God forfend!
Search the commons, search the parks,
Search the doorways and the halls,

Search the alleys, foul and dark,

Search the empty market stalls. Here is gold and silver-see! Take it all and welcome, man; Only bring my child to me,

Let me have my child again."

Hark! the old cathedral bell
Peals "eleven," and it sounds
To the mother like a knell;

Still the bell-man goes his rounds.
"Child lost! Child lost!
Blue eyes, curly hair,
Pink dress,-child lost!"

Half aroused from dreams of peace,
Many hear the lonesome call,
Then into their beds of ease
Into deeper slumbers fall;
But the anxious mother cries,
"Oh, my darling's curly hair,
Oh, her sweetly-smiling eyes!
Have you sought her everywhere?

Long and agonizing dread

Chills my heart and drives me wild

What if Minnie should be dead?

God, in mercy, find my child!”

"Twelve," by the cathedral clock;
Dimly shine the midnight lamps;
Drearily from block to block,

In the rain the bell-man tramps.
"Child lost! Child lost!

Blue eyes, curly hair,
Pink dress,-child lost!"

LEAVING THE HOMESTEAD.

You're going to leave the homestead, John,
You're twenty-one to-day,

And the old man will be sorry, John,
To see you go away.

You've labored late and early, John,
And done the best you could;
ain't a-going to stop you, John,
I wouldn't if I could.

Yet something of your feelings, John,
I s'pose I'd ought to know,
Though many a day has passed away-
"Twas forty years ago,

When hope was high within me, John,
And life lay all before-

That I, with strong and measured stroke, "Cut loose" and pulled from shore.

The years, they come and go, my boy,
The years, they come and go;
And raven locks and tresses brown
Grow white as driven snow.

My life has known its sorrows, John,
Its trials and troubles sore;
Yet God withal has blessed me, John,
"In basket and in store."

But one thing let me tell you, John,
Before you make your start,
There's more in being honest, John,
Twice o'er than being smart;

Though rogues may seem to flourish, John,
And sterling worth to fail,

Oh! keep in view the good and true;
"Twill in the end prevail.

Don't think too much of money, John,
And dig and delve and plan,

And rake and scrape in every shape,

To hoard up all you can.

Though fools may count their riches, John
In dollars, pounds or pence,

The best of wealth is youth and health,
And good sound common sense.

And don't be mean or stingy, John,
But lay a little by

Of what you earn; you soon will learn
How fast 'twill multiply.

So when old age comes creeping on,
You'll have a goodly store

Of wealth to furnish all your needs-
And maybe something more.

There's shorter cuts to fortune, John,
We see them every day;

But those who love their self-respect
Climb up the good old way.
"All is not gold that glitters," John,
And makes the vulgar stare,
And those we deem the richest, John,
Have oft the least to spare.

Don't meddle with your neighbors, John,
Their sorrows or their cares;
You'll find enough to do, my boy,
To mind your own affairs.
The world is full of idle tongues—
You can afford to shirk;
There's lots of people ready, John,
To do such dirty work.

And if amid the race for fame
You win a shining prize,

The humbler worth of honest men
You never should despise;

For each one has his mission, John,
In life's unchanging plan-
Though lowly be his station, John,
He is no less a man.

Be good, be pure, be noble, John,
Be honest, brave and true;

And do to others as ye would

That they should do to you.

And place your trust in God, my boy,
"Though fiery darts be hurled,"
Then you can smile at Satan's rage,
And face a frowning world.

Good bye! May heaven guard and bless
Your footsteps day by day;
The old house will be lonesome, John,
When you are gone away.
The cricket's song upon the hearth
Will have a sadder tone;

The old familiar spots will be

So lonely when you're gone.

TOUSSAINT L'OUVERTURE.-WENDELL PHILLIPS.

[Toussaint L'Ouverture, who has been pronounced one of the greatest states. men and generals of the nineteenth century, saved his master and family by hurrying them on board a vessel at the insurrection of the negroes of Hayti. He then joined the negro army, and soon found himself at their head. Napoleon sent a fleet with French veterans, with orders to bring him to France at all hazards. But all the skill of the French soldiers could not subdue the negro army; and they finally made a treaty, placing Toussaint L'Ouverture governor of the island. The negroes no sooner disbanded their army, than a squad of soldiers seized Toussaint by night, and taking him on board a vessel, hurried him to France. There he was placed in a dungeon, and finally starved to death.]

If I were to tell you the story of Napoleon, I should take it from the lips of Frenchmen, who find no language rich enough to paint the great captain of the nineteenth century. Were I to tell you the story of Washington, I should take it from your hearts,—you, who think no marble white enough on which to carve the name of the Father of his country. But I am to tell you the story of a negro, Toussaint L'Ouverture, who has left hardly one written line. I am to glean it from the reluctant testimony of his enemies, men who despised him because he was a negro and a slave, hated him because he had beaten them in battle.

Napoleon, at the head of the best

Cromwell manufactured his own army. age of twenty-seven, was placed at the troops Europe ever saw. Cromwell never saw an army till he was forty; this man never saw a soldier till he was fifty. Cromwell manufactured his own army-out of what? Englishmen,--the best blood in Europe. Out of the middle class of Englishmen,-the best blood of the island. And with it he conquered what? Englishmen,-their equals. This man manufactured his army out of what? Out of what you call the despicable race of negroes, debased, demoralized by two hundred years of slavery, one hundred thousand of them imported into the island within four years, unable to speak a dialect intelligible even to each other. Yet out of this mixed, and, as you say, despicable mass he forged a thunderbolt and hurled it at what? At the proudest blood in Europe, the Spaniard, and sent him home conquered; at the most warlike blood in Europe, the French, and put them under his feet; at the pluckiest blood in Europe, the English, and they skulked home to Jamaica.