In a sudden intermission, which appears my only chance, "Strike gently, mother, or you'll split my Sunday pants."

I say:

She stops a moment, draws her breath, and the shingle holds

aloft,

And says:
"I had not thought of that,
them off."

Holy Moses! and the angels, cast your pitying glances down,
And thou, O family doctor, put a good soft poultice on;
And may I with fools and dunces everlastingly commingle,
If ever I say another word when my mother wields the shingle.

THE GIRL OF THE CRISIS.

BROKEN, and crushed, and sad,
Father comes home at night;

Rogues have stript him of all that he had,
And his hair is thin and white;

Bravely he toils all the day,

And thinks that we do not see

1

His heart in his mouth when he looks the way
Of mother and Winnie and me.

For the coat that is no more new,
Or the dingy house, or the scanty fare,
If he could but pay all men their due;
But it pains him to think that we
May not lounge in our easy-chairs,
With music and novel and afternoon-tea, T
And gossip of others' affairs.

Oh, if he only just knew

How weary I was of all that!

How I longed for a life that was earnest and true,
And some useful work to be at!
I heed not what people may say;
All the bondage of fashion I scorn.
To bring girls up in that idiot way,

It were better they never were born.

But what can I do? I could teach;
But scores will be eager to try,

With their music, and German, and French; and each
Far better to do it than I.

I had nice nimble fingers of old

For trimming a bonnet or gown;

But now folks will find better use for their gold
Than to flaunt in gay dress about town.

I know I could tidy a room,

And give it a ladylike look;

And I'm almost sure I could handle a broom,
And iron a little, and cook;

But I must be at home every night

To kiss him and plague him a while,

"And comb the old hair that is thin now, and white, And send him to bed with a smile.

Work! Oh dear, what can I do?

I hurt my soft hand, and it bled;

And I wish it were roughened, and blistered, too,
If it would only win me my bread;
Yet I shrink from the girls at the mill;
I watched them last night in the dark

Coming out, and it smote my weak heart with a chill;
But I could be a telegraph clerk.

Sick! I am weary and sick,

Ever fretting for something to do;

Oh, wouldn't I work my nails to the quick,

Father and mother, for you?

Ye are dearer than ever to me,

So meek, and gentle, and brave;

But your shadows grow long, and I seem to see
Them creeping out close to a grave...

Work with hand or with head,
With broom or needle or quill;
Daily work for my daily bread,
Any true work that you will!
Oh, just for a week to have toiled,
And to give him my wages and kiss,

Saying, father, dear father, my hands may be soiled,
But my heart is purer for this.

WALTER SMITH.

THE RICH MAN AND THE POOR MAN.

So goes the world; if wealthy, you may call

This friend, that brother; friends and brothers all;
Though you are worthless, witless, never mind it;
You may have been a stable boy, what then?
'Tis wealth, my friends, makes honorable men.
You seek respect, no doubt, and you will find it.

But if you are poor, Heaven help you! though your sire Had royal blood in him, and though you

Possess the intellect of angels too,

'Tis all in vain ;- - the world will ne'er inquire
On such a score - - why should it take the pains?
"Tis easier to weigh purses, sure, than brains.
I once saw a poor fellow, keen and clever,
Witty and wise; he paid a man a visit,
And no one noticed him, and no one ever

Gave him a welcome, Strange," cried I; "whence is it?" He walked on this side, then on that,

He tried to introduce a social chat;

Now here, now there, in vain he tried;

Some formally and freezingly replied,

And some said by their silence, "Better stay at home."

A rich man burst the door,
As Croesus rich; - I'm sure

He could not pride himself upon his wit;
And as for wisdom, he had none of it;
He had what's better- he had wealth.

What a confusion! all stand up erect,
These crowd around to ask him of his health;
These bow in honest duty and respect;

And these arrange a sofa or a chair,
And these conduct him there.
"Allow me, sir, the honor;".

-

then a bow

Down to the earth, is 't possible to show
Meet gratitude for such kind condescension?

The poor man hung his head,
And to himself he said,

"This is indeed beyond my comprehension."
Then looking round, one friendly face he found,
And said, "Pray tell me why is wealth preferred
To wisdom ?”. "That's a silly question, friend!"
Replied the other; "have you never heard,
A man may lend his store

Of gold or silver ore,

But wisdom none can borrow, none can lend ?"

KHEMNITZER.

A COLORED DEBATING SOCIETY.

THE "Colored Debating Society" of Mount Vernon, Ohio, had some very interesting meetings. The object of the argument on a particular evening was the settlement, at once and forever, of the question, "Which am de mightiest, de pen or de swoard?"

Mr. Larkins said about as follows: "Mr. Chaarman, what's de use ob a swoard unless you's gwyne to waar? Who's hyar dat's gwyne to waar? I isn't, Mr. Morehouse isn't, Mrs. Morehouse isn't, Mr. Newsome isn't; I'll bet no feller wot speaks on de swoard side is any ideer ob gwyne to waar. Den, what's de use ob de swoard? I don't tink dar's much show for argiment in de matter."

Mr. Lewman said: "What's de use ob de pen 'less you knows how to write? How's dat? Dat's what I wants to know. Look at de chillun ob Isr'l-wasn't but one man in de whole crowd gwyne up from Egyp' to de Promis' Lan' cood write, au' he didn't write much. [A voice in the audience : "Who wrote de Ten Commanʼments, anyhow, you bet?" Cheers from the pen side.] Wrote 'em? wrote 'em? Not much; guess not; not on stone, honey. Might p'r'aps cut 'em wid a chisel. Broke 'em all, anyhow, 'fore he got down de hill. Den when he cut a new set, de chillun ob Isr❜l broke 'em all again. Say he did

write 'em, what good was it? So his pen no 'count nohow. No, saar. De swoard's what fotched 'em into de Promis' Lan', saar. Why, saar, it's ridic'lous. Tink, saar, ob David a-cuttin' off Goliah's head wid a pen, saar! De ideer's altogedder too 'posterous, saar. De swoard, saar, de swoord mus' win de argiment, saar."

Dr. Crane said: "I tink Mr. Lewman a leetle too fas'. He's a-speakin' ob de times in de dim pas', when de mind ob man was crude, an' de han' ob man was in de ruff state, an' not tone down to de refinement ob cibilized times. Dey wasn't educated up to de use ob de pen. Deir han's was only fit for de ruff use ob de swoard. Now, as de modern poet says, our swoards rust in deir cubbards, an' peas, sweet peas, cover de lan'. An' what has wrot all dis change? De pen! Do I take a swoard now to get me a peck ob sweet taters, a pair ob chickens, a pair ob shoes? No, saar. I jess take my pen an' write an order for 'em. Do I want money? I don't git it by de edge ob de swoard; I writes a check. I want a suit ob clo'es, for ina stroke ob de pen, de mighty pen, de clo'es is on de way. I'se done."

stance

-

Mr. Newsome said: "Wid all due 'spect to de learned gemman dat's jess spoke, we mus' all agree dat for smoovin' tings off an' a-levellin' tings down, dere's notting equals de swoard."

Mr. Hunnicut said: "I agrees entirely wid Mr. Newsome; an' in answer to what Dr. Crane says, I would jess ask what's de use ob drawin' a check unless you's got de money in de bank, or a-drawin' de order on de store unless de store truss you? S'pose de store do truss, ain't it easier to sen' a boy as to write a order? If you got no boy handy, telegraf. No use for a pennot a bit. Who ebber heard ob Mr. Hill's pen? Nobody, saar. But his swoard, saar— -de swoard ob ole Bunker Hill, saar is known to ebbery chile in de lan'. If it hadden been for de swoard ob ole Bunker Hill, saar, whaar'd we niggers be tonight, saar? whaar, saar? In Georgia, saar, or wuss, saar. cullud man, saar, should ebber go back, saar, on de swoard, saar.”

No

Mr. Hunnicut's remarks seemed to carry a good deal of weight with the audience. After speeches by a number of others, the subject was handed over to the "committee," who carried it out and "sot on it." In due time they returned with the fol lowing decision:

"De committee decide dat de swoard has de most pints an' de best backin', an' dat de pen is de most beneficial, an' dat de whole ting is about a stan'-off."