to steal the hemlock seeds of loneliness and despair. See him come home to-night, wet and hungry; he finds a cold hearth, a barren table, and a lonely pillow that looks like the white urn of earthly enjoyment.

See him in the afternoon of his days, when his life is sinking to its sundown. Not a solitary star of memory gleams over the dusk of his opening grave. No devoted wife to bend like a blessing over his dying bed; no lovely daughter to draw his icy hand into the fond embrace of hers, and warm nis freezing heart with the reviving fires of filial affection; no manly boy to link his breaking name with the golden chain of honorable society, and bind his history in the vast volume of the world he must soon leave forever.

It will soon be said that he has eat, and drank, and died; and earth is glad it is rid of him, for he has done little else than cram his soul into the circumference or a sixpence, and no human being but his washerwoman will breath a sigh at his funeral.

THE OCEAN STORM.

ANON.

[Vigorously and with force.]

The storm is dreadful! The heavens are one vast black cloud. The sheeted rain comes down in torrents. The fair earth is deluged. The sea-the broad-breasted sea-is tossed in terrible commotion, and the whole round world seems wrapped in eternal midnight. God reigns! Let all the earth stand in awe of Him! Hark! it is His voice-the rolling thunder. See, it is His eye-the fearful lightning. The smitten rock declares His power, and the monarch oak, rent from the adamantine hills, proclaims His might!

Alas! on such a night for the poor sea boy. No friendly star lights his dread course. The wind-spirit howls. Wild raves the maddened ocean. The demons of the storm make merry o'er his fate. Look! now tossed on mountain billows, the frail bark hurries to destruction. Oh, God have mercy on the poor sailor boy!

Hark! he shrieks "Help! help!" He crys "Help!" but ah, no help is nigh.

The monsters of the deep stand ready for their prey, and the victim, in despair, awaits his awful death. The booming gun and the shrieks of human agony arc vain. Peace and farewell to the poor sailor boy.

GOOD NATURE-WHAT A BLESSING!

BEECHER.

[With force and vigor.]

Good nature-what a blessing! Without it man is like a wagon without springs, it has the full benefit of every stone and way-rut. Good nature is the prime minister of a good conscience. It tells of the genial spirit within, and good nature never fails of a wholesome effect without.

Good nature is not only the government of one's own spirit, but it goes far in its effects upon those of others. It manifests itself on every street; it humanizes man; it softens the friction of a business world. Good nature is the harmonious act of conscience. Good nature in practical affairs is better than any other; better than what men call justice; better than dignity; better than standing on one's rights, which is so often the narrowest and worst place to stand on one can find.

A man who lacks good nature is like a long, lean, bony man sitting on an oak bench without anything under him; while a good natured man is like a fleshy man who always has a cushion under him. He can sit down anywhere and be comfortable. A man who lacks good nature is always quarrelling with somebody. It is im possible for him to agree with any one, and he is always losing his temper. This want of good nature made a certain President's road a hard one to travel. He might have seen better days had he known how to regulate his temper.

A man who knows how to hold on to his temper is the man who is respected by the community. And one who has good nature successfully travels about as does he who goes upon the prin

ciple- little of baggage but plenty of money. A man who is armed with hopefulness, cheerfulness and a genial spirit, is one who is going to be of practical and beneficent usefulness to his fellow man. There are no things by which the troubles and difficulties of this life can be resisted better than with wit and humor. And let the happy person who possesses thesc-if he be brought into the folds of the church-not allow conversion to deprive him of them. God has constituted these in man, and especially when they are so salient in meeting good naturedly the trials of this world they should be used. Happiness, at last, is dependent upon a soul that has holy communion with its Creator, "for in Him we have life eternal." Men also fail in happiness because they refuse to read the great lessons found in the great book of nature. Happiness is to be sought in the possession of true manhood rather than in its internal conditions.

IN SCHOOL DAYS.

J. G. WHITTIER.

[Simply and tenderly.]

Still sits the school house by the road,
A ragged beggar sunning;
Around it still the sumachs grow,

And blackberry vines are running.

Within the master's desk is seen,
Deep-scared by raps official;

The warping floor, the battered seats,
The jack-knife's carved initial.

The charcoal frescoes on its wall
Its door's worn sill betraying
The feet that, creeping slow to school,
Went storming out to playing,

Long years ago a winter sun
Shone over it at setting,
Lit up its western window panes
And low eaves' icy fretting.

It touched the tangled golden curls
And brown eyes. full of grieving,
Of one who still her steps delayed
When all the school were leaving.

For near her stood the little boy
Her childish favor singled,
His cap pulled low upon a face

Where pride and shame were mingled.

Pushing with restless feet the snow
To right and left, he lingered,
As restlessly her tiny hands

The blue checked apron fingered.

He saw her lift her eyes; he felt
The soft hand's light caressing,
And heard the tremble of her voice,
As if a fault confessing.

"I'm sorry that I spelt the word;
I hate to go above you,
Because"-the brown eyes lower fell-
"Because, you see, I love you!"

Still memory to a gray haired man
That sweet child-face is showing;
Dear girl! the grasses on her grave
Have forty years been growing.

He lives to learn, in life's hard school,
How few who pass above him,
Lament their triumph and his loss
Like her because they love him.

THE SABBATH.

[Tenderly.]

The Sabbath Day is the beautiful river in the week of Time. The other days are troubled streams, whose angry waters are disturbed by the countless crafts that float upon them. But the sure river Sabbath flows on to eternal rest, chanting the sublime music of the silent, throbbing spheres, and timed by the pulsations of the everlasting life. Beautiful river Sabbath, glide on! Bear forth on thy

bosom the poor, tired spirit to the rest which it seeks, and the weary, watching soul to endless bliss.

DO THY LITTLE-DO IT WELL.

ANON.

[Boldly and vigorously.]

Do thy little-do it well.
Do what right and reason tell
Do what wrong and sorrow claim;
Conquer sin and cover shame.

Do thy little, though it be
Dreariness and drudgery:
They whom Christ apostles made,
"Gathered fragments" when He bade

Do thy little, never mind

Tho' thy brethren be unkind.

Tho' the men who ought to smile
Mock and taunt thee for awhile.

Do thy little, never fear
While the Saviour standeth near;
Let the world its javelins throw,
On thy way undaunted go.