the water had the desired effect, and those bees were soon among the things that were. A terrible crowd had gathered in the mean time in front of the house, but a large portion of it followed the flying policeman, who was rubbing his affected parts, and making tracks for the station-house and a surgeon.

This little adventure somehow dampened our enthusiasm regarding the delight of making our own honey. During the next week we wore milk-and-water poultices pretty ardently, but not a word was said about honey; and now Mrs. B. has gone to stay a week with her mother, leaving me and the convalescent cat and the tickled neighbors to enjoy our own felicity.

OUR TRAVELED PARSON.-WILL CARLETON.

For twenty years and over our good parson had been toiling To chip the bad meat from our hearts, and keep the good from spoiling;

But finally he wilted down, and went to looking sickly, And the doctor said that something must be put up for him quickly.

So we kind of clubbed together, each according to his notion, And bought a circular ticket in the lands across the ocean; Wrapped some pocket money in it—what we thought would easy do him

And appointed me committee-man to go and take it to him.

I found him in his study, looking rather worse than ever, And told him 'twas decided that his flock and he should

sever.

Then his eyes grew wide with wonder, and it seemed almost to blind 'em;

And some tears looked out o' window, with some others close behind 'em.

Then I handed him the ticket, with a little bow of deference, And he studied quite a little ere he got its proper reference; And then the tears that waited, great unmanageable crea

tures,

Let themselves quite out o' window, and came climbing down his features.

I wish you could ha' seen him, coming back all fresh and glowing,

His clothes so worn and seedy, and his face so fat and knowing;

I wish you could have heard him when he prayed for us who sent him,

And paid us back twice over all the money we had lent him. "Twas a feast to all believers, 'twas a blight on contradiction, To hear one just from Calvary talk about the crucifixion; 'Twas a damper on those fellows who pretended they could doubt it, To have a man who'd been there stand and tell them all about it.

Paul, maybe, beat our pastor in the Bible knots unraveling, And establishing new churches, but he couldn't touch him traveling,

Nor in his journeys pick up half the general information; But then he hadn't the railroads and the steamboat navigation.

And every foot of Scripture whose location used to stump us Was now regularly laid out, with the different points of compass.

When he undertook a picture, he quite natural would draw it;

He would paint it out so honest that it seemed as if you saw it.

An' the way he chiseled Europe-oh, the way he scampered through it!

Not a mountain dodged his climbing, not a city but he knew it;

There wasn't any subject to explain in all creation,

But he could go to Europe and bring back an illustration.

So we crowded out to hear him, much instructed and delighted;

'Twas a picture-show, a lecture, and a sermon, all united; And my wife would wipe her glasses, and serenely pet her Test'ment,

And whisper, "That ere ticket was a very good investment." Now, after six months' travel we were most of us all ready To settle down a little, so's to live more staid and steady; To develop home resources, with no foreign cares to fret us, Using home-made faith more frequent; but the parson wouldn't let us.

To view the self-same scenery time and time again he'd call us,

Over rivers, plains, and mountains he would any minute haul us;

He slighted our home sorrows, and our spirits' aches and ailings,

To get the cargoes ready for his reg'lar Sunday sailings.

He would take us off a-touring in all spiritual weather,
Till we at last got homesick like, and seasick altogether;
And "I wish to all that's peaceful," said one free-expres-
sioned brother,

"That the Lord had made one cont'nent, and then never made another!"

Sometimes, indeed, he'd take us into sweet, familiar places, And pull along quite steady in the good old gospel traces; But soon my wife would shudder, just as if a chill had got her,

Whispering, "Oh, my goodness gracious! he's a-takin' to the water!"

And it wasn't the same old comfort when he called around to see us;

On a branch of foreign travel he was sure at last to tree us; All unconcious of his error, he would sweetly patronize us, And with oft-repeated stories still endeavor to surprise us. And the sinners got to laughing; and that fin'lly galled and stung us

To ask him, Would he kindly once more settle down among us?

Didn't he think that more home-produce would improve our souls' digestions?

They appointed me committee-man to go and ask the questions.

I found him in his garden, trim an' buoyant as a feather; He pressed my hand, exclaiming, "This is quite Italian weather;

How it 'minds me of the evenings when, your distant hearts caressing,

Upon my benefactors I invoked the heavenly blessing!"

I went and told the brothers, "No, I cannot bear to grieve him;

He's so happy in his exile, it's the proper place to leave him.
I took that journey to him, and right bitterly I rue it;
But I cannot take it from him: if you want to, go and do it."

Now a new restraint entirely seemed next Sunday to infold him,

And he looked so hurt and humbled that I knew some one had told him.

Subdued-like was his manner, and some tones were hardly vocal;

But every word he uttered was pre-eminently local.

The sermon sounded awkward, and we awkward felt who heard it.

'Twas a grief to see him hedge it, 'twas a pain to hear him word it;

"When I was in-" was, maybe, half a dozen times repeated, But that sentence seemed to scare him, and was always uncompleted.

As weeks went on, his old smile would occasionally brighten, But the voice was growing feeble, and the face began to whiten;

He would look off to the eastward with a listful, weary sighing,

And 'twas whispered that our pastor in a foreign land was

dying.

The coffin lay 'mid garlands smiling sad as if they knew us;
The patient face within it preached a final sermon to us:
Our parson had gone touring on a trip he'd long been
earning,

In that wonder-land whence tickets are not issued for re-
turning.

O tender, good heart-shepherd! your sweet smiling lips, half-parted,

Told of scenery that burst on you just the minute that you started!

Could you preach once more among us, you might wander without fearing;

You could give us tales of glory we would never tire of hearing.

-Harper's Magazine.

DAISY'S FAITH.-JOANNA H. MATHEWS.

Down in de b'ight deen meadow,
De pitty daisies' home--

Daisies dat are my namesakes,

Mamma has let me tome.
S'e said dat s'e tould see me
From her yoom window dere;
Besides, I know our Fader
Will teep me in His tare.

Oh! see how many daisies,-
Daisies so white an' fair-
I'll make a weaf for mamma,
To wear upon her hair,

"An' den s'e'll loot so pitty-
My darlin' own mamma!-
An' tiss her 'ittle Daisy,
An' s'ow it to papa.

One, two, fee, sits, an' 'leven,
Hundred an' eight an' nine;
I b'ieve dat's mos' enough now,
To make it pitty fine.
I wouldn't be af'aid here,
Mamma and Dod tan see,
I know dey would let nossin'
Tome near dat tould hurt me.

De bweeze is soft an' toolin',
An' tosses up my turls;
I dess it tomes from heaven
To play wis 'ittle dirls.
De birdies sin' so sweetly;
To me dey seem to say:
"Don't be af'aid, dear Daisy,
Dod teeps oo all de day."

I'll make a ball for baby
Soon as dis weaf is done,
An' den I'll fow it at her-
Oh my, my fwead's all don'l
Well, den, I'll tate dis wibbon
Off of my old st'aw hat;
I sint mamma would let me;
I'll-oh, dear me! what's dat?

I sought I did hear somesin
Move in dat bus' tose by:
I'm not at all af'aid, dough;
Oh! no, indeed; not I
Mamma-why, s'e's not lootin',
S'e's f'om de window don';
Den may be Dod is tired, too,
"Tause I 'taid here so lon'.

I dess I'll yun a 'ittle,

I b'ieve Dod wants me to;
He tant tate too much t'ouble,
I sint I'd better do,
An' tate my pitty f'owers,

An' 'tay wis mamma dear;
Dod is 'way up in heaven-
I would like some one near.