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^ 
 
HUMOR, PITH AND PATHOS, 
 
 A BOOK OF 
 
 tainij^ and 3Mi^«lali0tt$ 
 
 FOR 
 
 S. S. ANNIVERSARIES, TEMPERANCE MEETINGS, 
 
 SOCIAL GATHERINGS, AND 
 
 THE HOME CIRCLE. 
 
 COMPILED AND ADAPTED BY 
 
 REV. JAMES COOKE SEYMOUR, 
 
 Author of ''The Temperance Battle-Field, ''Voices from the Throne" and 
 fl " The River of Life." 
 
 TORONTO : 
 
 WILLIAM BRIGGS, 78 & 80 KING STREET EAST. 
 
 MONTREAL : C. W. COATES, HALIFAX : S. F. HUESTIS, 
 
I ' 
 
 EMTsaED, according to Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the year one thousand 
 eight hundred and eighty-seven, by William Briqos, Book Steward of the 
 Methodist Book and Publishing House, Toronto, at the Department of 
 Agriculture. 
 
COMPILERS PREFACE. 
 
 
 Some may think that there is too much fun in this book. 
 Those who are afraid of a good hearty laugh, perhaps had 
 better not read it. Humor seems as natural as eating 
 one's dinner. Nothing on earth has intelligence and good- 
 nature enough to laugh, but the human being; and the most 
 innocent specimens of mankind, namely, children, have the 
 most fun in them. 
 
 We hope Brother Sobersides will forgive our weaknesses 
 and see some good points in the mirthful selections in this 
 book. The pathetic pieces will speak for themselves. 
 
 The material was obtained a good deal as the miner gets 
 his gold — he has to go through a vast lot of stuff to find a 
 few bits ; and so had we. Years of search are concentrated 
 here. 
 
 Any piece that seemed to suit, no matter where it came 
 from, we laid honest hands on, and sometimes have clipped 
 and altered just as we chose. 
 
 Each selection, no doubt, had a good honest birth in 
 somebody's brain. In many cases we know who the author 
 was; in many more we don't. But they all stand on their 
 own merits. 
 
 It has been, all through, a labor of love for the dear 
 young people. 
 
 Might the Great Father smile on them, and even on this 
 little volume too. 
 
 J. C. SEYMOUR. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Faqk 
 
 Old Ebony on Temperanceism 9 
 
 Bachelor's Hall 10 
 
 The Prayer in the Deep Canyon 11 
 
 The Song of the Workers 14 
 
 The Generous Prince 15 
 
 What They Make •. 18 
 
 Two Pictures 18 
 
 Two Lives Were Given for Thine 19 
 
 Successful Temperance Logic 20 
 
 A Scripture Riddle 22 
 
 Run Away With 23 
 
 Canada 25 
 
 Both Sides of the House 26 
 
 Napoleon and the English Sailor Boy 27 
 
 The " Leek Seed " Chapel 30 
 
 Beautiful Child 36 
 
 The Rescue 36 
 
 What Helped Them . 40 
 
 A Short Sermon 41 
 
 The Watch at the Sepulchre 41 
 
 One of Her Bad Spells ^ 
 
 Why Balaam's Ass Spoke 48 
 
 The Farmer's Wife 44 
 
 The Spider and the Fly 40 
 
 Laura Secord 47 
 
 Just a Little Fun 49 
 
M 
 
 v{ CoNTENtd. 
 
 <*Aeli 
 
 yermon by Sam Jones *® 
 
 Why it Was *2 
 
 Two Scrts of Smoke 54 
 
 Kitty's Choice W 
 
 Seth and His Pound of Butter 66 
 
 The Covenanters " 
 
 The Dead Man's Clock in Sleepy Hollow 62 
 
 A Physician's Revenge 64 
 
 Somebody's Mother 66 
 
 The Shilling and the Bank-Note 66 
 
 Married Men 68 
 
 What is Heaven ? 68 
 
 The Lost Child . 69 
 
 A Bachelor's Soliloquy 72 
 
 Why a Bootblack Sold His "Kit." 72 
 
 Self-Sacrifice 73 
 
 What is the Liquor Shop ? 74 
 
 Three Scenes 75 
 
 A Balloon Experience '8 
 
 How We Set the Steam to Work 79 
 
 For Love's Sake 80 
 
 Forgot His Name 81 
 
 The Very Same Chap 83 
 
 Golden Hair at the Light-House 84 
 
 Seeking Light 86 
 
 A Bad Character, and How it Follows Us 88 
 
 Beautiful Canada 89 
 
 Her Treasures 91 
 
 A Good Wife 92 
 
 What a Woman Can Do 92 
 
 The Narrow Lot 93 
 
 The Farmer's Winter Song 93 
 
 Little at First, but Mighty at Last 95 
 
Contents. vii 
 
 Paoi 
 
 Josh Billings on Lager-Beer 96 
 
 A Mule Story 97 
 
 Men of Canada, Hurry 99 
 
 The Drunkard's Wife 100 
 
 Don't Run in Debt 101 
 
 A Backwoods Sermon. . 103 
 
 Jothani and Betsy Get Married 104 
 
 Double His Wages 105 
 
 I Wish I Had Known it Before 106 
 
 To a Skeleton 108 
 
 A Picnic with Death 109 
 
 The House-Top Saint 112 
 
 Readings from the Bible 118 
 
 Some Noble Hymns 118 
 
 Saved by a Baby's Curl 118 
 
 The Rajah's Jest 121 
 
 A Sermon on Hay-making 122 
 
 " Bill Simpson's Darter. " 123 
 
 An Echo Exercise 125 
 
 The Interrupted Speech 127 
 
 *'A Little Child shall Lead Them." 129 
 
 The Choice of Trades 130 
 
 Conference of the Senses 133 
 
 What is War ? 135 
 
 A Shepherd Boy's Prayer 135 
 
 The Poor Fisherman's Lamp 136 
 
 Missionary Beans 138 
 
 The Four Clerks 139 
 
 Jamie Johnston 140 
 
 Three Truths, or Die 142 
 
 Hope 143 
 
 The Christmas Song 145 
 
 A Cup of Tea . , 147 
 
viii Contents. 
 
 PAOB 
 
 Woman ^*® 
 
 A Strange, Strong Letter 149 
 
 A Band of Hope Exercise 150 
 
 Watching One's Self 151 
 
 The Birth of Christ 151 
 
 Easter Tide 152 
 
 Precious Bible l***' 
 
 Sam Jones on Card-Playing 154 
 
 A New and Striking Argument for Teetotalism 155 
 
 Well Frightened 156 
 
 The Rum Maniac 157 
 
 Keep Out of Bad Company 160 
 
 Ralph Erskine 160 
 
 The Babies 162 
 
 The United Empire Loyalists 164 
 
 Questions and Answers 168 
 
 On a Runaway Train . 168 
 
 The Child Witness 174 
 
 The Two Farmers 176 
 
 Re-Married 178 
 
 Told at a Tunnel's Mouth 179 
 
 Our Noble Queen 1"4 
 
 4 
 
 I* 
 
 % 
 ,* 
 
 f 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
 4 
 
 t 
 
 a<Do^ 
 
 1 
 
Readings and Recitations. 
 
 Old Ebony on Temperanceism. 
 
 •WORKS OB 
 
 Dear Fellow-laborers in de great Wa\i 
 DE Temperance Movement, — De world liab i>^ n\ mimy 
 changes, but dare is one thing dat's always desanie — strong 
 drink. It's just as big a debbil as ebber i^ /as. An' yet 
 dare are plen*^v of well-meanin' people who lub dis liquid 
 imposter wi(i .ill dare hearts an' mouths. Dry piaiso our 
 causf n' say dat we are doin' a deal ob good, an' yet nebber 
 do any thin' to assistify de great work. Dey say dat dare 
 hearts are wid us, but what's de use ob dat if dare mouths 
 are wid de enemy. These are de sort ob tipplers who tell 
 us dat dey take so little dey are really half-teetotallers. 
 Now, dis poor ole fellow does not object to any brudder 
 being half a teetotaller, if it happened to be de half where 
 de mouth was, but it always happen to be de odder half. 
 When I used to drink I was always badly oft", liy de time 
 Tuesday mornin' stared de clock in de face, I hadn't as 
 many shillin's left as dare are Sundays in a week. And 
 serbe me right, too. Folks who tipple hab no right to 'spect 
 to get on in de world. For though de mirthful sipper ob 
 de deadly liquor may get a slice ob good luck sometimes, it 
 would hab been twice as thick and buttered on both sides 
 if he had been a watertotaller. But dare's not one beer- 
 bibber in a whole parish who will blame de drink for de 
 ebils dat worry all de happiness out ob folks' libes. Dey 
 say it's de coffee dey had for breakfr- -t dat made dem sick ; 
 or de changeable climate. It's somethin' 'stonishin' de 
 amount of sorrowness some folks get out ob de weather. It 
 2 
 
i 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
 10 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 am hard to do much wid dese moderate drinkers. I hab 
 taken dem by de button-hole an' talked till my tongue was 
 tired, an' yet nebber made any impression on dat part ob 
 dare hearts where all de beer goes. Dey still believe dat 
 drink can make dem strong. Fishin' for health an' 
 stren'th in de liquor-seller's cask will do 'bout as much good 
 as huntin' for a haystack in a bottleful ob needles, as de 
 farmer says. But it am no use to say so to dese obstinate 
 anglers, for though dey nebber caught anything, yet dey 
 still hope to hab a bite some day. An' so dey will, fo' we 
 hab de bery highest 'thority fo' sayin' — ** At last it biteth 
 like a serpent, an' stingeth like an adder." 
 
 II I 
 
 Bachelor's Hall. 
 
 I ONCE knew a man, and a queer man was he ; 
 In a nook by himself he delighted to be ; 
 As he couldn't endure to hear loud people bawl. 
 He dwelt in a mansion called Bachelor's Hall. 
 
 How still was the lonely monastic abode ! 
 Its inmate, I s'pose, if the wind hadn't " blowed," 
 Could have heard a mouse creep or a mosquito fall. 
 So dead was the silence in Bachelor's Hall. 
 
 To lessen the silence, the recluse avow'd, 
 He bought him a clock, and sometimes read aloud ; 
 Both expedients were good, but yet, after all, 
 A still habitation was Bachelor's Hall. 
 
 The library, parlor and kitchen were one. 
 Where reading, and writing, and cooking were done ; 
 The dwelling and dweller appeared rather droll 
 To any who visited Bachelor's Hall. 
 
 I shouldn't describe, but I cannot forbear, 
 A cap was flung here and a coat over there ; 
 Like a hog in his pen, or a horse in his stall, 
 So litter'd the monarch of Bachelor's Hall, 
 
 m 
 
Readings and Recitations. 
 
 11 
 
 I hab 
 
 igue was 
 part ob 
 ieve dat 
 Filtli an' 
 ich good 
 es, as de 
 )bstinate 
 yet dey 
 11, fo' we 
 it biteth 
 
 kll. 
 
 id; 
 
 one ; 
 
 A spade and a shovel, a pick and a hoe, 
 A rake and a buck-saw, in heap or in row. 
 Two tubs and a boiler, an axe and a maul, 
 Embellished the parlor of Bachelor's Hall. 
 
 The letters, the papers, the plates and the dishes, 
 The books and the pens, loaves and the tishes, 
 A lover of order would greatly appall. 
 For all was a medley in Bachelor's Hall. 
 
 Old socks, and old shirts, and old breeches and braces, 
 Old dusters and dish-cloths, in high and low places. 
 Old hats and old tinware hung all round the wall 
 Of that womanless palace called " Bachelor's Hall." 
 
 'Twas funny to look at that anchorite cook. 
 One hand held a knife and the other a book : 
 While frying his ham he was diving in Paul — 
 Eccentric old monk was the lord of the Hall. 
 
 Oh ! the tea that he made ! Oh dear ! and oh dear ! 
 (List farmers, a moment, I wish you to hear.) 
 'Twas as black as a shoe and as bitter as will ; 
 "Strong drink" drank the keeper of Bachelor's Hall. 
 
 If burning or scalding had kindled his ire. 
 He'd p'raps, in his wrath, fling the toast in the Are, 
 Or stamp with his foot like a man in a brawl, 
 Or jump like a madman — so much for the Hall. 
 
 How different the tastes and the pleasures of men ! 
 One chooses the city, another the glen ; 
 The heaven of some is a house with a doll. 
 The heaven of others a Bachelor's Hall. 
 
 Th3 Prayer in the Deep Canyon. 
 
 Not quite twenty years since, three men. Baker, Strole 
 and White, were searching the river-beds in Colorado for 
 gold. The rivers there are different from other rivers in 
 the country. They do not run between green banks, with 
 trees or corn-fields on either side, and so near that we can 
 
w 
 
 >m\ 
 
 12 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 ■ ii I 
 
 Iff. ; 
 
 always see them and, if we wish, wade in them. They run 
 deep down, hundreds, in some places thousands, of feet out 
 of sight, between great walls of rock. Imagine a range of 
 mountains split lengthways from their ridge to the root, and 
 a river flowing far down at the very bottom of the split, and 
 tumbling over precipices and rushing wildly through the 
 darkness. That is how the rivers of Colorado flow. 
 
 One morning the tliree men I have named, having slept 
 over night at the entrance to one of these slits, which in 
 that country are called canyons, were coming up the steep 
 sides of the canyon to continue their search for, gold. A s 
 they came near the surface the wild war-wlioop of the 
 Indians burst on their ears, and at the same time a shower 
 of arrows and bullets fell on them. Baker was hit, and, 
 as it turned out, so sorely that he died. And as he was 
 captain, he cried to the other two to escape for their lives. 
 But they were loyal men and stood by their captain, facing 
 the cruel savages and beating them back, until the last 
 quiver of his strong body told them he was dead. Then 
 they fled back and down the canyon or deep slit in the rocks 
 through which the river ran. And thither the Indians 
 were afraid to follow. 
 
 At a bend of a river they found some drift-wood, plenty 
 and strong enough to make a raft. And with ropes and 
 horse-harness they had they made a raft, and tying a bag 
 of provisions to it, they launched into the unknown stream. 
 Never raft sailed on that stream before. As they went on 
 the darkness became nearly as great as that of a tunnel ; 
 only, far up, they could see a thin line of blue sky, over 
 which for one short half-hour in the day the sunlight passed. 
 Then night came and there was total darkness. Higher 
 and higher rose the walls on either side as they sailed 
 further on. At one place they reached the height of a mile. 
 Meanwhile the little raft sped on, but on a terrible voyage. 
 The turns in the river were frequent, and the falls and 
 whirlpools terrible. The men clung to the raft for dear 
 life, the one keeping it from bumping against the sides, the 
 other guiding it with a pole. 
 
 Only the night before, their captain had told them at the 
 foot of the canyon, if it could be reached, was a village called 
 
Readings and Rkcitations. 
 
 13 
 
 Caville. And the hope of the two men was that they might 
 arrive tliere before long. But one clay passed, another, a 
 third, a fourth, in the terrible darkness, on the terrible 
 stream, and Caville was not reached. On the fourth day, 
 as the raft was caught by the rushing stream and dashed 
 around a sharp bend in the canyon, it went to pieces, and 
 Strole, trying to guide it with his pole, was tossed into the 
 roaring whirl of waters, gave a loud shriek, and was seen 
 no more. 
 
 White was now alone and with a broken raft. A feeling 
 of despair and terror came over him ; he wished he had 
 fallen in the fight with the Indians as Baker had done. 
 He felt the temptation to throw liimself into the seething 
 waters and end his sorrows where Strole's had ended. But 
 the good Lord had something better in store for him. He 
 helped him to put away those evil thoughts and bind the 
 raft together again. This time, that Strole's fate might not 
 happen to him, he tied himself to the raft. But when he 
 searched for the bag of provisions it was gone. And thus 
 tied to the raft in the awful gloom, on the awful stream, 
 without companion, without food, the poor man launched 
 once more. Alas ! he was caught in a whirlpool, fiercer 
 and stronger than that which had swallowed Strole. The 
 raft was whirled round and round and round. The thought 
 came to him that he should whirl on there till raft and he 
 sank. "This is the end," he' said to himself. He grew 
 dizzy ; he fainted. 
 
 When he came to himself he glanced upward. The rocks 
 rose nearly a mile on either side. A red line along the 
 open showed that it was evening. Then the red changed 
 to black, and all was dark. And then and there, in that 
 terrible depth, in that thick darkness, and amid the roaring 
 of the whirling and rushing of waters, this poor man found 
 God. "I fell on my knees," he told afterward, "and as the 
 raft swept round in the current I asked God to help me. 
 I spoke as if from my very soul, and said, ' Oh, God, if 
 there is a way out of this fearful place, show it to me ; take 
 me to it.' " He was still looking up with his hands clasped, 
 when he felt a different movement in the raft, and turning 
 to look at the whirlpool, it was behind, and he was floating 
 
:<! 
 
 14 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 down the smoothest current he had yet seen in the canyon. 
 Six days more, and he came to a bank where the rocks dis- 
 appeared and some Indians lived. From them he received 
 food, and started once more on his voyage ; and three days 
 later he came to Caville and to the homes of white men, 
 v/here his troubles came to an end. 
 
 It was a terrible voyage, the most terrible, perhaps, ever 
 sailed by man ; but it had this good for White : it put the 
 thought and faith of God into his heart. When in after 
 days he told the story to Dr. Bell, who records it in " Across 
 America," his voice grew husky as he described the awful 
 scene in the whirlpool — the appeal to God, and God's loving 
 and helpful reply. 
 
 The Song of the Workers. 
 
 I SING the song of the workers, the men with the brawny 
 
 arm 
 
 Who give us our daily bread, and keep us from hunger's 
 
 harm. 
 Who labor afar in the forest, who work in the fertile soil, 
 Who take no heed of the sunshine, and mind not sweat or 
 
 toil. 
 
 I sing the song of the workers, who harvest the golden 
 
 grain, 
 
 And bind it, and thresh it, and sift it, nor care for the sting 
 
 and stain ; 
 Who load it in creaking waggons, and stoutly their oxen 
 
 drive. 
 And bid them good-bye as they go, like the bees flying home 
 
 to the hive. / 
 
 I 
 
 I sing the song of the workers, the men who struggle and 
 
 strain. 
 Who give us their muscle and nerve, as they guard the 
 
 loaded train ; 
 
Readings and Recitations. 
 
 15 
 
 Who give us their sinew and brain, as they watch the 
 
 prisoned steam, 
 And run the risk of their lives, as they pass the perilous 
 
 stream. 
 
 I sing the song of the workers, the men who labor and 
 
 strive, 
 Who handle for us the honey, that comes to the human 
 
 hive ; 
 The patient and tireless workers, with muscles as tough as 
 
 steel, 
 Who carry the heaviest burdens, and lift, and trundle, and 
 
 wheel. 
 
 I sing the song of the workers, demanding for every one 
 His just and rightful due for all the work he has done ; 
 For all the work of the workers, no matter whom or where, 
 To each from the grand result his honest, proportionate 
 share. 
 
 iir oxen 
 
 The Generous Prince. 
 
 Once upon a time there was a very noble prince who 
 ruled over vast dominions. This prince had absolute power. 
 To him belonged not only all the lands of the great country, 
 but he likewise was sole owner of all its treasures of silver 
 and gold, diamonds and pearls. Everything of value this 
 great prince possessed. It was his to appoint all great 
 ministers of state — in short, the prince held in his own gift 
 all the good things of this life. 
 
 He was, however, very generous, and scattered his 
 bounties amongst his people with a very liberal hand. 
 Great fortunes, large estates, high offices, were his daily 
 gifts to his favorites. To one man he would give a hundred 
 thousand pounds, to another a whole district of country, to 
 a third the government of some distant province, thus mak- 
 ing all his favorites rich. The name of this mighty prince 
 was Good Fortune. Many thought Good Fortune a very 
 whimsical fellow. They believed he scattered his bounties 
 
16 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 *ii 
 
 at random, giving, as they thought, his prizes to the un- 
 worthy, while he often entirely overlooked the deserving. 
 When rumors of this sort reached the prince, he was wont 
 to smile most complacently, and say, " I give every one of 
 my subjects a fair chance." One day the prince was in a 
 very merry Immor, so he told his ministers to bring before 
 him all the people he had forgotten to be kind to, and he 
 would treat them all handsomely. 
 
 The ministers gazed in astonishment, and said, "Why, 
 the people who think you have forgotten them are such a 
 multitude that no room in the palace would hold them all." 
 
 " Well," said Good Fortune, " bring before me a few of 
 them. I don't care whom you bring first — Tom, Dick or 
 Harry." 
 
 The prince was instantly obeyed, and a very easy-ozey- 
 looking young man, called Tom Lazy, was ushered into the 
 presence of the prince. Tom made his- bow, and the prince 
 said, "And so, Tom, I have forgotten you. Well, I am at 
 your service now, what can I do for you 1 " 
 
 Tom bluntly replied, " I want just a great lot of money." 
 
 The prince graciously answered, " You shall have it on 
 just one simple condition." He pointed to a heap of gold 
 which lay on a table before him, and added, "That gold 
 shall be yours when you find the net amount, and tell me 
 how much it will yield at four and a-half per cent, per 
 annum ? " 
 
 Tom scratched his head and said, " When I was at the 
 school I never could be bothered counting, so I got another 
 fellow to do my sums for me. I shall be very thankful to 
 you for the money, but I could not count how much interest 
 it would yield." 
 
 Good Fortune frowned, and poor Tom, in a moment, 
 found himself outside the palace gates. Dick Tasteless was 
 next introduced. Dick wanted to be made a governor of a 
 distant province. The prince at once granted his request, 
 and told Dick to sit down and write, to his dictation, the 
 order for his appointment. Dick looked puzzled, but took 
 the pen, and sitting down, stuck out his elbows, laid down 
 his head, and put out his tongue. 
 
 The prince said, "I am afraid, Dick, you are no great 
 penman ; you don't sit well." 
 
Readings and Recitations. 
 
 17 
 
 Dick answered, " I can write not so bad ; but I am very- 
 bad at the spelling." 
 
 Good Fortune again frowned, and Dick found himself in 
 an instant standing beside Tom Lazy, at the outside of the 
 palace gates. Harry Careless was next introduced to the 
 prince. He, too, was received very graciously. He told 
 the prince he would like to have a first-class estate in the 
 county in which he was born. 
 
 " You shall have it," said the prince. '' I have known 
 you since your childhood; I watched your progress at school, 
 and I know your father gave you the advantage of a college 
 education, so you shall have a large estate. Here," he 
 added, " are the title-deeds ; they are written in good Latin. 
 Read them aloud to me and the estate is yours." 
 
 " But," said Harry, with a blank stare, " I can hardly 
 read a word of Latin. I did all my Latin exercises with 
 the assistance of a key, or got them done foi* me." 
 
 Good Fortune frowned once more, and Harry in an 
 instant found himself without the palace gates, in the 
 company of Tom and Dick. Such was the fate of Tom 
 Lazy, Dick Tasteless, and Harry Careless. 
 
 How differently fared Will Diligent, when he was intro- 
 duced to the generous prince ! When asked what he wanted, 
 he answered, " I have resolved, on all occasions, to tlie best 
 of my ability, to do my duty, and will gratefully accept 
 what it is the pleasure of my prince to give me." The 
 prince requested Will to calculate the amount of interest 
 the treasure would yield. He did so in a few minutes, and 
 the treasure was his. He could write like copperplate ; and 
 so he wrote, at the dictation of the prince, the order for his 
 own appointment to an important office. He read^ without 
 a moment's hesitation, the title-deeds in Latin, and the 
 great estate was his. Will Diligent had been a very poor 
 boy, but had improved all his opportunities in learning, and 
 so became rich and great. 
 
 Now, boys and girls, I just ask you one question, was not 
 Good Fortune a very knowing prince ? Did he not treat 
 Tom, Dick and Harry as they deserved to be treated ? and 
 was he not noble in his behavior to Will Diligent ? I think 
 we could not do better than give three cheers for Good 
 Fortune. 
 
18 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 What Thev Make. 
 
 Little drops of water, 
 
 Little grains of corn, 
 Make the nasty whiskey 
 
 And the morning horn. 
 
 And the little rum-drinks, 
 
 Wicked as they be. 
 Make swelled heads, and fill the 
 
 Pen-i-ten-tia-ry. 
 
 Two Pictures. 
 
 Scene First. — "Father is coming !" Keep still, you John, 
 in the corner ; and you, Susan, sit up by the light as 
 straight as ever you can. Carry the baby away off into the 
 northmost corner of the garret, and take your pocket-hand- 
 kerchief along to stop his mouth with if he cries. Shut the 
 cat in the closet, and hide the baby's blocks and Johnny's 
 windmill on the top shelf in the cupboard. Wrap the door- 
 latch in cotton wool, and above all things don't let the toast 
 get cold. Be careful and look just pleased enough and not 
 too pleasant, and talk just enough and not too much. Tune 
 all the domestic strings as carefully as possible to the exact 
 pitch indicated by the way the hall-door closes at his en- 
 trance ; and after all it's pretty well if a discord does not 
 intervene. 
 
 Scene Second. — " Father is coming ! " Throw back the 
 shutters, loop up the curtains, stir the fire well, and break 
 in pieces the glowing coals to make the sparks fly thick and 
 fast. Wheel out the tea-table, and shake a newspaper be- 
 fore baby's face so that father can hear him crow rs he did 
 this morning. Let Johnny bring out his school prize, and 
 Susan sing her new song. Open the door that the cheerful 
 fire-light may shine through it far down the gravel walk, 
 and when you hear the click of the gate-latch, shout, little 
 one, for very joy, and all because " Father has come !" 
 
Readings and Recitations. 
 
 It 
 
 Two Lives Were Given for Thine. 
 
 " Ah ! well I mind me of a child, 
 A gleesome, happy maid, 
 Who came with constant step to church, 
 
 In comely garb arrayed. 
 And knelt her down full solemnly. 
 And penitently prayed. 
 
 " And oft when church was done, I marked 
 
 That little maiden near 
 This pleasant spot, with book in hand, 
 
 As you are sitting here — 
 She read the Story of the Cross, 
 
 And wept with grief sincere. 
 
 " Years rolled away — and I beheld 
 
 The child a woman grown ; 
 Her cheek was fairer, and her eye 
 
 With brighter lustre shone ; 
 But childhood's truth and innocence 
 
 Were still the maiden's own. 
 
 " I never rang a merrier peal 
 
 Than when, a joyous bride. 
 She stood beneath the sacred porch, 
 
 A noble youth beside. 
 And plighted him her maiden troth, 
 
 In maiden love and pride. 
 
 " I never tolled a deeper knell, 
 Than when, in after vears. 
 They laid her in the churchyard here, 
 
 Where this low mound appears — 
 (The very grave, my boy, that you 
 Are watering now with tears). 
 
 " It is thy mother ! gentle boy, 
 That claims this tale of mine — 
 
 Thou art a flower whose fatal birth 
 Destroyed the parent vine ! 
 
 A precious flower thou art, my child — 
 
 Two LIVES WERE GIVEN FOR THINE ! 
 
 it 
 
 I 
 
 V 
 
 i 
 
 i 
 
20 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 " One was thy sainted mother's, when 
 She gave thee mortal birth ; 
 
 And one thy Saviour's, when in death 
 He shook the solid earth ; 
 
 (jIo ! boy, and live as may befit 
 Thy life's exceeding worth !" 
 
 • ••••• 
 
 The boy awoke, as from a dream, 
 And thoughtful, looked around, 
 
 But nothing saw, save at his feet, 
 His mother's lowly mound, 
 
 And by his side that ancient bell 
 Half hidden in the ground ! 
 
 ill 
 
 Successful Temperance Logic. 
 
 A SMALL temperance society had been started in a com- 
 munity very much under tlie control of a rich distiller, com- 
 monly called "Bill Myers." This man had several sons 
 who had become drunkards on the facilil/ies afforded by 
 their education at home. The whole family was arrayed 
 against the movement, and threatened to break up any 
 meeting called to promote the object. Learning this, the 
 Rev. T. P. Hunt went to a neighboring district for volun- 
 teers for that particular occasion. He then gave out word 
 for a meeting, and at the time found his friends and enemies 
 about equal in numbers. This fact prevented any outbreak, 
 but could not prevent noise. 
 
 Mr. Hunt mounted the platform, and, by a few sharp 
 anecdotes and witty sayings, soon silenced all noise except 
 the sturdy " Bill Myers," the old Dutchman, crying out, 
 " Mr. Hunt, money makes the mare go." To every shot, 
 which seemed ready to demolish him, the old fellow pre- 
 sented the one shield, " Mishter Hunt, money makes the 
 mare go." 
 
 At last Mr. Hunt stopped and addressed the imper- 
 turbable German : " Look here, Bill Myers, you say that 
 money makes the mare go, do you?" 
 
 " Yes, dat ish just what I say, Mishter Hunt." 
 
 m 
 
Readings and Recitations. 
 
 21 
 
 " Well, Bill Myers, you own and work a distillery, don't 
 you 1" inquired Mr. Hunt. 
 
 " Dat ish none of your business, Mishter Hunt. But 
 den I ish not aslianied of it. I has got a still and work 
 it too." 
 
 " And you s.ay, ' Money makes the mare go ;' do you 
 mean that I have come here to get the money of these 
 people?" 
 
 "Yes, Mr. Hunt, dat ish just what I mean." 
 
 "Very well ; you work a distillery to make money, and I 
 lecture on temperance to make money ; and, as you say, 
 ' Money makes the mare go,' Bill Myers, bring out your 
 mare, and I'll bring out mine, and we'll show them together." 
 
 By this time the whole assembly was in a titter of de- 
 light ; and even Myers' followers could not repress their 
 merriment at the evident embarrassment of their oracle. 
 In the meantime we must premise that Mr. Hunt knew a 
 large number of the drunkards present, and among them 
 the sons of Myers himself. 
 
 " Bill Myers, who is that holding himself up by that 
 tree ?" inquired Mr. Hunt, pointing to a young man so 
 drunk that he could not stand alone. 
 
 The old man started as if stung by an adder, but was 
 obliged to reply, " Dat is my son ; but what of that, Mishter 
 Hunt?" 
 
 " A good deal of that. Bill Myers ; for I guess that son 
 has been riding your mare, and got thrown, too." 
 
 Here there was a perfect roar from all parts of the assem- 
 bly, and, as soon as order was restored, Mr. Hunt proceeded, 
 as he pointed to another son : 
 
 " Bill Myers, who is that straggling about as if his legs 
 were as weak as potato- vines after frost V 
 
 "Well, I suppose that is my son too," replied the old 
 man, with a crest-fallen look. 
 
 " He has been riding your mare, too, and got a tumble." 
 
 At this point the old man put up both hands in a most 
 imploring manner, and exclaimed, " Now, Mishter Hunt, if 
 you won't say any more I will be still." 
 
 This announcement was received with a roar of applause 
 and laughter, and from that moment Mr. Hunt had all the 
 ground to himself. 
 
22 
 
 Readings and Recitaiions. 
 
 A Scripture Riddle. 
 
 Many years af»o a prominent merchant in Taunton, Mass., 
 is said to have promised an eccentric old woman, named 
 Lucy King, tliat if, taking her subject from the Bible, she 
 would compose a riddle which he could not guess, he would 
 give her a certain prize. The riddle is given below. Who 
 can explain it? 
 
 Adam, Ood made out of dust. 
 
 But thought it best to make me first ; 
 
 So I was made before the man, 
 
 To answer His most iioly plan. 
 
 My body He did make complete, 
 But without arms, or legs, or feet ; 
 My ways and acts He did control, 
 But to my body gave no soul. 
 
 A living being I became, 
 And Adam gave to me a name, 
 I from his presence then withdrew, 
 And more of Adam never knew. 
 
 I did my Maker's law obey. 
 Nor from it ever went astray ; 
 Thousands of miles I go in fear. 
 But seldom on the earth appear. 
 
 For purpose wise which God did see, 
 He put a living soul in me ; 
 A soul from me my God did claim ; 
 And took from me the soul again : 
 
 For when from me that soul had tied, 
 I was the same as when first made ; 
 And without hands, or feet, or soul, 
 I travel on from pole to pole. 
 
 I labor hard by day and night, 
 To fallen man I give delight ; 
 Thousands of people, young and old. 
 Do by my death great light behold. 
 
Readings and Recitations. 88 
 
 No right or wrong can T conceive, 
 The Scriptures I cannot believe ; 
 Although my name therein is found 
 They are to me but empty sound. 
 
 No fear of death doth trouble me, 
 Real happiness I ne'er shall see ; 
 To heaven I shall never go. 
 Nor to the grave, nor hell below. 
 
 Now, when these lines you closely read, 
 Go search your Bible, with all speed ; 
 For that my name's recorded there 
 I honestly to you declare. 
 
 Note.— S«e Matt. 12. 40. There is a word in that verse that explains the riddle. 
 
 Run Away With. 
 
 Theory and practice do not always agree — a fact which 
 a good-natured but rather unpractical country clergyman 
 once found to his cost. His youngest son, whom lie was 
 educating at an agricultural college, came home at the iirst 
 vacation, eager to display his newly acquired knowledge. 
 
 On the afternoon of his return his father chanced to 
 speak of a kiiking cow that troubled him. 
 
 " Oh ! " said his son, confidently, " I can soon stop that. 
 We learn all these things at college." 
 
 "Well, my boy," replied the father, "there's no time like 
 the present. It's just about milking time ; suppose you try 
 it now 1 " and he led the way to the barn. For the conveni- 
 ence of the operator the animal was led out and tied to a 
 tree. 
 
 " Now," said Sam, the son, " it's very simple. All you've 
 got to do is to put a weight on her back and then she can't 
 kick. Don't you see 1 
 
 " H-m ! I'll see later. But we'll try it," answered the 
 clergyman. 
 
 "What shall we use for a weight T' said Sam. "Look 
 here ! I'll make a weight of myself, and you can milk." 
 And so saying he mounted the cow's back. 
 
24 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 For a moment the animal seemed too much surprised to 
 move. The minister began to milk, and then up went her 
 heels, and Sam found himself on his back. 
 
 "A striking, but not exactly a successful illustration," 
 dryly remarked the father. 
 
 " The theory's all right," persisted Sam, ruefully, rubbing 
 his back; "the trouble is, I ain't heavy enough. Now, if 
 you'll just get on, I'll warrant it'll be all right." 
 
 "H-m ! perhaps," answered his father, with a glance at 
 his own portly form. " There is some difference in weight. 
 Don't know but I'll try it, but mind I don't mean to risk a 
 tumble. Get that rope by the door there, and tie my feet 
 underneath. Then let her kick if she can ! " 
 
 The good clergyman was soon mounted, and aftei' a little 
 difficulty was securely tied. Sam attempted to milk. At 
 his touch up went the cow's heels again. 
 
 " Sam !" exclaimed his father, "I can't stand this — cut 
 the rope ! " 
 
 Sam whipped out his knife, but in his confusion cut loose 
 — not his father, but tlie cow ! 
 
 The animal, thoroughly frightened, ran frantically through 
 the open gate out into the road towards the village, with 
 the elder clinging to her for dear life. The people stared 
 almost mute with surprise, as they saw their pastor riding 
 through the town on a cow's back. 
 
 " Why, par — parson ! Where — where be you goin' 1 " 
 stammered an amazed deacon. 
 
 "The Lord and this cow only know ! " came faintly back, 
 as onward the cow rushed. 
 
 Fortunately some farmers coming along took in " the situ- 
 ation," and after some effort succeeded in stopping the cow, 
 and the poor minister was released more dead than alive. 
 For a long time the parson refused to listen to ." any more 
 college notions," and Sam feared he might lose the remainder 
 of his college course. But his father wisely concluded that 
 "if a little knowledge was a dangerous thing," the best 
 remedy was a larger dose. 
 
Rkadings and Recitations. 
 
 25 
 
 Canada. 
 
 Hail, Canada, home of the free ! 
 
 Long may thy flag with Britain's wave 
 O'er thy fair land, whose liberty 
 
 Has ne'er been marred by foot of slave. 
 
 A glorious heritage is thine I 
 
 Of noble deeds and lofty aim, — 
 Source of a power almost divine 
 
 To inspire with patriotic flame : — 
 
 Heroes, alike, who battles gained, — 
 
 Or, for United Empire lost, 
 Who naught but loyalty retained. 
 
 And for thy flag the border crossed. 
 
 patriot hosts ! your fame how fair ! 
 
 Brightening as age on age rolls on ; 
 Be ours to guard, with gr.ateful care, 
 
 The treasures by your conflicts won. 
 
 Endowed with full self-government, 
 
 Vast realms whose shores three oceans lave, 
 
 Strong for thine own development ; 
 
 What grander powers can nation have ? 
 
 On every sea, )>y every coast. 
 
 Thy ships sail forth, far climes to greet, 
 By stout hearts manned, — a mighty host. 
 
 Third in the world's great merchant fleet. 
 
 Free to retain the ancient tie — 
 
 Love golden's link — to Britain's throne, 
 
 For which thy patriots dared to die ; — 
 Yet, not less free to stand alone ! 
 
 Conscious of manhood's ripening power, 
 
 The heroes of the storied past 
 Are reproduced in danger's hour. 
 
 When sweeps rebellion's deadly blast. 
 
 3 
 
 *§■;*•' 
 
26 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 Yes, 'mid the leaden storm, thy call 
 Fired loyal souls — like flaming torch — 
 
 Victors to be — or nobly fall ! 
 
 Witness their gallant charge, Batoche ! 
 
 Self-sacrificing, valiant, strong— 
 
 To guard with life their country's fame ! 
 
 What nobler traits to those belong 
 Who proudly boast a nation's name 1 
 
 O, Canada, speed on thy course 
 
 True to thy past ! bid changelings wait 
 
 Till federation's growing force 
 Ere long unites an empire great. 
 
 For Britain shall her lustre shed 
 
 On myriad states in compact bound. 
 
 Not colonies — but empire —spread 
 Wherever British hearts are found. 
 
 In that grand phalanx thine shall be 
 A foremost place, high in esteem ; 
 
 And tliy brave sons shall glory see. 
 Surpassing far their proudest dream ! 
 
 O, loved Dominion, strong and free, 
 Kindle afresh the loyal flame ! 
 
 Fulfil the glorious destiny ! ' 
 
 Union with all thy kindred claim. 
 
 Then mighty empire earth shall see, 
 Wlien Britons are in one combined ; 
 
 Pledge of the coming harmony, 
 "The federation of mankind !" 
 
 Both Sides of the House. 
 
 A COMBINATION DESIRED. 
 
 Wanted — A wife who can handle a broom. 
 
 To brush down the cobwebs and sweep up the room ; 
 
 To make decent bread that a fellow can eat — 
 
 > ' 1 1 I 
 
Readings and Recitations. 
 
 27 
 
 Not the horrible compound you everywhere meet ; 
 Who knows how to broil, to fry, and to roast- 
 Make a cup of good tea and a platter of toast ; 
 A woman who washes, cooks, irons, and stitches, 
 And sews up the rips in a fellow's old breeches; 
 And makes her own garments — an item tliat grows 
 Quite highly expensive, as every one knows ; 
 A common-sense creature, and still with a mind 
 To teacii and to guide — exalted, refined ; 
 A sort of an angel and household combined. 
 
 A COMBINATION SELDOM FOUND. 
 
 Wanted — A husband who thinks of his wife 
 
 As the help, and the pride, and the joy of his life ; 
 
 Who is thoughtful to put all his garments away. 
 
 Who hangs up his slippers, brush and comb, every day ; 
 
 W"ho will bring in the water, the coal and the wood, 
 
 Nor grumble about it, and speak harsh and rude ; 
 
 Who coming to supper, as he does often, late. 
 
 Blames not the tired wife because ii*^ had to wait ; 
 
 Who thinks of her numberless steps here and there, 
 
 And paying no help, grudges naught she may wear. 
 
 If a man with the purities — blest with a mind 
 
 That knows true from false — wants a wife, he will find 
 
 There are still a few left — wife and helpmeet combined. 
 
 <■' 
 
 Napoleon and the English Sailor Boy. 
 
 In the year 1809, the French flotilla lay at Boulogne, 
 waiting for an opportunity to make a descent upon the 
 southern shores of England. Day after day Napoleon Bona- 
 parte paced the beach, sweeping with his telescope the blife 
 expanse of the Channel, watching the appearance or disap- 
 pearance of the English fleets, that were cruising about to 
 intercept his design. 
 
 Among the Englishmen who were prisoners at Boulogne, 
 was a sailor-boy, who was permitted to ramble about the 
 town and the sea-shore, it being reckoned impossible for 
 him to make his escape. 
 
M I 
 
 ■Vim 
 
 28 
 
 Headings and Rkcitations. 
 
 One day, as he was wandering along the beach, gazing 
 sorrowfully across the waves towards the white cliffs of dear 
 England, and thinking of his home among the green lanes 
 of Kent, he saw an empty hogshead floating shorewards 
 with the advancing tide. As soon as the depth of the water 
 would permit, he ran into the sea, seized the barrel, shoved 
 it to land, rolled it up the beach, and hid it in a cave. The 
 thought of home had nerved his arm, and a bright idea had 
 dawned upon him, and filled liis heart with hope. He 
 resolved to form a boat out of the barrel. With his clasp- 
 knife for his only tool, he cut the barrel in two. He then 
 went to the wood, that linf i the shore, and brought down 
 some willow twigs, with which he bound the staves tightly 
 together. During the time of his boat-building he had 
 frequently to leave the cave to watch the coming and going 
 of the sentinels. 
 
 The sun was setting as he finished his labor. In the 
 frail bark he had so rudely and rapidly constructed, he was 
 going to attempt to cross the Channel, fearless alike of its 
 swift currents and the storms that might arise. He re- 
 turned to his lodging to eat his supper, and wait till dark- 
 ness should set in. 
 
 Slowly, with the impatient prisoner, did the hours pass by; 
 but the night came at last, and he set forth on his perilous 
 undertaking. 
 
 By a circuitous route he reached the cave. The wind was 
 moaning along the sea, telling of a coming storm, and not 
 one star glimmered in the sky. " This is the darkest night 
 I ever saw," said the sailor-lad to himself, " but so much the 
 better for me;" and down he went towards the water, bear- 
 ing his boat on his back. But alas ! his hopes were to be 
 disappointed. As he was about to launch it, the sharp cry 
 (ff " Qui vive V rang in his ear, and instantly the bayonet of 
 a sentinel was pointed at his breast. He was taken to the 
 encampment, placed in irons, and a guard set over him. 
 
 On the following morning, when Napoleon was, as usual, 
 pacing the beach, he was informed of the attempted escape 
 of the sailor-lad, and the means he had employed. 
 
 " Let the boy and his boat be brought before me," he said. 
 The order was speedily obeyed. When Napoleon beheld the 
 
Readings and Recitations. 
 
 29 
 
 ms 
 
 twig-bound half-barrel, and the youthful form of the sailor, 
 he smiled, and turning to the prisoner, said in a tone devoid 
 of anger, for he admired the daring of the lad, — 
 
 " Did you mean to cross the Channel in such a thing as 
 
 that » And last night of all nights ! Why [ would not 
 
 ^ liave ventured one of my gun-boats a mile from sliore ! But 
 
 I I see how it is." Napoleon looked compassionately at the 
 
 prisoner who stood before him, with a countenance in 
 
 which boldness devoid of impudence was displayed. " I see 
 
 * how it is. You have a sweetheart over yonder, and you 
 
 long to see her !" 
 
 " No, sire ; I have no sweetheart." 
 
 "No sweetheart? What! A British sailor without a 
 sweetheart 1" 
 
 " I have a mother, sire, whom I have not seen for years, 
 .^ and whom I weary to see !" 
 
 I "And thou shall see her, my brave British boy. A right 
 
 .; noble mother she must be, to have reared so gallant a son ! 
 
 \ You shall be landed in England to-night. Take this," 
 
 I handing him a coin of gold, "it will pay your expenses 
 
 I home, after you are put on shore. Farewell." 
 
 As the grateful boy bowed his thanks, and walked away, 
 Napoleon turned to one of his aid-de-camps, and said, " I 
 wish I had a thousand men with hearts like that boy ! " 
 
 Bonaparte ""ms as good as his promise. That very day he 
 dispatched a vessel, bearing a flag of truce, which landed 
 t!ie lad at Hastings, in the neighborhood oi which was his 
 mother's home. 
 
 It is not necessary to tell of the meeting of mother and 
 son ; how they prayed their silent prayer of thankfulness ; 
 how they laid their heads on each other's shoulders, and wept 
 for very joy. 
 
 The sailor-lad rejoined the navy. Many and many a 
 time afterwards, when disabled for service, was he sorely 
 stressed by want ; often was his clothing scanty, and his 
 head without a shelter ; but the strongest and sternest of 
 his necessities never could force him to part with the gift 
 of the great Napoleon. 
 
 " Honor thy parents." The love of the lad for his mother 
 had served in his hour of need, and had bestowed upon him 
 its promised blessing. 
 
 
 
 •*U 
 
^■«1'['t 
 
 30 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 This deed of Napoleon was more glorious in the eyes of 
 humanity than if he had conquered a nation. The glory 
 won by the sword is tarnished with blood, and semlis sorrow 
 and desolation into a thousand homes ; but this simple act 
 was greater than a victory on the battle-field, for by it Na- 
 poleon conquei-ed two hearts by love, and tilled with joy the 
 home of a widow and an orphan boy. 
 
 The ''Leek Seed" Chapel. 
 
 Soon after the promulgation of Methodism in Kngland, 
 it spread with great rapidity over the counties of Devon 
 and Cornwall, and especially among the miners and lower 
 orders. For a long period after its introduction, the clergy 
 and higher orders of society in the West of England mani- 
 fested a degree of dislike to the new doctrines which can 
 scarcely be imagined in these days of modern toleration. It 
 was thought by many young gentlemen good sport to break 
 the windows and nail up the doors of a Methodist chapel. 
 The robbery of a Wesleyan preacher as a spree by two 
 young gentlemen became the subject of legal investigation, 
 and the frolicsome young men had to pay very dear for 
 their practical joke. 
 
 Among the local preachers was one known by the name 
 of "The Old Gardener." This old man was no common 
 character, indeed lie was quite an original, and by far the 
 most popular preacher among the disciples of John Wesley 
 in that vicinity. He kept ii small nursery garden about 
 
 two miles from the town of St. A , working hard at his 
 
 occupation by day, and praying and preaching to his fellow- 
 sinners, as lie called them, in the evening. He lived in the 
 poorest way, giving away all the surplus of his earnings in 
 charity, distributing BiV)les, and promoting to the utmost of 
 his ability tlie extension of Methodism. His complexion was 
 a sort of dirty, dark, iron grey, and his whole appearance 
 5ean and grotesque. He possp sed no small degree of cun- 
 :iing and great personal courage. Of this the following in- 
 cidi.nit afibrds ample evidence : — 
 
Readings and Eecitations. 
 
 31 
 
 The " Old Gardener" was once subjected to a burglary 
 and attempt at roljbery. He lived witli his wife in a small 
 and dilapidated cottage not far from the high road. Three 
 young " squires" who had just finished their studies at the 
 university, and who despised and hated Metliodism, having 
 heard that the old man had been making a collection to 
 build a Methodist chapel, thought it would be a good frolic 
 to rob him temporarily of the proceeds of his collection. 
 The result of the frolic is best related in the words of one 
 of the actors : — 
 
 " We set out," said he, "upon our expedition with black- 
 ened faces, on a dark niglit, a little before twelve o'clock. 
 We had dined late, and all of us had Dutch as well as 
 Cornish courage ; yet, I confess, when it came to the point, 
 I felt myself a coward. I began to reflect that it was but 
 a dastardly frolic to frighten a poor old man and his wife in 
 the dead hour of the night. 
 
 " The clock struck twelve. * Now comes the witching 
 time of night,' said Tom. 
 
 " 'Don't let us frighten the poor couple out of their wits,' 
 said I. 
 
 " 'No,' said Ryder, ' we will be gentle robbers — gentle as 
 Robin Hood and Little John.' 
 
 " I said that I would rather travel back than proceed. 
 ' Recollect,' said I, * the old fellow is an old soldier as well 
 as a saint, and fears nothing human.' 
 
 "'Nonsense,' exclaimed Ryder, 'here goes.' He pressed 
 the feeble door of the cottage in which the old man resided ; 
 it innnediately gave way and flew open. W^e entered and 
 found ourselves in a sort of kitchen. To our great surprise 
 there was a light shining from an inner room. This made 
 us hesitate. 
 
 " 'Who is out there at this time of night ?' exclaimed a 
 hoarse voice from within. I knew it to be the unmistakable 
 voice of the 'Old Gardener.' 
 
 " 'Give us your money, and no harm shall befall you,' 
 said Tom ; ' but we want your money. ' 
 
 " 'The Lord will be my defence,' rejoined the ' Old Gar- 
 dener.' 'You shall have no money from me. All in this 
 house is the Lord's — take it if you dare ! ' 
 
 Kff-t 
 
32 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 << 
 
 ;[{ 
 
 'We must and will have it,' said we, as we entered the 
 inner room, after taking the precaution of fastening the 
 chamber door as we entered. 
 
 " We soon wished we had suffered it to remain open, as 
 you will see. 
 
 " Now consider us face to face with the ' Old Gardener ' ; 
 and a pretty sight we presented. Three ruffians (ourselves) 
 with white waggoner's frocks and blackened faces. Before 
 us the ' Old Gardener,' sitting on the side of his bed. He 
 wore a red worsted nightcap, a checked shirt, and a flannel 
 jacket ; his iron-grey face, fringed with grizzly beard, look- 
 ing as cool and undismayed as if he had been in the pulpit 
 preaching. A table was by the side of the bed, and im- 
 mediately in front of him, on a large deal table was an open 
 Bible, close to which we observed, to our horror, a heap of 
 gunpowder, large enough to blow up a castle. A candle 
 was burning on the table, and the old fellow had a steel in 
 one hand and a large flint in the other. We were all three 
 completely paralyzed. The wild, iron-faced, determined 
 look of the ' Old Gardener,' the candle, the flint and steel, 
 and the great heap of powder, absolutely froze our blood 
 and made cowards of us all. The gardener saw the impres- 
 sion he had made. , 
 
 " 'What, do you mean to rob and murder V exclaimed he. 
 * You had better join me in prayer, miserable sinners that 
 you all are ! Repent, and you may be saved. You will 
 soon be in another world !' 
 
 " Ryder first recovered his speech. ' Please to hear me, 
 Mr. Gardener. I feel that we have been wrong, and if we 
 may depart we will make reparation, and give you all the 
 money we have in our pockets.' 
 
 " We laid our purses on the table before him. 
 
 " 'The Lord has delivered you into my hands. It was so 
 revealed to me in a dream, W^e shall all ooon be in another 
 world. Pray, let us pray.' 
 
 "And down he fell upon his knees close to the table, 
 and the flint and steel in his hand. He prayed and prayed. 
 At last he appeared exhausted. He stopped and eyed the 
 purses ; and emptied one of them out on the table. He 
 appeared surprised, and I thought gratified, at the largeness 
 
Kf'^adings and Rkcitations. 
 
 33 
 
 of its contents We now thought we would liave leave to 
 retire ; but to our dismay, the ' Old Gardener ' said : 
 
 "'Now we will praise God by singing the Hundredth 
 Psalm.' 
 
 " This was agony to us all. After the psalm, the old man 
 took up the second purse ; and while he was examining its 
 contents, Ryder, who was close behind Tom and myself, 
 whispered softly : 
 
 '* -I have unfastened the door; when you hear me move, 
 make a rush.' 
 
 " The ' Old Gardener' then, pouring out the contents of 
 the second purse, exclaimed : 
 
 " 'Why, there is almost enough to build our new house of 
 Cod ! Let me see what the tliird contains.' 
 
 " He took up the tliird purse. 
 
 " Now,' whispered Ryder, 'make a rush.' 
 
 "We did so, and at the same moment we heard the old 
 fellow hammering away with his flint and his steel. We 
 expected to be instantly blown into fragments. The front 
 door, however, flew open before us; the next step we found 
 ourselves in the garden. The night was pitchy dark. We 
 rushed blindly through the nursery ground, scrambled 
 through brambles and prickly shrubs, ran our heads against 
 trees, then forced ourselves through a thicket hedge. At 
 last, with scratched faces, torn hands, and tattered clothes, 
 we tumbled over the bank into the high road. 
 
 " Our horses were soon found, and we galloped to Ryder's 
 residence. Lights were procured and we sat down. We 
 were black, ragged and dirty. We looked at each other, 
 and in spite of our misfortune, roared with laughter. 
 
 " 'We may laugh,' exclaimed Tom, 'but if this adventure 
 is blown, and we are found out, Cornwall will be too hot to 
 hold us for the next seven years. We have made a pretty 
 night of it; we have lost our money, been obliged to pre- 
 tend to pray for two long hours before a great heap of gun- 
 powder, while that iron-faced, ugly, red-capped brute threat- 
 ened us all with an immediate passage to eternity ! And 
 our money, forsooth, must go to build a Methodist meeting 
 house ! Bah ! It is truly horrible. The fellow has played 
 the old soldier on us with a vengeance, and we shall be the 
 laughing stock of the whole county.' 
 
34 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 
 ' ;!ii 
 
 ; i liM 
 
 " The affair was not yet ended. Reports were spread 
 that tliree men disguised as black demons, with horns and 
 tails, liad entered the cottage of the 'Old Gardener,' who had 
 not only terrified them, but frightened them out of a good 
 sum of money, which he intended to devote to the building 
 of a new Methodist meetinghouse. It was given out that on 
 the following Sunday the 'Old Gardener' would preach a 
 sermon, and afterwards solicit subscriptions to the meeting 
 house, when he would relate the remarkable manner in 
 which he had been providentially assisted with funds for 
 the building. Our mortification was complete. Tom, whose 
 hatred to Methodism was intense, declared he would blow 
 up the meeting house as soon as it was built. Our curiosity, 
 however, was excited, and we all three determined to hear 
 our adventures of the night related by the 'Old Gardener,' if 
 we could contrive to be present without being suspected. 
 Sunday evening arrived. 
 
 "The meeting house was cranmied to suffocation, and, 
 with the dim lights then burning in the chapel, we had no 
 difiiculty in concealing ourselves. The sermon was short, 
 but the statement of our adventure was related most 
 minutely and circumstantially in the old man's quaint, 
 homely, and humorous phraseology. This evening he seemed 
 to excel himself, and was exultingly humorous. The old 
 fellow's face glowed with delight and satisfaction. 'I never,' 
 said he, ' saw black faces pray with greater devotion. I have 
 some doubt, however,' he slily observed, ' if their prayers 
 were quite heavenward. They sometimes turned their faces 
 toward the door, but a lifting of the flint and steel kept 
 them quiet.' 
 
 " He then added, with a knowing shake of the head and 
 an exulting laugh : ' But they had not smelt powder like 
 the old soldier whom they had come to rob. No, no ; it was 
 a large heap — ay, large enough to frighten old General 
 Olive himself. The candle was lighted, and the flint and 
 steel were ready. You may ask, my friends, if I myself 
 was not afraid. No, no, my dear friends,' shouted he, 'this 
 large heap of apparent gunpowder was — it was my stock — 
 my whole year's stock of leek (onion) seed !' 
 
 " The whole congregation somewhat irreverently laughed ; 
 
 
Readings and Recitations. 
 
 35 
 
 even the saints almost sliouted ; many clapped their hands. 
 I was for a moment stui)etied l>y the announcement, but at 
 last could hardly suppress my own laughter. 
 
 "We subscribed to the fund to avoid suspicion, and left 
 the meeting. After the sermon we joined each other, but 
 could not speak. We could barely chuckle, 'leek seed,' and 
 then roar with laughter. 
 
 " It was a good joke, though not exactly to our taste. It 
 has, however, more than once served for subsequent amuse- 
 ment. 
 
 " The chapel was built with the money collected by the 
 gardener. Time and circumstances now induce me to think 
 that there has been no detriment to morality or religion by 
 the erection of the meeting house which the High Ohurch 
 party named 'The Leek Seed Chapel.'" 
 
 
 .«■'■■■ 
 
 Beautiful Child. 
 
 Bkautiful child by thy mother's knee, 
 
 In the mystic future what wilt thou be? 
 
 A demon of sin, or an angel sublime — 
 
 A poisonous Upas, or innocent thyme — 
 
 A spirit of evil, flashing doivn 
 
 With the lurid light of a fiery crown — 
 
 Or gliding up with a shining track. 
 
 Like the morning star that ne'er looks back — 
 
 Daintiest dreamer that ever smiled, 
 
 Which wilt thou be, my beautiful child ? 
 
 Beautiful child in my garden bowers, 
 
 Friend of the butterflies, birds and flowers. 
 
 Pure as the sparkling, crystalline stream. 
 
 Jewels of truth in thy fairy eyes beam : 
 
 Was there ever a whiter soul than thine 
 
 Worshipped by Love in a mortal shrine? 
 
 My heart thou hast gladdened for two sweet years 
 
 With rainbows of hope through mists of tears — 
 
 Mists beyond which thy sunny smile 
 
 With its halo of glory beams all the while. 
 
 
 ■ ' «'.',' 
 
36 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 Beautiful child, to thy look is given 
 
 A ghijiin serene, not of earth, but of heaven. 
 
 With thy tell-tale eyes and prattling tongue, 
 
 Would thou couldst ever thus be young. 
 
 Like the liquid strain of the mocking-birdj 
 
 From stair to hall thy voice is heard. 
 
 How oft in the garden nooks thou'rfc found 
 
 With flowers thy curly head around ! 
 
 And kneeling beside me with figure so quaint. 
 
 Oh ! who would not dote on my infant saint 1 
 
 Beautiful child, what thy fate shall be 
 Perchance is wisely hidden from me, 
 A fallen star thou mayst leave my side, 
 And of sorrow and shame become the bride — 
 Shivering, quivering through the cold street, 
 With a curse behind and before thy feet — 
 Ashamed to live and afraid to die ; 
 No home, no friend, and a pitiless sky. 
 Merciful Father, my brain grows wild — 
 Oh ! keep from evil my beautiful child ! 
 
 Beautiful child, mayst thou soar above, 
 
 A warbling cherub of joy and love, 
 
 A drop on Eternity's mighty sea, 
 
 A blossom on Life's immortal tree — 
 
 Floating, flowering evermore 
 
 In the blessed light of the golden shore ; 
 
 And as I gaze on thy sinless bloom 
 
 And thy radiant face, they dispel ray gloom — 
 
 I feel He will keep thee undefiled. 
 
 And His love protect my beautiful child. 
 
 
 The Rescue. 
 
 It was in the month of February, 1831, a bright, moon- 
 light night, and intensely cold, that the little brig I com- 
 manded laid quietly at her anchor inside of the Hook. 
 
 We had a hard time of it, beating about eleven days off 
 the coast, with cutting north-easters blowing, and snow and 
 
Readings and Recitations. 
 
 37 
 
 sleet fallinff for tlie most of that time. Forward, the vessel 
 was thickly coated with ice, ami it was hard work to handle 
 her, as the ri^'^iiig and sails were still', and yielded only 
 when the strenj^tli of the men was exerted to the utmost. 
 When at last we made the port, all hands worn' down and 
 exhausted, we could not have held out two days longer with- 
 out relief. 
 
 " A bitter cold night, Mr. Lavkin," I said to my mate, as 
 I tarried on deck for a moment. 
 
 The worthy Down Easter buttoned up his coat more 
 tightly around him, looked up at the moon, and felt of his 
 nose before he replied, " It's a whistler, captain, as we used 
 to say on the Kennebec. Nothing lives comfortable out of 
 blankets on such a night as tiiis." 
 
 " The tide is running swift and strong ; and it will be 
 well to keep a sharp lookout for the floating ice, Mr. 
 Larkin." 
 
 " Aye, aye, sir," responded the mate, and I went below. 
 
 Two hours afterward I was aroused from a sound sleep 
 by the vigilant officer. 
 
 "Excuse me for disturbing you, captain," said he, as he 
 detected an expression of vexation on my face ; " but I wish 
 you would turn out and come on deck as soon as possible." 
 
 "Why, what's the matter, Mr. Larkin T' 
 
 "Why, sir, I've been watching a cake of ice that swept 
 by at a little distance a moment ago ; I saw something 
 black upon it — something that I thought moved — the moon's 
 under a cloud, and I could not see distinctly, but I really 
 believe there's a child floating out to sea in this freezing 
 night, on a cake of ice." 
 
 VV^e were on deck bef re either spoke another tvord. The 
 mate pointed out, with no little difficulty, the cake of ice, 
 floating ofl" to the leeward, and its white, glittering surface 
 was broken by a black spot — more I could not make out. 
 
 "Get me the glasses, Mr. Larkin; die moon will be out 
 of that cloud in a moment, and then we can see distinctly." 
 
 I kept my eyes on the receding mass of ice, while the 
 moon was slowly working her way through a heavy bank 
 of clouds. The mate stood by with a glass. When the 
 full light fell at last upon the water, with a brilliancy only 
 
 k:' 
 
38 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 h-' 
 
 
 known to our northern latitude, I put the glass to my eye 
 — one glance was enough. 
 
 "Forward, there!" I shouted at the top of my voice, 
 and with one bound I reached tlie main hatch, and began 
 to clear av. ay the lit Ue cutter which was stored in the ship's 
 yawl. 
 
 Mr. Larkin had received the glass from my hand to take 
 a look for himself. "My God !" he said in a whisper, as 
 he set to work to aid me in getting the boat, " there are 
 two children on that cake of ice ! " 
 
 The men answered my hail, and in an incredibly short 
 space of time we launclied the cutter, into which myself 
 and Mr. Larkin jumped, followed by two men, who took 
 the oars. I rigged the tiller, and the mate sat beside me 
 in the stern sheets. 
 
 " Do you see that cake of ice with something black upon 
 it, lads?" I cried, "pull me alongside of tliat and I'll give 
 you a month's extra wages when you are paid oft'." 
 
 The men bent to their oars, but their strokes were uneven 
 and feeble. They were used up by the hard duty of the pre- 
 ceding fortnight, and though they did tlieir best, the boat 
 made little more way than the tide. This was a long chase, 
 and Mr. Larkin, who was suffering as he saw how little we 
 gained, cried out, " Pull, lads ; I'll double the captain's 
 prize ! Pull, lads ; for the lo>'e of heaven, pull ! " 
 
 A convulsive effort at the oars told how willing the men 
 were to obey, but the strength ot the strong men was gone. 
 One of the poor fellows washed us twice in recovering his 
 oar, and then gave out ; the other was nearly as far gone. 
 Mr. Larkin sprang forward and seized the oar. 
 
 " Lie down in the bottom of the boat," said he to the 
 man ; " and, captain, take the other oar ; we must row for 
 ourselves." 
 
 I took the second man's place. Larkin had stripped to 
 his guernsey shirt, and as he pulh;d the bow, L waited for the 
 signal stroke. It came gently, but firm, and the next 
 moment we were pulling a long, steady stroke, gradually 
 increasing in rapidity until the wood seemed to smoke at 
 the oarlocks. We kept time, each by the long, deep 
 breathing of the other. Such a pull. We bent forward 
 
 til 
 3;'i 
 
•'«^",rfv 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 39 
 
 we 
 
 the 
 for 
 
 until our faces almost touched our knees, and tlien, throwing 
 all our strength into the movement, drew on our oars until 
 every inch of the space covered by the sweep had been 
 gained. At every stroke the boat shot ahead like an arrow 
 from a bow. Thus we worked at the oars for tifteen minutes ; 
 it seemed to be as many hours. 
 
 "Are we almost up to it, Mr. Larkin ?" I gasped out. 
 
 " Almost, captain — don't give up ; for the love of our 
 dear little ones at home, captain, don't give up." 
 
 The oars flashed as the blades turned up to the moon- 
 light. The men who plied them were fathers, and had 
 fathers' hearts ; the strength which nerved them at that 
 moment was more than human. 
 
 Suddenly Mr. Larkin stopped pulling, and my heart for 
 a moment ceased its beating, for the terrible thought that 
 he had given out crossed my mind. But 1 was quickly 
 reassured by his voice. "Gently, captain, gently — a stroke 
 or two more — there, that will do !" — and the next moTriont 
 the boat's side came in contact with something, and Larkin 
 sprang from the boat with his heavy feet upon the ice. I 
 started up, and calling upon the men to make fast the boat 
 to the ice, followed. 
 
 We ran to the dark spot in the centre of the mass, and 
 found two little boys the head of the smaller resting in the 
 bosom of the larger, both fast asleep. The lethargy which 
 would have been fatal, but for the timely rescue, had over- 
 come them. Mr. Larkin grasped one of the lads, cut oflf 
 his shoes, tore off his jacket, and then, loosing his own gar- 
 ments to the skin, he placed the cold child in contact with 
 his own warm body, carefully wrapping over him his great 
 coat, which he procured fiom th<^ boat. I did the same 
 with the other child, and we then returned to the boat, 
 and the men, partly recovered, pulled slowly back. 
 
 The children, as we learned when we had the subsequent 
 delight of restoring them to ^he\v parents, were playing on 
 the ice, and had ventured on a cake which had jammed into 
 the bend of the river ten miles above New York. A move- 
 ment of tlie tide had set the ice in motion, and the little 
 fellows would inevitably have perished but for Mr. Larkin's 
 espying them as the ice was sweeping out to s«'a. 
 
 @ 
 
 
 
 '.■*'' 
 
 
 ;?? 
 
 ^1 
 
r 
 
 40 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 " How do you feel V said I to the mate, tlie morning 
 after this adventure. 
 
 "A little stiflf in the arms, captain," the noble fellow re- 
 plied, while the big tears of grateful happiness gushed from 
 his eyes — "a little in the arms, captain, but very easy here," 
 and he laid his hand on his manly heart. My quaint, brave 
 Down Easter, "He who lashes the sea into fury, and lets 
 loose the tempest, will care for tliee !" 
 
 I<>^i 
 
 m 
 
 m ;;.;; 
 
 P**i;i'i.i 
 
 m ■■[ 
 
 
 What Helped Them. 
 
 Three little German girls, whose friends were in America, 
 wanted to go thither. They were from eight to twelve 
 years old, and the question was how to get them across th^ 
 great ocean, and away into the interior of America. There 
 was no one to go with them, they must go alone ; and no 
 one could tell what troubles might assail them, or what 
 dangers might surround them. But their friends had faith 
 in God, and before they sent them out they got a book, and 
 on the fly-leaf of it they wrote a sentence in German, in 
 French, and in English, and they told the little children 
 when they started: "If you get into any trouble, or need 
 any help, you just stand still and open this book, and hold 
 it right up before you." 
 
 Then they started off on their long journey by railway 
 and by steamship, from place to place, and from port to 
 port ; and wherever they went, if any trouble occurred or 
 any difficulty arose, the children would stop and open the 
 book, and hold it before them, and they always found some 
 one who could read German or English or French, and who 
 was ready to help them on their way. 
 
 And so in due time they reached their friends far off in 
 the interior of America. 
 
 And what were these words which proved such a talis- 
 nianic protection to these children among strangers and in 
 a strange land 1 What words that made the careless civil 
 and thoughtful, and the rough and reckless kind, that gave 
 them protection and help, in every hour of need, and opened 
 
Readings and Recitations. 
 
 41 
 
 ^il 
 
 doors before them 1 They were the words of One who lived 
 on earth long years ago, and who, though He has passed away 
 from human vision, yet holds His grasp upon the minds of 
 men. These were the words : "And the King shall answer 
 and say unto them, Verily I say unto you. Inasmuch as ye 
 have done it unto one of the least of these My brethren, ye 
 have done it unto Me." 
 
 
 A Short Sermon. 
 
 You are the architect of your own fortune. Rely upon 
 your own strength of body and soul. Take for your motto, 
 Self-reliance, Honesty and Industry. For your star. Faith, 
 Perseverance and Pluck, and inscribe on your banner, "Be 
 just and fear not." Don't take too much advice ; keep at 
 tiie helm and steer your own ship. Strike out. Think 
 u ell of yourself. Fire above the mark you intend to hit. 
 Assume your position. Don't practise humility, you can't 
 get above your level — water don't run up hill — put potatoes 
 in a cart over a rough road and small potatoes will go to 
 the bottom. Energy invincible — determination with a 
 right motive — are the levers that move the world. The 
 sure art of commanding is to take a fair share of the work. 
 Civility costs nothing and buys everything. Don't drink. 
 Don't smoke. Don't chew. Don't swear. Don't gamble. 
 Do"'^ lie. Don't steal. Don't deceive. Don't tattle. Be 
 poliij. Be generous Be kind. Study hard. Play hard. 
 Be in earnest. Be self-reliant. Read good books. Love 
 your f< ilo^v men as well as God. Love your country and 
 obey th3 'laA^s. Love truth. Always do what your con- 
 science telis you to be a duty, and leave the consequences 
 with Cod. 
 
 ,•■.«(.» 
 
 
 The Watch at the Sepulchre. 
 
 From East to West I've marched beneath the eagles ; 
 
 From Pontus untc Gaul, 
 K^fit me-ny a watch on which, by death surrounded, 
 
 I've seen each comrade fall. 
 
 ■ ■ -^ 
 
42 
 
 Readings and Re( stations. 
 
 Fear ! I could laugh until these rocks re-echoed, 
 
 To think that I should fear — 
 Who have met death in every form unshrinking — 
 
 To watch this dead man here. 
 
 In Dacian forests, sitting by our watch-fire, 
 
 I've kept the wolves at bay ; 
 On Rhetian Alps escaped the ice-hills hurling 
 
 Close where our legion lay. 
 
 On moonless nights, upon the sands of Libya, 
 
 I've sat with shield tirm set 
 And heard the lion roar ; in this forearm 
 
 The tiger's teeth have met. 
 
 I was stargazing when i tie upon me, 
 
 Until 1 felt his o. ilh, 
 And saw his jewel-eyes gleam : then he seized me, 
 
 And instant met his death. 
 
 My weapon in his thick- veined neck I buried. 
 
 My feet his warm blood dyed ; 
 And then I bound my wound, and till the morning 
 
 Lay couched upon his side. 
 
 Here, though the stars are veiled, the peaceful city 
 
 Lies at our feet asleep ; 
 Round us the still more peaceful dead are lying 
 
 In slumber yet more deep. 
 
 A low wind moaning glides among the olives 
 
 Till every hillside sighs ; 
 But round us here the moanings seem to muster. 
 
 And gather where HE lies. 
 
 And through the darkness faint pale gleams are flying, 
 
 That touch this hill alone ; 
 Whence these unearthly lights ? and whence the shadows 
 
 That move upon the stone 1 
 
 
Keadings and Recitations. 
 
 48 
 
 If the Olynjpian Jove awoke in thunder, 
 
 His ^reat eyes I could meet ; 
 But His, if once again they looked upon me. 
 
 Would strike me at His feet. 
 
 He looked as if my brother hung there bleeding, 
 
 And put my soul to shame ; 
 As if my mother with her eyes were pleading, 
 
 And pity overcame. 
 
 But could not save. He who in death was hanging 
 
 On the accursed tree, 
 Was He the Son of God 1 for so in dying 
 
 He seemed to die for me. 
 
 And all my pitiless deeds came up before me, 
 
 Gazed at me from His face : 
 VVhat if He rose again and I should meet Him 1 
 
 How awful in this place ! 
 
 
 One of Her Bad Spells. 
 
 A LITTLE three-year-old-boy became unruly at home, and 
 his mamma, wishing to get him out of the way, lifted him 
 over into the great wood-box in the kitchen and bade him 
 stay there. An older brother came in soon after and seeing 
 liim there, said : 
 
 " Well, Charlie, what have you been doing now ?" 
 "O, nawthin'," was the reply. "Only mother's havin' 
 one of her bad spells !" 
 
 Why Balaam's Ass Spoke. 
 
 Samuel Bradburn was one of the earlier Methodist 
 ministers in England. He had risen from the cobbler's 
 bench to the presidency of a conference. An old minister 
 at Plymouth, who had the best evidence of its authenticity, 
 describes an incident in one of his journeys. The narrative 
 shows that his wit could be merciless when saucily provoked. 
 He had come to a roadside inn to wait for the stage coach. 
 
 
 "th 
 

 44 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 III. 1! 
 
 [*■■■ 
 
 While waiting, another i)assenger arrived — a young lord, 
 attended by his valet. The young gentleman was lively, 
 but stammered slightly in conversation. On seeing Brad- 
 burn, whose personal appearance would attract attention, 
 the gay young fellow, speaking aside to the landlady, said : 
 " Y-a-you h-have a p^^vson here." 
 
 " He's a Methodist preacher, my lord," said she. 
 
 " Oh, then, I-I'll have a-a bit of fun with him." 
 
 Approaching Bradburn, he said : " P-p-pray, sir, c-a-can 
 you t-tell me h-how it was that B-a-laam's ass spoke ?" 
 
 Bradburn, who knew that if you look full at a stammerer 
 you increase his difficulty, replied : "What do you say, sir?" 
 
 "P-p-pray, sir, c-c-can you tell me h-h-how it was that 
 Ba-a a-laam's ass spoke V 
 
 "What do you say, sir?" cried Bradburn, looking sternly 
 into his face, putting his hand to his ear. 
 
 " P-pa-pa-pa," stuttertjd the poor fun-maker, and stood 
 with distorted face unable to put his question. 
 
 His valet came to h* i i .aster's rescue, and, bowing to 
 Bradburn, said : " My lord wishes to know, sir, whether 
 you can inform him how it was that Balaam's ass spoke," 
 
 " I don't know, sir," was Bradburn's answer, " unless it 
 was that Balaam stammered so badly that he hired his ass 
 to speak for him." 
 
 The Farmer's Wife. 
 
 Ske the faithful wife, from sun to sun, 
 
 Take the burden up that's never done ; 
 
 There is no rest, there is no pay, 
 
 For the household good she must work away : 
 For to mend the frock, 
 And to knit the sock. 
 And the cradle to rock, 
 All for the good of the home. 
 
 When the autumn is kere with chilling blast, 
 
 Tho farmer gathers his crop at last ; 
 
 His barns are full, his fields are bare, 
 
 For the good of the land he ne'er hath care. 
 
Readings and Recitations. 
 
 45 
 
 While it blows, 
 And it snows, 
 Till the winter goes, 
 He rests from the work of the land. 
 
 But the willing wife, till life's closing day, 
 Is tlie children's and the husband's stay, 
 From day to day she has done her best, 
 Until death alone can give her rest. 
 
 For after the test, 
 
 Comes the rest, 
 
 With the blest, 
 In the farmer's heavenly home. 
 
 The Spider and the Fly. 
 
 FIRST VOICE. 
 
 " Will you walk into my parlor 1" 
 Said the spider to the fly ; 
 
 " 'Tis the prettiest little parlor 
 That ever you did spy." 
 
 SECOND VOICE. 
 
 The spider is the rum-seller, 
 And the fly the foolish man 
 
 The rum seller intends to catch. 
 If by any means he can. 
 
 FIRST. 
 
 " The way into my parlor 
 Is up a winding stair ; 
 And I've many, many pretty things 
 To show you when you're there." 
 
 SECOND. 
 
 It is a winding stair, indeed, 
 But windeth down, not up ; 
 
 And his foot is on the fatal stair, 
 Who sips the sparkling cup. 
 
 -Tv- .""vl 
 
 . , . m 
 
 ^' ■ ;^^!l 
 
 ■J'i 
 
 
 
 
 •r.' 
 
 ■^^■:V 
 
 r:, 
 
 
 ,*' 
 
 % 
 
 
 ■P'.' 
 
 ■ rfiiv, 
 
 ■:■■■ % 
 
 a 
 
 1 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 1 
 
 ■''% 
 
 ^m 
 
 m 
 
 m 
 
 ^M 
 
 1 
 
 
 H 
 
 f^i 
 
 M 
 
 m 
 
 H 
 
Hi 
 
 
 Ih. 
 
 46 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 FIRST. 
 
 Said the cunning spider to the fly, 
 " Dear friend, wliat shall I do 
 
 To prove the warm affection 
 I have always felt for you?" 
 
 SECOND. 
 
 Such the rum-seller's affection. 
 When he gives the liquid tire, 
 
 Which burns up man's better nature. 
 Kindling there hell's fierce desire. 
 
 FIRST. 
 
 Alas ! alas ! how very soon 
 
 This silly little fly. 
 Hearing his wily, flattering words, 
 
 Came slowly flitting by. 
 
 SECOND. 
 
 So many a foolish, fond young man. 
 By flattering tongue beguiled, 
 
 Has sipped the fatal poison cup 
 Because the giver smiled. 
 
 FIRST. 
 
 He dragged her up his winding stair 
 
 Into his dismal den. 
 Within his little parlor. 
 
 But she ne'er came down again. 
 
 SECOND. 
 
 Behold the and, the bitter end 
 Of those who love the bowl ; 
 
 Shut out from all that life holds dear, 
 Wrecked body, mind, and soul. 
 
 Now take a lesson from this tale 
 Of the spider and the fly. 
 
 And unto evil counsellors 
 Close heart and ear and eye. 
 
Readings and Recitations. 
 
 47 
 
 Shun everywhere the tempting bowl, 
 
 Nor raise it to thy lip ; 
 He'll drain it to its depths erejong, 
 
 Who first begina to sip. 
 
 '■•^i 
 
 
 Laura Secord. 
 
 Laura Secord, a brave Canadian woman, during the War of 
 1812- 14, walked alone through the wilderness from her home on the 
 Niagara River to a British Post at Beaver Dam, a distance of many 
 miles, to give warning of the invasion of an American force. In 
 consequence of this brave act nearly the whole of the invading 
 party were captured. The Prince of Wales, when in Canada, 
 visited Laura Record, then a very old lady, and gave her a hand- 
 some present. 
 
 On the sacred scroll of glory 
 
 Let us blazen forth the story 
 Of a brave Canadian woman, with the fervid pen of fame ; 
 
 So that all the world may read it, 
 
 And that every heart may heed it, 
 And rehearse it through the ages to the honor of her name. 
 
 In the far-off days of battle, 
 
 When the muskets' rapid rattle 
 Far re-echoed through the forest, Laura Secord sped along ; 
 
 Deep into the woodland mazy, 
 
 Over pathway wild and hazy. 
 With a firm and fearless footstep and a courage staunch and 
 strong. 
 
 She had heard the host preparing, 
 
 And at once with dauntless daring 
 Hurried off to give the warning of the fast advancing foe ; 
 
 And she flitted like a shadow 
 
 Far away o'er fen and meadow, 
 Where the wolf was in the wild wood, and the lynx was 
 lying low. 
 
 
 K 2 
 
 ■ ti'. *fi ■ 
 
 
48 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 From within the wild recesses 
 Of the tangled wildernesses ' 
 Fearful sounds came floating outwai'd as she fastly Hed 
 ahead ; 
 And she heard the gutt'ral growling 
 Of the bears, that, near her prowling, 
 Crushed their way throughout the thickets for the food on 
 which they fed. 
 
 Far and near the hideous whooping 
 
 Of the painted Indians, trooping 
 For the foray, pealed upon her with a weird, unearthly 
 sound ; 
 
 While great snakes were gliding past her. 
 
 As she sped on fast and faster, 
 And disaster on disaster seemed to threaten all around. 
 
 Thus for twenty miles she travelled 
 
 Over pathways rough and ravelled, 
 Braving dangers for her country like the fabled ones of 
 yore ; 
 
 Till she reached her destination, 
 
 And forewarned the threatened station 
 Of the wave that was advancing to engulf it deep in gore. 
 
 
 Just in time the welcome warning I 
 
 Came unto the men, that, scorning 
 To retire before the foemen, rallied ready for the fray ; 
 
 And they gave such gallant greeting. 
 
 That the foe was soon retreating 
 Back in wild dismay and terror on that glorious battle day. 
 
 Few returned to tell the story 
 
 Of the conflict sharp and gory. 
 That was won with brilliant glory by that brave Canadian 
 band ; 
 
 For the host of prisoners captured 
 
 Far outnumbered the enraptured 
 Little group of gallant soldiers lighting for their native land. 
 
Rkadixgs and Recitations. 
 
 40 
 
 Braver deeds are not recorded 
 
 In historic treasures hoarded, 
 Than the march of Laura Secord through the forest h)n»( iv^o ; 
 
 And no noblei* dec'd of daring 
 
 Than the cool and crafty snaring 
 By that band at Beaver Dam of all that well-appointed foe. 
 
 
 M 
 
 Vii 
 
 Just a Little Fun. 
 
 Jack — " Grandma, have you good teeth ? " 
 Grandma — "No, dear; unfortunately I have not." 
 Jack — " Then I'll give you my walnuts to keep till I come 
 back." 
 
 M ' 
 
 Sermon by Sam Jones. 
 
 " Rejoice evermore ; pray witliout ceasing ; in every thing give 
 thanks ; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you." 
 —1 Thess. V. 16-18. 
 
 I don't suppose Scripture means to teach that a fellow 
 ought to be on his knees all the time. I eat without ceas- 
 ing, but I do not eat all the time. I know that as soon as 
 I quit eating I will die. I am obliged to eat to live, and I 
 will never quit eating as long as I am a vigorous man. 
 Haven't got time to pray ! * 
 
 I heard of a fellow once who had so much work to do on 
 a certain day that he had to stop and pray three hours in 
 order to get through with his work. You say, " That is the 
 most ridiculous thing I ever heard in my life." You go 
 down yonder, a few miles below here, and see that Cincin- 
 nati Southern passenger train roll by heavily under h-r 
 airbrakes ard stop, and you look off a distance and saj, 
 "What did that engine stop there for? Its schedule time 
 is thirty-six miles an hour, and it has no time to lose. 
 Why don't the engineer go on?" And I approach a little 
 closer, and there it has been standing one minute, two 
 minutes, three minutes, four minutes, and I walk a little 
 
 !J.f) 
 
 » 
 
 
 f 
 
 UivJ 
 
 ■;,. *1 
 
 
oO 
 
 ReAD^GS and tlECITATlONS. 
 
 You can get along better with 
 
 closer and I see tliein heaving coal into the tenrler and 
 letting water in, and when it is filled up with coal and 
 water the engineer looks up antl pulls the throttle-valve open 
 with the consciousness that he has got steam-generating 
 material, and he says, " I can now push the train along 
 sixty miles an hour, and if I had passed that coal and water 
 station my train would soon have stopped." The best tldng 
 he could do was to stop there ; and the best licks you put 
 in in your life are at the water stations of prayer on the 
 way. Many a fellow runs by those stations, because lie 
 thinks he lias not got the time, and he runs on the grade, 
 and gets rusty on the track 
 
 Pray without ceasing I 
 prayer than without prayer ; for that is the source of 
 power, that is the source of life. There are sucli Christians 
 in this world, whose watchword is prayer in life, at the 
 gates of death, and who enter heaven with prayer. 
 
 See that tree on your sidewalk. We stand there a 
 moment and ask what is the life-perpetuating power of the 
 tree. I will tell you. It is the sap. You cut the bark 
 around the tree and stop the sap from circulating, and that 
 tree will die. We look at that horse out there, and you 
 say, What is the life-perpetuating force in that horse 1 It 
 is the circulation of his blood, and if you cut the jugular 
 vein in his neck that horse will die. And just as true as 
 the circulation of the sap is the life of the tree, and the 
 circulation of the blood is±he life of the horse, just so com- 
 munion with God is the life of the soul ; and that horse can 
 live with his lieart still just as easy as a man can live who 
 don't pray. 
 
 Pray without ceasing ! Well, now, I want to say another 
 thing, and I would have you understand it, too, brethren, 
 and it is as hard a thing as a preacher ever said. Listen. 
 A man who really prays anywhere will pray everywhere. 
 A man who maintains and possesses the spirit of prayer 
 will pray privately, will pray secretly, will pray publicly, in 
 his family, anywhere, everywhere ! That old brother out 
 there says, " I don't pray in public." I ask him why. He 
 says because he is timid. It is because you are mean ; that 
 is the secret of the whole thing. A fellow don't like to 
 
Readings and Rkcitations. 
 
 51 
 
 you 
 It 
 
 pray before the public wlion he hasn't lived ri<^ht before the 
 public, r hcaid of a man once, and a preaclier called on 
 him to pray, and he prayed a little, and directly he said, 
 "O Lord, j,'ive us soul-saving religion," and one of his 
 creditors who was present hollered out, "and debt-paying 
 religion," and to that the fellow had to say amen, and (juit. 
 He had him there. And a man that don't live right before 
 th(! public don't like to pray before the public. 
 
 1 ask. Do you pray in your family'? No. Why'? Because 
 I am timid. No, it isn't. It is because you don't live right 
 before your family. A man who don't live right at home 
 can't pray there. They tell a story of a man who said : 
 " John, \m\e you rocked the cotfee, have you sanded the 
 sugar, and have you done so and so'?" And John said, yes ; 
 and the man said, " Well, come in to prayers." Well, that's 
 a great big joke, but there is no truth in it. The man that 
 will make his boy do that ain't going to call him in to prayer. 
 That man can't pray. 
 
 Brethren, there is no duty so sacred and so binding upon 
 a man as the duty of family prayer. One; of the most 
 prominent men in the Southern States, who came to God 
 in the Nashville revival, who w'as a General in the late war, 
 and a man that stands head and shoulders above those 
 around him, told me three months after the Nashville meet- 
 ing — says he : " Mr. Jones, ring the changes on the question 
 of that family prayer, and tell the people that there is noth- 
 ing worth more to a man than the privilege of kneeling 
 down in the morning and praying with his family." And 
 then there is another thing. A man that is honest and 
 sincere about getting to heaven will pray in his family. I 
 will tell you why : because there isn't a single Christian in 
 this town that has not heard some good old man say that 
 family prayer is a great stay to him ; and any Christian will 
 adopt the planks in his platform that he is satisfied have 
 ever helped any other man to get home to heaven. Don't 
 you believe that 1 Certainly you do. I can afford anything 
 in the world better than I can afford to miss heaven. I 
 can afford anything better than to shipwreck my family. 
 
 Family prayer ! That boy who said to his father in his 
 dying moments : " Father, I am dying, and I am lost for- 
 
 ■'^'*j 
 

 111 
 
 Readings and RkcitatioN 
 
 s. 
 
 ever. But," said he, "bury me, when I die, on the path 
 that leads to the horse lot, aiid as you pass my grave day by 
 day to feed your stock, look at the mound and say, ' There 
 lies my poor dead and damned boy, but he never heard me 
 pray.' " That is the saddest thing a dying son ever said to 
 his father — never heard him pray. And there is many a man 
 in this house to-night whose boy could uid his father good- 
 bye in the same way — "I am lost forever, but I never 
 heard my father pray !" 
 
 Family prayer ! I tell you, when a man once takes up 
 his duty of family prayer, and it is his duty, he is getting 
 very near to God. When God blesses a man, He either in- 
 dorses his past life, or He indorses his fu.jre — one or the 
 other. I'll tell you the sort of meetings that I glory in. It 
 is when I receive a letter from a pastor six montlis after the 
 revival closed, and they write me : " Ninety-nine per cent, 
 of my membership pray in their family, and pray in pul>lic, 
 and come to prayer-meeting and do their duty." I say. Glory 
 to God ! that is a good revival. And if this meeting don't 
 put you in the way to do your duty, it is going to be a 
 curse to you. 
 
 Let us do our duty, or die trying. Thank God for every 
 family altar that is erected in America. It is a bulwark 
 over which Satan can scarcely climb. Brethren, let me tell 
 you that the man who has made up his mind to do his duty 
 is the mail that has made up his mind to go through to 
 heaven. If you will tell me how I can take a nigh cut on 
 a straight road, I will tell you how a man can dodge I lis 
 duty and get to heaven. If you will tell me how a man can 
 take a nigh cut on a straight road, then I will tell you how 
 to shirk responsibility and yet get to glory. Pray without 
 ceasing, pray everywhere, pray anywhere ! 
 
 Why it Was. 
 
 " Many years ago I set out to labor for Christ in Indiana. 
 A friend, who had been a long resident, was with me to 
 give me such information as might be necessary. I re- 
 marked that the land around us was low and of a very poor 
 
Rkadings and Recitations. 
 
 o3 
 
 quality." " True," said lie, " but wait a little, and I will 
 show you as luiiiclsome a prairif^as our Heavenly Fattier 
 ever made." We rode on, and gradually the land spread 
 out before us rich in its soil and carpet of verdure, most in- 
 viting to the eye. "Do you see that brick house yonder?" 
 " Yes." " Well, the owner living in it has had two sons 
 hung." "You behold that stone house r' "Certainly." 
 '' You may think it remarkable, but the builder and resident 
 of it has two sons in the State prison." "You cannrt fail 
 to see that house to the left?" "I do." "Well, the resi- 
 dent of that has had n- son hung." " Farther on, do you see 
 that grove, and that liouse pretty well set backr' "Yes, 
 I can see it distinctly." "The man living there has a son 
 in the State prison." "Over there you can see another 
 residence." "Yes." "You mav think it incredible, but the 
 man living there has had a son hung." 
 
 Tlie facts stated led me to ask my informant, " How 
 came these things to happen 1 The record is as l)lack as 
 any I ever heard. Do give me the needed explanation." 
 " I will do so in bri^f. When I settled on the other side of 
 the marsh, those people settled there. The land, as might 
 have been foreseen, proved very productive. They cultivated 
 corn, wheat, oats, antl planted orchards. The markets paid 
 good prices. They soon came to be wealthy. The grain 
 marketed in the fall left them little to do in winter ; so they 
 gave themselves up to dissipation. They built neither a 
 church nor a school house. Their children grew up idle, 
 ignorant and vicious. Their apples were turned into cider ; 
 and their winter evenings were given up to conviviality. 
 Soon cider was not strong enough, and other intoxicants 
 came into use. They had frequent parties, and these parties 
 meant dancing ; and the dancing meant drinking ; and the 
 drinking meant drunken revelry ; the drunken revelry a 
 fight, and the fight meant, too often, a murder. These 
 are but the outlines. I need not enlarge upon the particu- 
 lars." 
 
 Our missionary friend set me to thinking. How much 
 unwritten history is there of similar neighborhoods and 
 villages ? How well would it be if we had some Old Mor- 
 tality to go over the land, and gather in the details of the 
 
 % 
 
 
 <:..'i-: 
 
 » 4: y 
 
 * ■ r 
 
 
 
C- 
 
 ■; 4 HI 
 
 54 
 
 Rkadings and Recitations. 
 
 early settlers, and what institutions and influences they left 
 behind them ? Sodom settlers will leave behind them 8odom 
 inhabitants. A few God-iearing people established in the 
 wilderness will make it blossom as the rose ; and godless 
 pioneers in the well-watered plain of Jordan will only pre- 
 pare it for the baptism of fire and salt. 
 
 ...i 
 
 Two Sorts of Smoke. 
 
 A Gospel minister of some renown, 
 
 Once took a journey to a distant town. 
 
 Well, he got seated in the warm stage coach, 
 
 And watched the other passengers approach. 
 
 First came a lady, young and passing fair ; 
 
 And next a whisker'd beau, with dashing air. 
 
 They placed themselves inside ; the vulgar crew 
 
 Swarmed to the top. All right ! now off, Jehu I 
 
 Smack went the whip, — off started horses' heels, — - 
 
 Out splashed the mud, — round went 'the dizzy wheels. 
 
 Our spruce young spark, now feeling quite at ease, 
 
 Ever intent his charming self to please. 
 
 Produced a tube, of vile obnoxious weed, 
 
 Call'd a cigar : most ill-behav'd indeed ! 
 
 The man of peace was shocked beyond compare, 
 
 And, turning, said, " Sir, I must needs declare 
 
 Smoking in coaches never was allow'd. 
 
 And with a lady, too ! " The lady bowed. 
 
 The whiskered boor made very quick reply, 
 
 " What, do you preach in coaches, my old boy 1 
 
 Do you insult me, sir, or do you joke ? 
 
 I've paid my fare, and have a right to smoke. 
 
 Or do what else I please with what's my own : 
 
 Do you the same ; leave other men alone." 
 
 The sage, observing well tho creature's head, 
 
 Perceived his puppy hraiits were cased in lead 
 
 So finding reason for the task unfit, 
 
 Resolved to point his arguments with wit. 
 
 Silent he sat until the steeds were chang'd, 
 

 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 55 
 
 Then, while that bustling business was arrang'd 
 
 He stepped into the bar, — " Good hostess, pray, 
 
 Let me have two small tallow candles, — nay, 
 
 Don't look surprised ; I am in earnest quite, 
 
 And one of them be kind enough to light." 
 
 " To light the candle, sir ! you surely joke ! " 
 
 "Oh, no, I don't, I want some candle smoke." 
 
 Th' obedient dame uplifted hands and eyes. 
 
 And to the other passengers' surprise. 
 
 Brought him the lighted candle safe to hand, 
 
 And from the sage received her due demand. 
 
 The gentle lady scarce knew what to think. 
 
 Until she saw one eye give half a wink. 
 
 Which spoke of some sly joke he had in head ; 
 
 So quite demure she sat, and nothing said. 
 
 The burning candle left an inch of wick ; 
 
 Then lighted he the other ; what a trick ! 
 
 Soon as the mantling flame was fixed and true, 
 
 The unsnuflTd burning candle out he blew 
 
 Towards the smoker's face. You may suppose 
 
 The fumes that now saluted his poor nose. 
 
 Out broke his wrath, — "Sir, what d'ye mean by this ?" 
 
 The sly old man said, " Pray, sir, what's amiss 1 
 
 I've paid my fare, then let me smoke, I say ; 
 
 The candle's mine — mind your own business, pray ! " 
 
 The lady laughed — who could a laugh refrain 1 
 
 The beau rebuked, with all his might and main 
 
 Threw his cigar into the turnpike mud, 
 
 Where it lay hissing in the puddly flood. 
 
 He laughed and blushed : owned the retort was due, 
 
 And kept good fellowship the journey through. 
 
 
 I ,1 ''-' 
 
 Kitty's Choice. 
 
 A WEALTHY old farmer was Absalom Lee, 
 
 He had but one daughter — the mischievous Kitty ; 
 
 So fair and so good, and so gentle was she. 
 
 That lovers came wooing from country and city. 
 
m I 
 
 56 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 The first and the boldest to ask for her hand 
 
 Was a trimly dressed dandy, who worshipped her tin ; 
 
 She replied with a smile, he could well understand, 
 " That she'd marry no ape for the sake of his skin." 
 
 The next was a merchant from business retired, 
 Rich, gouty and gruff — a presuming old sinner. 
 
 Young Kitty's fair form and sweet face he admired, 
 And thought to himself—" I can easily win her." 
 
 So he showed her his palace and made a bluff' bow, 
 And said she might live there, but wickedly then 
 
 Kitty told him she'd long ago made a. rash vow 
 " Not to marry a bear for the sake of his den." 
 
 A miser came next ; he was fearless and bold 
 In claiming his right to Kitty's affection ; 
 
 He said she'd not want for a home while his gold 
 Could pay for a cabin to give her protection. 
 
 Half vexed at his boldness, but calm in a trice. 
 
 She curtsied and thanked him, and blushingly then 
 
 Demurely repeated her aunt's sage advice, 
 
 " Not to marry a hog for the sake of his pen." 
 
 The next was a farmer, young, bashful and shy ; 
 
 He feared the bold wooer who came from the city : 
 But the flush on his cheek and the light in his eye 
 
 Soon kindled a flame in the bosom of Kitty. 
 
 " My life will be one of hard labor," he said, 
 
 " But, darling, corue share it with nie, if you can." 
 
 " T suppose," she replied, gaily tossing her head, 
 " I must marry the farm for the sake of the man." 
 
 Seth and His Pound of Butter. 
 
 One winter's evening a country storekeeper in the Green 
 Mountain State was about closing up for the night, and 
 while standing in the snow outside putting up the window 
 shutters, saw through the glass a lounging, worthless fellow 
 
,n. 
 
 e Green 
 ht, and 
 window 
 5S fellow 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 57 
 
 within, grab a pound of fresh butter from the shelf and 
 conceal it in his hat. 
 
 The act was no sooner detected than the revenge was hit 
 upon. " I say, Seth," said the storekeeper, coming in, and 
 closing the door after him, slapping his hands over his 
 shoulders and stamping the snow off his feet. 
 
 Seth had his hand on the door, anxious to make his exit 
 as soon as possible. 
 
 " I say, Seth, sit down ; I reckon, now, on such a cold 
 night as this, a little something warm would not hurt a 
 fellow." 
 
 Seth felt very uncertain : he had the butter, and was 
 exceedingly anxious to be off; but the temptation of some- 
 thing warm sadly interfered with his resolution to go. The 
 hesitation, however, was soon settled by the right owner of 
 the butter taking Seth by the shoulders and planting him 
 in a seat close to the stove, where he was in such a manner 
 cornered in by the boxes and barrels that, while the grocer 
 stood before him there was no possibility of getting out, 
 and right in this very place the grocer sat down. 
 
 " Seth," said he, " we will have a little warm Santa Cruz ; 
 without it you would freeze going home such a night as 
 this." At tlie same time he opened the stove door, and 
 shoved in as many sticks as he could get in. 
 
 Seth already felt the butter settling down closer to his 
 hair, and he jumped up, declaring he must go. 
 
 " Not till you have something warm, Seth ; come, I have 
 a story to tell you." And Seth was again pushed into his 
 seat by his cunning tormentor. 
 
 " But I have the cow to feed and the wood to split, and 
 I must be going," said Seth. 
 
 " Sit down, let the cows take care of themselves, and keep 
 yourself cool. You appear to be a little fidgety," said the 
 roguish grocer, with a wicked leer. 
 
 The hot drink was no sooner swallowed than things got 
 worse with poor Seth. Streak after streak of the butter 
 came pouring from under his hat, and his handkerchief was 
 already soaked with the greasy overflow. 
 
 Talking away as if nothing was the matter, the fun-loving 
 grocer kept poking up the fire in the stove. " Cold night 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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mi 
 
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 58 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 I 
 
 
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 ".1 
 
 ■'*•.■ . 
 
 *! 
 
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 V 
 
 ■ 
 
 this," said he. " Why, Seth, you seem to perspire as if you 
 were warm. Why don't you take off' your liat. Here, let 
 me put your hat away." 
 
 " No," exclaimed poor Seth at last. " No, I must go ; let 
 me out. I ain't well ; let me go." 
 
 A greasy cr.taract was pouring down his face and neck, 
 and soaking into his clothes, and trickling down his body 
 into his boots. 
 
 "Well, good night, 8eth, if you will go," and as he darted 
 out of the door, he added, " I say, Seth, I reckon the fun I 
 have had out of you is worth ninepence, so I shan't charge 
 you for that pound of butter in your hat." 
 
 The Covenanters. 
 
 It was now the liottest time of persecution, and the inhabi- 
 tants of the parish found other places in which to worship 
 God and celebrate the ordinances of religion. It was the 
 Sabbath day, and a small congregation of a hundred souls 
 had met for Divine service in a place of worship more 
 magnificent than any temple that human hands ever built to 
 the Deity. Here, too, were three cliildren about to be bap- 
 tized. The congregation had not assembled to the toll of 
 the bell, but each heart knew the hour and observed it ; 
 for there are a hundred sun-dials aiyong the hills, woods, 
 moors and fields, and the shepherds and peasants see the 
 hours passing by tlieui in sunshine and shadow. The 
 church in which they assembled was hewn by God's hand 
 out of the eternal rocks. A river rolled its way through a 
 mighty chasm of cliffs, several hundred feet high, of which 
 one side presented enormous masses, and the other corres- 
 ponding recesses, as if rent by a convulsion. The channel 
 was overspread with prodigious fragments of rock or large 
 loose stones, some of them smooth and bare, others contain- 
 ing soil and verdure in their rents and fissures, and here and 
 there crowned with shrubs and trees. The eye could at once 
 command a long stretching vista, seemingly closed and shut 
 up at both extremities by coalescing cliff's. This majestic 
 
Readings and Recitations. 
 
 59 
 
 I I. I * ' 
 
 ■'■■■'"■>» 
 
 if vou 
 re, let 
 
 ;o ; let 
 
 1 neck, 
 s body 
 
 darted 
 
 e fun I 
 
 charge 
 
 e inhabi- - 
 woisliip 
 was the 
 •ed souls 
 lip more 
 L- built to 
 D be bap- 
 le toll of 
 3rved it ; 
 woods, 
 see the 
 w. The 
 ad's hand 
 hrough a 
 of which 
 er corres- 
 channel 
 or large 
 s contain- 
 here and 
 Id at once 
 and shut 
 1 majestic 
 
 reach of rivers contained pools, streams, and rusliing shelves, 
 and waterfalls innumerable ; and when the water was low, 
 which it now was in uncommon drought, it was easy to walk 
 up this scene with tlie calm, blue sky overhead, and utter 
 and sublime solitude around. On looking up, the soul was 
 bowed down by the feeling of that prodigious height 
 of unscalable and often overhanging cliff. Between the 
 channel and summit of the precipices were perpetually 
 Hying, rooks and wood pigeons, and now and then a hawk, 
 filling the profound abyss with their wild cawing, deep 
 murmur, or shrill shriek. Sometimes a heron would stand 
 erect and still on sonie lone island, or rise up like a white 
 cloud along the black walls of the chasm and disappear. 
 Winged creatures alone inhabit this region. The fox and 
 the wild cat choose more accessible haunts. Yet here came 
 the persecuted Christians, and worshipped God, whose 
 hand hung over their heads those magnificent pillars and 
 ai'ches, scooped out those galleries from the solid rock, and 
 laid at their feet the calm water in its transparent beauty, 
 in which they could see themselves sitting in reflected 
 groups, with their Bibles in their hands. Here, upon a 
 semi-circular ledge of rocks, over a narrow chasm of which 
 the tiny stream played in a murmuring waterfall and 
 divided the congregation in two equal i^arts, sat about a 
 hundred persons, all devoutly listening to their minister, 
 who stood before them on what might well be called a small 
 natural pulpit of living stone. Up to this, there led a 
 short flight of steps, and over it waved the canopy of a 
 tall, graceful birch-tree. This pulpit stood in the middle 
 of the channel, directly facing the congregation, and sepa- 
 rated from them by the clear, deep pool, into which the 
 scarce-heard waters poured over the blackened rock. The 
 baptismal water, taken from that placid pool, was lying 
 consecrated in a small hollow of one of the upright stones 
 that formed one side or pillar of the pulpit, and the holy 
 rite proceeded. 
 
 Some of the younger ones in that semi-circle kept gazing 
 down into the pool now and then in spite of the grave 
 looks or admonishing whispers of their elders, letting a 
 pebble fall into the water, that they might judge the depth 
 
 m 
 
 M 
 
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 ■*- ?' li 
 
ir^ 
 
 
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 ■ J u"ij;^ w >w i ai., ii i « j. i' - 
 
 60 
 
 Readings and Rkcitations. 
 
 from the length of time which elapsed before the clear air- 
 bells lay sparkling on the agitated surface. The rite was 
 over, and the religious service was closed with a psalm. 
 The mighty rocks hemmed in the holy sound, and sent it 
 in a more compact volume, clear, sweet, and strong, up to 
 heaven. When the psalm ceased, an echo, like a spirit 
 voice, was heard dying away high up among the magni- 
 ficent architecture of the cliffs, and once more might be 
 noticed in the silence the reviving voice of the waterfall. 
 Just then a large stone fell from the top of the cliff into 
 the pool ; a loud voice was heard, and a plaid hung over 
 on the point of a shepherd's staff. Their watchful sentinel 
 had descried danger, and this was his warning. Forthwith 
 tlie congregation rose. There were paths dangerous to 
 unpractised feet, along the ledges of the rocks, leading up 
 to several caves and places of concealment. The more 
 active and young assisted the elder — more especially the 
 old pastor, and the women with their infants ; and many 
 minutes had not elapsed, till not a living creature was 
 visible in the channel of the stream, but all of them hid- 
 den, or nearly so, in the clefts and caverns. The shepherd 
 who had given tlie alarm laid him down again in his plaid 
 instantly, on the green sward upon the summit of these 
 precipices. A party of soldiers were immediately upon 
 him, and demanded what signals he had been making, and 
 to whom ; when one of them, looking over the ledge of the 
 cliff, exclaimed, "See, see! HumpVirey, we have caught the 
 whole tabernacle of the Lord in the stones of the river 
 Mouss. These are the Cartland Craigs. By my soul's 
 salvation, a noble cathedral ! " " Fling the lying scoundrel 
 over the cliffs. Here is a canting Covenanter for you, 
 deceiving honest soldiers on the Sabbath day. Over with 
 him, over with him — out of the gallery into the pit." But 
 the shepherd had vanished like a shadow ; and mixing with 
 the tall green broom and brushes, was making his unseen 
 way towards a wood. " Satan has saved his servant ; but 
 come, my lads — follow me — I know the way down into the 
 bed of the stream, and the steps up into Wallace's Cave. 
 They are called the 'Kittle Nine Stanes;' the hunt's up. 
 We'll be in at the death. Halloo — my boys — halloo ! " 
 
Readings and Recitations. 
 
 61 
 
 : air- 
 
 5 was 
 
 salm. 
 
 mt it 
 
 up to 
 
 spirit 
 
 lagni- 
 
 ht be 
 
 erfall. 
 
 Y into 
 
 y over 
 
 jntinel 
 
 bhwith 
 
 ous to 
 
 ling up 
 
 } more 
 
 lly the 
 
 I many 
 
 ire was 
 
 3m hid- 
 
 lepherd 
 
 is plaid 
 
 »f these 
 upon 
 g, and 
 of the 
 ght the 
 le river 
 , soul's 
 !Oundrel 
 
 you, 
 er with 
 ." But 
 Jig with 
 
 unseen 
 ,nt; but 
 into the 
 
 s Cave. 
 Lilt's up. 
 Ihalloo!" 
 
 The soldiers dashed down a less precipitous part of the 
 wooded banks a little below the ' craigs,' and hurried up 
 the channel. But wiieii they reached the altar where the 
 old grey-haired minister had been standing, and the rocks 
 that had been seen covered with people, all was silent and 
 solitary — not a creature to be seen. " Here is a Bible 
 dropped by some of them," cried a soldier, and with his 
 foot spun it away into the pool. "A bonnet — a bonnet," 
 cried another, " and now for the pretty sanctified face that 
 rolled its demure eyes below it." But after a few jests and 
 oaths, the soldiers stood still, eyeing with a kind of myste- 
 rious dread the black and silent walls of the rock that 
 hemmed them in, and hearing only the small voice of the 
 stream that sent a profound stillness through the heart of 
 that majestic solitude. 
 
 " Curse these cowardly Covenanters — what if they tum- 
 ble down upon our heads pieces of rock from their hiding 
 places? — Advance? or retreat?" There was no reply, for a 
 slight fear was upon every man ; musket and bayonet could 
 be of little use to men obliged to clamber up rocks along 
 slender paths, leading, they knew not where ; and they 
 were aware that now-a-days armed men worshipped God, — 
 men of iron hearts, who feared not the glitter of the 
 soldiers' arms — neither barrel nor bayonet — men of long 
 stride, firm step, and broad breast, who, on the open field, 
 would have overthrown the marshalled line, and be the 
 first and foremost if a city had to be taken by storm. As 
 the soldiers were standing together irresolute, a noise came 
 upon their ears like distant thunder, but even more appal- 
 ling ; and a slight breath of air, as if propelled by it, passed 
 whispering along the sweet briers, and the broom, and the 
 tresses of the birch trees. It came peeping, and rolling, 
 and roaring on, and the very Cartland Craigs shook to 
 their foundation as if in an earthquake. " The Lord have 
 mercy on us — what is this ?" And down fell many of the 
 miserable wretches upon the sharp pointed rocks. Now it 
 was like the sound of myriads of chariots rolling on their 
 iron axles down the stony channel of the torrent. The 
 old grey -haired minister issued from the mouth of Wallace's 
 Cave, and said with a loud voice, "The Lord God omnipotent 
 
 
 ■UkH 
 
 f, 
 
 
 
 J.,t 
 
 
62 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 reigneth ! " A water-spout had burst up among the moor- 
 lands and the river, and in its power was at hand. There 
 it came, tumbling along into tliat reach of cliffs, and in one 
 moment filled it with one mass of waves. Huge agitated 
 clouds of foam rode on the surface of a blood-red torrent. 
 An army must have lieen swept off l)y that flood. The 
 soldiers perished in a moment — but high up in the cliffs, 
 above the sweep of destruction, were the Covenanters — men, 
 women and children, uttering prayers to God, unheard by 
 themselves, in that raging thunder. 
 
 The Dead Man's Clock in Sleepy Hollow. 
 
 Among the curiosities of Westchester county. New York 
 State, is an old-fashioned, round-topped clock, which is 
 set in an ordinary monument of gray marble within the 
 cemetery of Sleepy Hollow. 
 
 The grass in the graveyard groweth green, 
 
 Deep and dank, with the dew upon it ; 
 The daisy trembles the stones between, 
 
 And the harebell nods in its purple bonnet ; 
 And out of the polished marblt jlock. 
 
 Through sun or snow or the sound of thunder. 
 Night and morning the ancient clock 
 Tells the time to the dead man under. 
 Quietly sleeping. 
 
 Silent and cold, 
 Down in the darkness 
 Under the mold. 
 
 ■K 
 
 Once it stood in a mansion gray, 
 
 With mossy eves and rose-wreathed gable, 
 And merrily ticked the hours away 
 
 To the happy group at the laden table. 
 Lips of laughter and cheeks aglow, 
 
 Modest maidens in muslin dresses, 
 
i: 
 
 IReadings and Recitations. 
 
 Tlie stately sire witli his locks of snow, 
 The rosy babe with its sumiy tresses. 
 Shining silver 
 
 And gleaming gold, 
 All to be tarnished 
 Under tlie mold ! 
 
 da 
 
 ■a'. 
 
 ft 
 
 One of the maidens soon was wed, — 
 
 Gay the guests at the bride's adorning ; 
 One of the maidens soon was dead,-- 
 
 Hushed and heavy the house of mourning. 
 Odor of rue and of rosemary, 
 
 Gloom of pall and pallor of lily. 
 How quiet a broken heart can be 
 
 Under the grave-clothes straight and stilly ! 
 The shroud of satin, 
 
 The snowy fold 
 Made for the slumber 
 Under the mold. 
 
 ^''■f:^ 
 
 The babe with the golden tresses grew 
 
 To manhood's might and to manhood's glory, 
 Buried his father under the yew. 
 
 Loved and wedded — the old, sweet story : 
 Lived and died and was laid away 
 
 In the glimmering shade of the mournful willow. 
 To sleep and to sleep till the judgment day 
 In a narrow bed on a dreamless pillow. 
 The prayer was uttered, 
 
 The bell was tolled. 
 And he was hidden 
 Under the mold ! 
 
 ^P 
 
 The people wondered, the workmen laughed. 
 As they sent the chips from the chisel flying. 
 
 But the clock was set in the slender shaft. 
 For that was the wish of the master, dying. 
 
 And whoever goes to his grave may see 
 The timepiece old, in the marble column^ 
 
 '■'•:■ ■?■ 
 
I 
 
 64 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 Time in the midst of eternity, 
 
 With finger pointed steady and solemn 
 To the dead man lying 
 
 Fast in the hold 
 
 Of death, the wizard, 
 
 Under the mold. 
 
 In the quaint old mansion its hands kept pace 
 
 With liis joy and pride, with his sighs and sorrow. 
 And still it tells in his burial place 
 
 Of the passing day and the coming morrow. 
 ?>io need of lamps for his darkened eyes 
 
 Has he, nor clocks for the time that passes, 
 Down in the chamber where he lies, 
 Roofed above with the waving grasses. 
 Maids may marry 
 
 And men grow old, ' 
 
 He sleeps, unheeding, 
 
 Under the mold. . 
 
 But by and by in the hush of night 
 
 The strong gates of the sky will sever, 
 And a seraph, shining in robes of white. 
 
 Will stop the hands of the clock forever, 
 Will stoop in the grasses and put them by, 
 
 Break the seal of the silent portal, > 
 
 And unto the dust of the dead will cry : ' 
 "Arouse ! the dawn of the day immortal 
 Burns and brightens, 
 
 And bursts, behold ! 
 And rise from the darkness 
 Under the mold ! " 
 
 A Physician's Revenge. 
 
 An old duchess on one occasion requested Dr. Aberne 
 to pay a professional visit at her house. The doctor wem 
 as requested, and was introduced into the drawing-room, 
 where the duchess, with tears in her eyes, showed him an 
 ugly little monkey, apparently in great agony, lying on 
 
 ill 
 
 lill ' 
 
V •< 
 
 '•is 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 65 
 
 elegant cushions, and almost buried in lovely laces. The 
 doctor felt thoroughly disgusted at being called upon to act 
 as a monkey's doctor, but nevertheless, through humanity, 
 acquitted himself conscientiously of the duty imposed upon 
 him. He felt the monkey's pulse in silence, examined it 
 with attention, and soon recognized the nature of its illness; 
 then perceiving the lady's grandson in a corner of the draw- 
 ing-mom rolling about on the carpet, he advanced toward 
 the child, examined him also, felt his pulse, and, returning 
 to the duchess, said to her in a grave manner, " Madam, 
 your two sons are suffering from indigestion. By living on 
 a plain diet they will soon recover." And, bowing pro- 
 foundly to the stupetied duchess, the doctor retired avenged. 
 
 
 
 Somebody's Mother. 
 
 The woman was old, and ragged and gray, 
 And bent with the chill of a winter's Q:>y ; 
 The streets were white with a recent sno v, 
 And the woman's feet with age were slow. 
 
 At the crowded crossing she waited long, 
 Jostled aside by the careless throng 
 Of human beings who passed her by, 
 Unheeding the glance of her anxious eye. 
 
 Down the street with laughter and shout, 
 Glad in the freedom of "school let out," 
 Come happy boys like a flock of sheep. 
 Hailing the snow piled white and deep. 
 Past the old woman so old and gray, 
 Hastened the children on their way. 
 
 None offered a helping hand to her, 
 
 So weak and timid, afraid to stir 
 
 Lf t the carriage wheels or the horses' feet 
 
 Should trample her down in the slippery street. 
 
 x 
 
 
■ll 
 
 
 n 
 ■:i! 
 
 ■=! 
 
 66 Headings and Rkcitations. 
 
 At last came out of the liappy troop 
 The gayest boy of all the group ; 
 He paused beside her, and whispered low 
 " I'll help you across if you wish to go." 
 
 Her aged hand on his strong young arm 
 
 She placed, and so, without hurt or harm, 
 
 He guided the trembling feet along, 
 
 Proud that his own were young and strong ; * 
 
 Then back again to his friends lie went. 
 
 His young heart happy .and well content. 
 
 " She's somebody's mother, boys, you know, 
 For all she's aged, and poor, and slow, — 
 And some one, some time, may lend a hand 
 To help my mother, you understand ? 
 If ever she's poor, and old, and gray, 
 And her own dear boy is far away." 
 
 " Somebody's mother " bowed low her head 
 In her home that night, and the prayer she said 
 Was — " God be kind to that noble boy 
 Who is somebody's son, and pride, .-nd joy." 
 
 Faint was the voice, and worn and weak, 
 But Heaven lists when its chosen speak ; 
 Angels caught the faltering word. 
 And " somebody's mother's " prayer was heard. 
 
 II; 
 
 I 
 
 ,1 ' 
 
 The Shilling and the Bank-Note. 
 
 A SHlLLiN(i and a hundred-pound note were waiting in 
 the bank their turn to go out into the world. While lying 
 there side by side tliey fell a-talking about their usefulness. 
 The shilling murmured, " Ah, if I were as big as you, what 
 good I could do ! I could move in such high places, and 
 people would be so careful of me wherever I went. Every- 
 body would admire me, and want to take me home with 
 them. But, being so small, what good can I do ? Nobody 
 cares much for me. I am too little to be of any use." 
 
Readfngs and Recitations. 
 
 67 
 
 ! ■•■ 
 
 
 " Ah, yes, that is trne,'' said the great bank-note ; and it 
 gathered up its fine edges that lay near the humble shilling. 
 " You are right," it said. " If you were worth two thousand 
 times as much as you now are, you might hope to do some 
 good in the world." And its beautiful face curled with a 
 smile of contempt for the vulgar coin beside it. 
 
 Just then the cashier comes, takes the little murniurins: 
 shilling, and kindly gives it to a poor widow\ 
 
 "God bless you I" she cries, as, with grateful tears, she 
 receives the gift. " My hungry darlings can now have 
 some bread." 
 
 A thrill of joy ran through the shilling as it was held in 
 the widow's hand, and it whispered, " I may do some good, 
 if I am small." And when it saw the bright faces of her 
 fatherless children, it was very glad that it could do a little 
 good. 
 
 Then the shilling began its journey of usefulness. It went 
 first to the baker's for bread, then to the miller's, then to 
 the farmer's, then to the laborer's, then to the doctor's, then 
 to the minister's, and then to the printer's ; and wherever 
 it went it gave pleasure, adding something to their comfort 
 and joy. 
 
 At last, after a long, long pilgrimage of usefulness among 
 every sort of people, it came back to the bank again, worn, 
 thin, smooth, but bright with daily use. Seeing the great 
 bank-note lying there almost as fine and spotless as ever, 
 with scarcely a wrinkle or fingermark upon it, the shilling 
 exclaimed : " Pray, noble sir, what has been your mission 
 of usefulness f 
 
 The big note sadly answered : " I have been from safe to 
 safe among the rich, where few could see me ; and they 
 were afraid to let me go out far, lest I should be lost. Few 
 indeed are they whom I have made happy by my mission." 
 The little shilling said : " It is better to be small and go 
 among the multitudes doing good than to be so great as to 
 be imprisoned in the safes of the few." And it rested 
 satisfied with its lot. 
 
 Moral. — The doing well of little every-day duties makes 
 one the most useful and happy. 
 
 
 
 , " ^ I. 
 
 *!■: * 
 
 i,'" 
 
 - : i 
 
 -vtfi 
 
iff- 
 
 68 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 ;.t 
 
 Married Men. 
 
 There is an expression in the face of a good married man 
 who has a good wife that a bachelor's cannot have. It is 
 indescribable. He is a little nearer the angels than the 
 prettiest young fellow living. You can see that his broad 
 breast is a pillow for somebody's head, and that little fingers 
 pull his whiskers. No one ever mistakes the good married 
 man. It is only the erratic one who leaves you in doubt. 
 The good one can protect all the unprotected females, and 
 make himself generally agreeable to the ladies, and yet 
 never leave a doubt on any mind that there is a precious 
 little woman at home worth all the world to him. 
 
 What is Heaven ? 
 
 "What is heaven?" I asked a little child : 
 "All joy !" and in her innocence she smiled. 
 
 I asked the aged, with her care oppressed : 
 "All suffering o'er — Oh ! heaven at last, is rest." 
 
 T asked a maiden, meek and tender-eyed : 
 " It must be love !" she modestly replied. 
 
 I asked the artist, who adored his art : 
 "Heaven is all beauty !" spoke his raptured lieart. 
 
 I asked the poet, with his soul afire : 
 "'Tis glory — glory !" and he struck his lyre. 
 
 I asked the Christian, waiting her release ; 
 
 A halo round her, low she murmured : " Peace 1" 
 
 So all may look with hopeful eyes above, 
 'Tis beauty, glory, joy, rest, peace and love ! 
 
' •' > •, 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 69 
 
 The Lost Child. 
 
 My home was in the wilderness ; I dwelt 
 
 Far from the bustling toil of city life. 
 
 Our neighbors were but few, yet they were kind, 
 
 And ever ready to assist in all 
 
 The little acts of sympathy which smooth 
 
 Life's rugged pathway. We had struggled hard 
 
 To earn an honest livelihood ; and God 
 
 Had prospered our endeavors ; and our crops, 
 
 Our flocks and herds increas'd abundantly. 
 
 One autumn morn I drove a noble herd 
 Of fifty cattle to the nearest town, 
 And sold them well. Then purchased all the goods 
 We needed for awhile, and bade them bring 
 The choicest doll they had in all the store, 
 To please my darling Annie ; who could talk 
 Of nothing else, since I had premised her 
 That she should have a doll wjth waxen face 
 And sweet blue eyes that opened with a smile, 
 And closed again, as if in peaceful sleep. 
 And, as I came away, the little pet, 
 Although but three years old, had followed me 
 Down to the gate ; and as I gallop'd off. 
 Called after me in her own prattling tones — 
 " Bring me a big one, pa." I turn'd my head 
 And kissed my hand, and said, " I will, my lass." 
 
 'Twas sunset ere I started ; oft I thought. 
 Far better stay till morn ; for ten long miles 
 Of rough, wild road had I that stormy night 
 To travel : l)ut I wish'd to be at home, 
 So hurried onward. Scarcely had I left 
 The town a mile, when every twinkling star 
 Became obscured, and not a ray of light 
 Slione on my path. I threw my reins across 
 My horse's neck, for well I knew that he 
 Would find his way through all the blinding rain 
 And beating storm far better than myself. 
 
 
 4 
 
 
 :m 
 
I'f 
 
 -"-r-' i t'-f i i fJHt l ifT i l i 
 
 70 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 When we had reached the little glen througli which 
 
 The mountain brook was rushing furiously, 
 
 Roaring and boiling in its wild career, 
 
 Increased in volume by the heavy rain, 
 
 We slack'd our speed. The night was pitchy dark, 
 
 And little rivulets were rushing down 
 
 The road, to join the gurgling stream below. 
 
 Just as we turned the corner of the wood, 
 I heard a feeble cry, as of a cliild 
 Weary and fain't. I stopped and listened long, 
 Then heard the cry again. Oh ! how my heart 
 Beat with emotion. I was never known 
 To shrink from danger ; superstitious fears 
 Were strangers to my bosom ; but a host 
 Of people knew I carried gold and notes. 
 The produce of my sale. Was tliis a trap 
 To lure me tc destruction? And the sweat 
 Stood thickly on my brow, as once again 
 I heard that cry, so low and pitiful. 
 It seemed so utterly impossible. 
 On such a stormy night, a living child 
 Should be in such a place. And yet onco more 
 Its plaintive tones fell on my liotoniiig car. 
 
 Despite my fears I speedily got down 
 And called aloud, " Whosoever child thou art, 
 i'm not the man to leave thee here to die.'' 
 
 I groped in vain among the long, damp grass. 
 And then bethouglit me of a hollow place 
 Against the hill, close by the road, and there 
 I found a little dripping thing, which sobbed 
 And moaned as I upniised it and returned 
 To mount my hoi'se, wiiich waited patiently 
 For my .approach. I tucked the little one 
 Within my coat, and promised I would bring 
 The sobbing child to its own home again. 
 And so it fell asleep against my breast, 
 

 Readings and Recitations. 71 
 
 Onward in haste I rode, until I saw 
 The windows of my house all lighted up ; 
 I thought my loving wife had, for my sake, 
 Done this to guide me home ; but ere I readied 
 The door, I heard the voices from within 
 And saw the shadows flitting to and fi'o, 
 And knew by this some dire calamity 
 Had come upon us. Almost numb with fear 
 I stood, all powerless to upraise the latch ; 
 And when I mustered courage, I beheld 
 The parlor full of neighbors ; and my wife 
 Sobbing in deep distress. 8he hid her face 
 And said, "Oh ! do not tell him : it will kill 
 My husband when he hears the dreadful truth." 
 "What is it, neighbors'?" I exclaimed ; when one 
 Old, honest farmer said, " O nothing now, - 
 
 1 hope ; for what is that within your coaf?" 
 " A poor lost child of someone's," I replied ; 
 " I found it on the road, three mil^s away. 
 Moaning, and nearly dead." But when I gave 
 The little sleeping thing to one of them. 
 And, in the blazing light, saw that the child 
 I saved from death was my own darling pet — 
 My little Annie — who had wandered out 
 To meet papa, and whom, for many hours. 
 Till heavy rains set in and all was dark, 
 They sought in vain — I sank upon my knee. 
 In presence of them all, and gratefully 
 Gave thanks to God, for rescuing my child. 
 
 And, though full many years have passed since then, 
 I often think, how could 1 bear to live 
 Had I not stopped old Rodger when I heard 
 That baby cry, scarce louder than the chirp 
 Of a young squin*el in the pathless woods. 
 And feelings of the deepest gratitude 
 Pervade my spirit, as I thank the Lord 
 For rescuing my darling little one, 
 
 
 
 ■»,;.•*>« 
 
 1^ 
 'i' ■ 
 
 J. f ■ 
 
 
 
 
 m 
 

 72 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 A Bachelor's Soliloquy. 
 
 When winter's winds around us hie, 
 Hard rents and groceries awful high, 
 Who thinks of me with long-drawn sigh 1 
 
 Nobody ! 
 
 And when up town I take my way, 
 After the wearying cares of day, 
 Who bounds to meet me full of play 1 
 
 My dog ! 
 
 Who toasts my bread so nice and brown, 
 And never meets me with a frown. 
 Who says I'm the best man in town 1 
 
 The cook ! 
 
 And when I'm sick and full of pain, 
 Whose tears fall fast and tliick like rain 1 
 Wlio hopes 1*11 soon be well again 1 
 
 My landlady ! (excepting the tears !) 
 
 Who loves me more than words can tell 1 
 Who prays for me through ill and well? 
 And never thinks I am a " sell " 1 
 
 Myself, of course ! 
 
 Why a Bootblack Sold His ''Kit/' 
 
 It surprised the shiners and newsboys around the post- 
 office the other day to see " Limpy Tim " come among them 
 in a quiet way and to hear him say : 
 
 " Boys, I want to sell my kit. Here's two brushes, a hull 
 box of blacking, a good stout box, and the outfit goes for 
 two shillings !" , 
 
 "Goin' away, Tim f queried one. 
 
 " Not 'zactly, boys, but I want a quarter the awfullest 
 kind just now." 
 
 " Going on a 'scursion ? " asked another. 
 
 11 
 
 I 
 
Readings and Recitations. 
 
 73 
 
 I . , I 
 
 •'fey J 
 
 " Not to-day, but I must have a quarter," lie answered. 
 
 One of the lads passed over the change and took the kit, 
 and Tim walked straight to the counting-room of a daily 
 paper, put down his money, and said : 
 
 " I guess T can write if you'll give me a pencil." 
 
 With slow moving fingers he wrote a death notice. It 
 went into the })aper almost as he wrote it, but you might 
 not have seen it. He wrote : 
 
 DiED-Litiil Ted, of scarlet fever, aiged three years. 
 to-n?orrer ; gon up to heaven ; left one bruther. 
 
 Funeral 
 
 '' Was it your brother ?" asked the cashier. 
 
 Tim tried to brace up, but he could not. The big tears 
 came up, his chin quivered, and he pointed to the notice on 
 the counter and gasped : 
 
 " I — I had to sell my kit to do it, b — but he had his arms 
 aroun' my neck when he d — died." 
 
 He hurried away home, but the news went to the boys, 
 and they gathered in a group and talked. Tim had not 
 been home an hour before a barefooted boy left the kit on 
 the doorstep, and in the box was a bouquet of flowers, \. lich 
 had been purchased in the market by pennies contributed 
 by the crowd of ragged but big-hearted urchins. Did God 
 ever make a heart which would not respond if the right 
 chord was touched 1 
 
 Hj 
 
 ■>i<i 
 
 .<,)-.•■" 
 
 IfuUest 
 
 Seif-Sacrifice. 
 
 TiiK tower door of St. Leonard's Church, Bridgenorth, 
 England, was left open ; and two young boys, wandering 
 in, were tempted to mount up into the upper part, and 
 scramble from beam to beam. 
 
 All at once a joist gave way. The beam on which they 
 were standing became displaced. The elder had just time 
 to grasp it when falling ; while the younger, slipping over 
 his body, caught hold of his comrade's legs. 
 
 In this fearful position the poor lads hung, crying vainly 
 for help ; for no one was near. 
 
 At length the boy clinging to the beam became exhausted. 
 
 6 
 
 •i:^ 
 
w 
 
 ■<'' 
 
 74 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 He could no longer support the double weight. He called 
 out to the lad below that they were both done for. 
 
 " Could you save yourself if I were to loose you V replied 
 the little lad. 
 
 " I think I could," returned the older. 
 
 "Then, good-bye, and God bless you!" cried the little 
 fellow, loosing his hold. 
 
 Another second and he was dashed to pieces on the stone 
 floor below, his companion clambering to a place of safety. 
 
 This is a true story. The record of it is preserved in 
 the JJodleian Library at Oxford. Some tales of heroism 
 excite one to pour forth admiration in many words ; but 
 this one strikes us dumb, this little fellow unwittingly 
 had followed so closely in the steps of his most loved 
 Master. 
 
 Listen to the words of our Lord, spoken while the disciple 
 whom He loved was leaning on His breast : " This is My 
 commandment. That ye love one another, as I have loved 
 you. Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay 
 down his life for his friends." 
 
 Surely this little boy, in this one brief, awful act of self- 
 sacritice, had found his way to keep his Lord's command- 
 ment. 
 
 What is the Liquor Shop ? 
 
 A Vampire fattening on the pain 
 
 Of bleeding hearts and children slain ; 
 
 A foe to virtue, learning, truth. 
 
 The bane of age, and snare of youth ; 
 
 A licensed woe and murder den, 
 
 A curse and pest to honest men. 
 
 A nation's burning blot and shame. 
 
 Which all its noblest deeds defame. 
 
 Death's gilded door, round which men wait, 
 
 And madly take the poisoned bait. 
 
 A source from which pollution streams. 
 
 Darkening beauty's heavenly beams. 
 
called 
 3plietl 
 
 little 
 
 READINCiS AND RkCITATIONS. 
 
 T\\o })Oor mail's foo, and wise man's dread, 
 
 Where povin-fcy to N'iee is wed. 
 
 A truni})et-eall to all tlic good, 
 
 To join in lioly brotlierhood, 
 
 This glaring wrong to sweep away. 
 
 And hydra-hosts ot" evil slay. 
 
 75 
 
 
 stone 
 iety. 
 ,'cd in 
 eroism 
 3 ; but 
 btingly 
 I loved 
 
 lisciple 
 i is My 
 e loved 
 lan lay 
 
 of self- 
 nmaiid- 
 
 Three Scenes. 
 
 SCENE THE FIRST. 
 
 It was a balmy night in June. The stars were out in 
 Jic deep azure above, shedding over the wide, green earth 
 ([uiet l)eauty, and the streets, in town and country, were 
 tilled with loiterers, who, won by the beauty of the night, 
 had come out from hot offices and pent-up workshops to 
 enjoy the hour. 
 
 in a stately country house, scarcely an hour's walk fi-om 
 the goodly city of C , there were brilliant eyes, flash- 
 ing mirrors, rosc^wreathed vases, and a party of young and 
 happy I'evellers. Young girls, clad in white, with artificial 
 flowers twined among their braided hair, leaning upon the 
 arms of their gallants, or chatting merrily upon the sofas and 
 cushioned chairs, which were strewed plentifully through the 
 rooms. 
 
 It w;is one of those scenes wliich make the young forget, 
 for a brief time at least, that earth has cares and trials ; 
 that it is not what it seems — the residence of trutliful and 
 happy hearts. Beside a centre-table two persons stood 
 leaning gracefully over a richly-l)Ound album, admiring the 
 engra\ings and sentiments which they found tiiere. How- 
 ard (Jreeideaf and Edith Hastings were pronounced, by all, 
 tlie stars of the evening. There was something that pro- 
 claimed him to be '' one of nature's nobility." His hair was 
 very black, and curled over a high, white forehead ; his eyes 
 were lit u}) by the fires of genius ; his voice deep-toned, yet 
 nuisical, as he turned every now and then, with an admiring 
 gliince, to the fair creature at his side. Edith was exactly 
 
 M^^ 
 >i'-^-'\ 
 
 
 

 76 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 tho reverse of her companion, and yet none could have said 
 that she was less beautiful. Her curls were light, almost 
 flaxen, in their hue ; her complexion was clear, even to 
 transparency ; and her hirge blue eyes, and sweet rosebud- 
 like mouth, formed a face as innocent and pun; in its ex- 
 pression as that of a little child. She was clad in a robe of 
 muslin not more snowy than the rounded arms. She was 
 
 the only, the idolized child of the banker in C . 
 
 A servant came in bearing refreshments. Among the 
 stately pyramids of cake flaslied several glasses, tilled to the 
 brim with wine. Howard was interrupted in the middle 
 of one of his best speeches, as the ebony-facecj attendant 
 stopped before him ; but he helped his fair companion bounti- 
 fully to the tempting things before them, and then, as a 
 crowning act to his politeness, he took two sparkling glasses 
 from the waiter, one of which he gave into tlie hand of his 
 lovely companion. Both quafJed off the ruby wine without 
 the shadow of a fear. 
 
 
 ^1 ! 
 
 SCKNE THE SECOND. 
 
 There was a wretched pallet of straw in the corner of a 
 cellar in one of the most loathsome streets of the city. One 
 old tin lamp, covered with lint and grease, stood on a rude 
 pine table in the middle of the room, shedding a ghastly 
 blue light over the scene, " making the darkness more 
 visible." Upon the pallet of straw there was a dying man, 
 and beside him stood a child with flaxen hair and mild blue 
 eyes. He was the exact portrait of Edith Hastings. The 
 dying wretch was Howard Greenleaf ; that child was all 
 that was left him by the broken-hearted creature whom he 
 called his wife — all that was left of the beautiful and 
 accomplished Edith. She had been for months in her grave, 
 " where the weary are at rest." 
 
 It was terrible to look upon the suflerer — terrible, for 
 conscience was at work, and the contortions of his face 
 were visible to the boy in the faint light of the lamp, as he 
 stood with compi'essed lips and listened to his incoherent 
 murmurings. Once only a gleam of reason shot through his 
 eyes ; then, reaching up his clammy hands, he grasped the 
 white fingers of the child, and said, as if to himself : " He 
 
Readings and Recitations. 
 
 77 
 
 ve saul 
 almost 
 ven to 
 )Sobud- 
 its ex- 
 roVje of 
 ihe was 
 
 )ng 
 
 the 
 \ to the 
 
 middle 
 tendaut 
 , bounti- 
 311, as a 
 r glasses 
 d of his 
 
 without 
 
 ■ner of a 
 ty. One 
 111 a rude 
 ghastly 
 ;ss more 
 Lug man, 
 nild blue 
 The 
 was all 
 ,vhom he 
 iful and 
 er grave, 
 
 gs- 
 
 rible, for 
 his face 
 lip, as he 
 icoherent 
 L'ough his 
 isped the 
 blf: "H«^ 
 
 is like his mother ; like her, as slie stood beside me at the 
 table and quafl'ed the fatal poison from the cup I gave her. 
 That very night she became my affianced bride ; that very 
 night there were int(M'woveii about her young and innocent 
 heart those cords which dragged iier down to misery and 
 woe. I wedded her ; I stjuandered her wealtli, and abused 
 her until her heart was broken." 
 
 SCENE THE TIIIKD. 
 
 The wind whistled through the streets, carrying with it 
 wj'eaths of snow, and Ijiting the cheeks of even the fui' clad, 
 until they grew chill and numb in its icy breath. 
 
 The wealthy stayed in their comfoi'table palaces, and shut 
 carefully every door and witidow, to exclude the piercing 
 wind. The man of business hurried over the ringing pave- 
 ments, as if anxious to reach t\ui shelter of a comfoi'table 
 lionie. On the marble stone of a stately residence a poor 
 beggar boy sunk down, overcome with cold and fatigue, 
 ilis cheeks were sunken, and upon the long silken lushes 
 that veiled the blue eyes there were two froaen tear-di'ops. 
 As he glanced up to the warm, crimson-curtained windows 
 above him, something like a groan came through his blue 
 and quivering lips. From that very mansion his mother 
 went forth a young, l)eautiful and richly-dowered bride ; 
 l)ut the child knew it not. His recollection was misery and 
 woe : he only knew that he was a drunkard's child ! 
 
 As he sat there with his stiffening hands clasped over his 
 naked bosom, he slept, and dreamed that the black, sullen 
 clouds parted above, and an angel face looked brightly and 
 smilingly forth, and beckoned him away. He caught the 
 glitter of the silvery wings, whiter even than the falling 
 snowHakes beneath them, and then he knew that it was his 
 mother beckoning him to the land of rest. 
 
 Before morning, the beggar boy lay upon the marble 
 steps, as white, and cold, and senseless as they. Life had 
 Hed, and those who lifted the stiffened corpse from the steps 
 of " the gentleman's " door, wondered over the exquisitely 
 chiselled features, wasted as they were by misery. Hastings 
 Howard, Edith's beautiful and only child, slept then " the 
 sleep that knows no dreaming." 
 
 ^R 
 
 
78 
 
 RKAniN(JS ANO RKfMTATIONS. 
 
 A Balloon Experience. 
 
 Ah iioai'ly as could l>n iu(l<^<'(l, I was more ili.iii a mile 
 lii^li, and all sounds from t\\v «'aitli had ccascrl. 'i'licrc wms 
 a (hiatli-likc: stillness which was simply awful. It seemed 
 to my ovei'strainfid ner\'es to forhode disaster. The tickini.^ 
 of my watch in my pocket sounded like a tri})-hammei'. I 
 could feel tli(! l)lood as it shot thi'ouijfh the \-eins of my head 
 and ai'ms. My straw hat and tlw; willow cat- snajiped and 
 ci'acked, bein<; conti'acted hy the evapoi-ation of the mois- 
 ture in tluMu, and hy the fast-cooling temjtei-ature. \ was 
 compelled to breathe a littli; ([uick(!r than usual, on account 
 of the rarity of tlu; atmos})here. I hecame sensiWle of a 
 loud, monotonous hum in my ears, pitched about on middle 
 C of th(^ piano, whi{;li seemed to bore into my head from 
 each sid(^, nu'eting in the centre with a }»oi) ; then for an 
 instant my head would be clear, when tlu^ sauu^ e*x})ei'ience 
 would be repeated. By throwing out small pieces of tissue- 
 paper T saw that the balloon was still raj^idly ascendinuf. 
 Wliih; debating with myself as to the adsisability of pullinn' 
 the valve-rope (I was afi'aid to touch it for fear it would 
 break) and discharging some gas, the earth was lost sight 
 of, and the convicition was forced u})on me that this must 
 be the clouds ! It made me dizzy to think of it. Above, 
 below, and upon all sides was a dense, damp, chilly fog. 
 Upon looking closer, large drops of rain could be seen, 
 sil(Mitly falling down out of sight into what seemed bottom- 
 less space. 
 
 I was alone, a mile from the earth, in the midst of a rain- 
 cloud and the silence of the grave. Moreover, I had sole 
 charge of the balloon ; if it had not been for this fact T 
 could have taken a little comfort, as I had no coniidence 
 in my ability to manage it. A rain-storm upon earth is 
 accompanied by noise ; the patter of the I'aiu u})on the 
 houses, and trees, and walks, always attends tlu! storm ; 
 while here, although the drops were large, they could not 
 be heard falling u[)on the balloon or its belongings. Silence 
 reigned supreme. The quiet s})oken of by \)v. Kane and 
 other Arctic explorers as existing in the northern regions 
 was luibbub beside this place. 
 

 Readings and Ukcitations. 
 
 79 
 
 W\ 
 
 ■«' WHS 
 
 ickini:; 
 
 y Im'JuI 
 >(l iind 
 ! inois- 
 f \v;is 
 ccount 
 
 of IV 
 
 iniddlo 
 
 1 from 
 for iui 
 
 I'l'icMlCC: 
 
 tissue- 
 I'luliutJj. 
 
 ■j would 
 t si<j;ht 
 s must 
 
 \1)()V(', 
 
 ly t■o,^^ 
 
 seen, 
 )()ttom- 
 
 More tissue-papor was thrown out ; seeing that it seomod 
 to as(3«^nd, [ knew that tlie apparatus was slowly descend- 
 in;,', hein^ hrou^dit down by the weight of rain upon it. 
 Some of the earth w.as in view. IFow peaceful and (juiet 
 it looked ! Immediately the whistling of railroad trains 
 could he heard. 
 
 Now mountains could be distinguished from valleys, and 
 the cawing of frightened crows and the shouting of men 
 could be heard. 1 passed immediately over Tallcott Moun- 
 tain tower, where there were some two hundred peoi)le 
 spending the day. I could hear one of tlunn blowing a 
 horn. As the balloon slowly descended, men could be seen 
 running from all sides toward the place of landing. Now 
 the hum of insects could be heard, and the grapnel, with a 
 hundred feet of rope attached, was thrown out ; it soon 
 stiuck the ground, and dragged lazily along through the 
 turf and over the stones without getting a secure hold. 1 
 api)roache(l a man weighing three hundred pounds, who was 
 sitting upon a stone wall all out of breath from running. 
 Without the formality of an introduction I asked him to 
 " catch on to that anchor and stop the business." With a 
 woebegone look upon his honest face and an ominous shake 
 of his he.ad he replied : " It's no use, young fellow ; 1 can't 
 work my bellows." ]iut as the rope twitched along near 
 him, he fell upon it, and my journey was ended. 
 
 .-M' ■ 
 
 a. rain- 
 ad sole 
 
 fact I 
 itidence 
 \'irth is 
 i)u the 
 
 stoi-m ; 
 »uld not 
 
 Silence 
 Une and 
 
 regions 
 
 How We Set the Steam to Work. 
 
 We have robb'd the mine, we have kindled the flame, 
 
 And lighted the tire so bright ; 
 We have made a prison, the strongest on earth, 
 
 To hold in the "water sprite," 
 
 Then out he comes, with a rush and a roar, 
 
 In a scalding cataract shower, 
 "Very well," quoth we, "come out if you will, 
 
 Provided you yi<*ld us power." 
 
80 
 
 Readings and "Recitations. 
 
 And we guide him, and turn him, and twist him about, 
 
 In a narrow and straiten'd road, 
 And we make liim to pull, and struggle, and shout, 
 
 Till he moves the heaviest load. 
 
 So he turns the mill, and works the mine. 
 
 And takes our ships to sea ; 
 He ploughs the land, and he moves the sand. 
 
 And he mows tlte meadow lea. 
 
 We found him cold, we have made him hot, 
 
 He was slow and weary and wet ; 
 We move him about from place to place, 
 
 And we make him puff and sweat. 
 
 Aha ! old sprite, we have got you now. 
 
 And never will let you loose ; 
 We have you enchain'd, and will manage your powers 
 
 By the wheel and the iron noose. 
 
 m^- 
 
 For Love's Sake. 
 
 Sometimes I am tempted to nmrmur 
 
 That life is flitting away, 
 With oidy a round of trifles 
 
 i^'illing- each busy day ; 
 Dusting nooks and corners. 
 
 Making the house look fair, 
 And patiently taking on me 
 
 The burden of woman's care. 
 
 Comforting childish sorrows. 
 
 And charming the childish heart 
 With the simple song and story 
 
 Told with a mother's art ; 
 Setting the dear home table, 
 
 And clearing the meal away, 
 And going on little errands 
 
 In the twilight of the day. 
 
Readings and Recitations. 
 
 81 
 
 -It, 
 
 rs 
 
 One dcay is just like another ! 
 
 Sewing and piecing well 
 Little jackets and trousers 
 
 So neatly that none can tell 
 Where are the seams and joinings — - 
 
 Ah ! the seamy side of life 
 Is kept out of sight by the magic 
 
 Of many a mother and wife ! 
 
 And oft when I'm ready to murmur 
 
 That life is flitting away, 
 Witli the self-samp I'ound of duties 
 
 Filling each busy day, 
 It comes to my spirit sweetly. 
 
 With the grace of a thought divine : 
 "You are living, toiling for love's sake, 
 
 And the loving should never repine. 
 
 "You are guiding the little footsteps 
 
 In the way they ought to walk ; 
 You are dropping a word for Jesus 
 
 In the midst of your household talk ; 
 Living your life for life's sake 
 
 Till the homelv cares grow sweet — 
 And sacred the self-denial 
 
 That is laid at the jMaster's feet." 
 
 
 <f-.' 
 
 Forgot His Name. 
 
 A CONCEITED feliovv l)y the name of Head, in making 
 New Year's calls in a certain city, made the acquaintance 
 of a young lady upon whom he flattered himself he had 
 effected a very decided impression. He felt that he was 
 irresistible to the sex anyhow, Vnitin this particular instanco 
 he was confident that he had accomplished n complete con- 
 quest. Not to be too ci'uel to the damsel whom he inuig- 
 ined to l)e languishing over his absence, he (.'ailed upon 
 her aijain after the new vear was a week or so old. That 
 he might feast upon the surprise and joy she would evince 
 
 ■' *• I 
 
if 
 
 82 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 oil discovering wlio her caller was, he refrained from giving 
 his name to the servant who answered his ring, l)ut in- 
 
 struct(Ml her to t(4I Miss tliat a very particulai- friend 
 
 desired an interview. He was ushered into the pai'loi*, and 
 after a brief df^lay, tiie young lady whom he suj^posed to be 
 rapidly a})proaching dissolution on his account, entered. 
 
 She paused on the threshold and looked embarrassed. 
 Jle liad (expected that, but, contrary to his ('xpectatious, no 
 blush of emotion, or gleam of recognition even, liglited iier 
 countenance. 
 
 "Don't you remember me^" said he, putting on the smile 
 which he had imagined had melted her young and suscep- 
 tible heai't upon their first meeting. "You know I called 
 here last New Year's with a party in a four-horse sleigh ?" 
 
 "Oh, yes," said the young lady, who didn't appear in the 
 least crushed by the recollection, "I remember. Your face 
 did look familiar, Imt your name — " 
 
 "Don't you remend)er my name*?" incjuircd the heart- 
 pulv(M'i/,ei', with an air of de(^p chagi'in. 
 
 " I have almost got it," said the lady, with a puzzled 
 smile. "It isn't lirown?" 
 
 " No, indeed. I>ut really, madam, this is not very flat- 
 tering to me, your forgetting my name. I imagined that 
 I had made a decided impression." 
 
 "So you did, so you did," the lady hastened to say. 
 " Strange that your name should have escaped me, though. 
 1 was thinking of it just before you rang. Don't tell mi^ 
 what it is. I shall think of it in a minute. Really, this 
 is (juite mortifying; what has become of my memory 1" and 
 she trotted her pretty little foot impatiently on the carpet. 
 
 " l>ut let me give 3^ou a hint," said Mi*. Head, whose 
 mortification was I'apidly increasing. 
 
 " Well, just a little hint. I should think of your name 
 in a minute anyhow ^just the least hint in the world will do.'' 
 
 "Now, then, what do 1 carry on my shoulders'?" queritnl 
 Head. 
 
 A moment's puzzled I'eflection, then, her face brighten- 
 ing up, she advances toward him with outstretched hand 
 and cordially (»xclaims : 
 
 " 117///, }fr. >S(/i'(ts/i, Intir do yon do?'' 
 
Readings and Rkcitations. 
 
 8:^ 
 
 The Very Same Chap. 
 
 Tn a lo<^ sc-hool-houso on tlio l){iTiks of tlio (rrjiiid 
 (v'liarltoii, ill ^lissoui-i, after \ liad I'mishod ;i speech in 
 favor of a Siuulay-scliool, a plainly-drosscnl fai-incr arose 
 and said he would like to make a few remarks, i said, 
 " Speak on, sir." . 
 
 He said to the audience, pointing across the room at me • 
 
 "I've seen that chap before. I used to live in AFacoupin 
 County, 111., and that man came there to start a scliool. T 
 told my \vif(^ that when Sunday-schools came round, gainer 
 g(jt scarce, and that J would not go to his school or let any 
 of my folks go. It was not long before a railroad came 
 along, so I sold out my faiMu for a good price and came to 
 Pike (Jounty. I hadn't been there more than six months 
 before that same chap came to start a Sunday-school. I 
 said to tiiy wife: That Sunday-school fellow is aljout, so I 
 guess we'd better move to iNFissouri. Land was cheajier in 
 Missouri, so I came and bought a farm and went back for 
 my family. I told them JNlissouri was a fine State ; gam(i 
 plenty, and, better than all, no Sunday-school th(;re. 
 
 "Day before yesterday I heard that there was to be a 
 Sunday-school lecture at the school-house })y some strang(n\ 
 Says T to my wife: 'T wonder if it can be possible that it 
 is that Illinoisan V 1 came here myself on purpose to see ; 
 and, neighbors, it's the very same chap. 
 
 " Now, if what he says about Sunday-schools is true, 
 it's a better thing than I thouglit. If he has learned so 
 nuicli in Suiulay-school, 1 can learn a little, so I've just 
 concluded to come to Sunday-school and to bring my seveji 
 boys ! " 
 
 Putting his hand in his ])ocket he pulled out a dollar, 
 and coming to the stand where J was, laid it down saying : 
 "That'll help to ])uy a library. For, neighbors," he added, 
 "if I should go to Califoi'nia or Oregon, I'd expect to see 
 that chap ther<^ in less than a year." 
 
 Some on(Mn the audience spoke up: "You are treed." 
 
 " Y(>s," he said, " I am treed at last. Now, I'm going to 
 sec this thing through, for if there is any good in it, I am 
 going to liave it." 
 
 

 u 
 
 Readings and Hecitations. 
 
 Golden Hair at the Light-House. 
 
 That was not the name she was christened by, Golden 
 Hair, but Mallei's bright looks won from her fatlier, rough 
 old Hkipper Bob, that glowing title. Such a title from him 
 was like a pearl coming from an oyster. 
 
 (jl olden Hair was ten years old when she sat, one after- 
 noon, in the door of the light-house where her father was 
 keepei". For a little while she read the book in her lap. 
 Then she lifted her eyes to the great restless sea that swept 
 in one mass of blue from east to west. It could not be 
 called a placid blue, for liere and there its waves were 
 dashed with foam-like caps that lifted nodding plumes of 
 white all over the sea. 
 
 " Because it's a bit choppy," her father had said to her 
 that very afternoon, "I calc'late you'd better not go with me. 
 1 want to go off in my boat to Sunk Rocks — ^just a little 
 way, you know. Golden Hair — and see if the fish will bite 
 so we can liave a fry for breakfast. You had better stay 
 here and 'muse yourself, and I won't be gone long." 
 
 The skipper's daughter stayed in the light-house door, 
 now reading, then watching the sea. 
 
 '' Time for father to come home," she said *' The wind 
 is growing ! How it rattles around the lantern ! As she 
 spoke, she lifted her eyes toward the summit of the round 
 white tower of which her father was the keeper. She did 
 not feel fully at ease when Skipper Bob pulled away from 
 the light, seated in his green-and-white boat which he had 
 named " The Innocent." The boat hardly deserved the 
 name when she bore away the skipper, and a certain black 
 keg filled with strong, sour beer. The proper title then 
 was "Guilty." 
 
 " I wish father wouldn't touch the old stuff," thought the 
 young watcher in the light house door, not so young but 
 tliat her sharp eyes had noticed serious failings in her father. 
 
 The time slipped slowly away ; but at last she said, "Ah, 
 there is "The Innocent ! " Why, how near it is ! What is the 
 matter V 
 
 The boat was slowly moving along in the shadow of the 
 high ledgy shore at that part of the island. 
 
 
Readings and Recitations. 
 
 t the 
 but 
 ither. 
 "Ah, 
 is the 
 
 f the 
 
 " And he is not rowing I " exclaimed the girl. 
 
 drifting. 
 
 I" 
 
 IS (iritting. He is asleep ! Oh, dear, he — he 
 away out to sea 
 
 Skipper J3ob was indeed asleep. He had visited Sunk 
 Rocks, a rough, burly ledge between the island and the 
 main land, covered at high tide, but now rising higiier and 
 higher out of the water that fell away and swept toward 
 the open sea. The skipper had divided his attention be- 
 tween the tishes and the black keg. Pulling at the first 
 will keep one awake, but pulling at the second, may make 
 one sleepy. The skipper was very tire;d also, and the fatigue 
 and the beer overpowered him finally, and he dropped into 
 a slumber. The tide took hold of the " Innocent" — no, the 
 " Guilty " — and now was sweeping the sleeper out to sea. 
 
 " It is coming nearer ! " shouted Golden Hair, springing 
 down the rocky ledges sloping to the water. The tide is 
 bringing the boat close to the shore. Oh, if I gould only 
 touch him ! If I could wade to him I " 
 
 That was impossible. The Ijoat was not more than four 
 feet away from the edge of the rocks, but that four feet of 
 bright, rapidly-moving water wa,s as fatal to a wade, as a 
 width of four hundred feet would have been, for again and 
 again Skipper Bob had told his daughter how deep the water 
 was, three feet from the edge of the rocks. What could she 
 do 1 How lonely she seemed to be ! that great, empty 
 tower near her, the lonely rocks about her, and that sea- 
 ward-drifting boat ofi' in the water ! 
 
 She could pray, yes, she could do that, at leasi, and up to 
 the sky she turned her childish agonized face ! 
 
 What if the boat siiould be swept by the tide past the 
 island, sunset come and the lantern not V)e lighted, and she 
 alone in that great tower, the wind roaring "cross the 
 ledges, and the rain perhaps beating down out of the black 
 sky ! It was a relief to pray. 
 
 "But there is the boat hook!" she suddenly thought. 
 What put that iiito her thoughts 1 It hung just inside the 
 light-house door, and she ran to take it from the nail. If 
 she could only reach the boat with this ! Back toward the 
 rocks she turned her face. 
 
 And then w hat put those words into her mind, " Praying 
 
 85 
 
 
 " He he 
 will drift 
 
 • 1 
 
I'"',, 
 
 m 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 as you go," wortis tliat in the cliurcli at lionie the ministei" 
 fiad used tho Sunday ))ef ore ? She would ask for ludp as 
 sIk^ ran. With a j)i'ayei' in hei' lieart, slie liun'icd ov^er tlie 
 rocks, gray witli the crunii)ling shells of the l)arnacles that 
 clung to them. Slu; was a child of tlie sea, and th<.> open 
 sea-air had iioui'ished her body, and thi; brown ai'ins coidd 
 l)ull and the ))rown feet run ; but somehow, (liolden Hair 
 had new strength given her. She felt that it must liave 
 be(!n so when slie recalled that hour. She ran to the (H]<f(\ 
 of the rocks, below which was that drifting boat. She 
 reached out the boat-hook, held it abovi' the "Innocent's" 
 edge oiui moment, when a strong whirl of the water inter- 
 fered and- she missed the boat ! 
 
 She tried again and missed again. Would it get away 
 yet and drift out to sea^ She would try once more, at a 
 place whej'e the tide pressed closer yet to tlie rocks, where 
 sh(! had often sat and watched the current. 
 
 " Praying as you go !" How that helped her as she moved 
 over th(} ledijfes ! And now she tried again and succeeded ! 
 The hook caught in a seat of the boat, she drew it into a 
 little cove, and then, reaching down, seized the rope and 
 fastened it to a rock. " Father !" she shouted. 
 
 He opened his eyes confusedly and closed them again. 
 " Father !" she called, shaking him, and he awoke. "What 
 has happened V he asked himself. 
 
 Realizing his situation, he crawled out of the boat, and 
 made his way over the rocks to the light-house. There he 
 sat down, in shame and sorrow. He realized what had hap- 
 pened as he saw the boat-hook in his girl's hands. And 
 when lie did realize it, he went down to his boat, seized the 
 beer kcig, and pitched it into the drifting sea. 
 
 "There ! you may go where my })oat was going," he ex- 
 claimed. It drifted away and forever. 
 
 Seeking Light. 
 
 AN exercisp: fou a class of five small boys. 
 
 FinsT Boy. — Wine is a mocker, strong drink is raging ; 
 and whosoever is deceived thereby is not wise. — Prov. xx. 1. 
 
Readings and Recitations. 
 
 S7 
 
 Shc()\I). — Wliohrath woo? wl)o hatli coiitoiitioiis? who li;itli 
 b;il)l)liii<( ? wlio liath wounds without cause; ? wlio hath rod 
 noss of eyes 1 They that tarry \o\v^ at the wine. Thoy 
 that go to seek mixed wine. — Prov, xxiii. 21), 30. 
 
 Third. —Look not thou upon the wine when it is icd. 
 At the last it Ijiteth like a serpent and stingeth like an 
 adder. — Prov. xxiii. .'U, 32. 
 
 FouiiTii. — Woo unto him that i^dvetli his neighbor drink ; 
 that puttest thy bottle to him. — Hab. ii. IT), 
 
 Fifth. — Be not among wine-bibbers ; among riotous 
 eaters of flesh. For the drunkai'd and the 'dutton shall 
 come to poverty. — Prov. xxiii. 20, 21. 
 
 KECITATION. 
 
 ( Which may he (jirtu hy one boy, or diridal amoiKj the Jhr. J 
 
 W(> greet you, dear friends, in our kindliest way. 
 We are glad you are here, for we've soiiKithing to say ; 
 Some (questions to ask, for we're all puzzled, cjuite ; 
 We wish you to answei", to give us more light. 
 
 You send us to Sunday-scliool year after year ; 
 
 W^e are taught to abhor both the wine and the beer ; 
 
 We are told there is poison in every drop ; 
 
 If to drink we begin, 'twill be hard then to stop. 
 
 God's Word tells us, too, that sorrow and woe 
 Are the portion of those to the wine-cup who go ; 
 That misery and pain in this world sliall be given, 
 And when life is ended no entrance to heaven. 
 
 We wish to inquire if this can be true ; 
 Tf all that God says, you believe He will do ; 
 If Hum i-i the fiend we are taught to believe, 
 Who lieth in wait all our hopes to deceive ? 
 
 And if it is true, all these boys wish to know 
 What you license it for, with its sin and its woe ? 
 Why you've planted a drink-shop on every street 1 
 And spread such a net for our unwary feet '] 
 
 ■■;>i 
 
 • - '"r: 
 
88 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 AIL— 
 We lov 
 But wfc 
 
 'ou, and thfiiik you for all that you teach, 
 -X you to practise as well as to preach. 
 
 A Bad Character, and How it Follows Us. 
 
 SoAii-: years ago, in a fariniug ueighborlioocl, a middle-aged 
 man was looking about in search of employment. He called 
 at the liouse of a respeotjible farmer and told his errand. 
 
 " What is your name ?" asked the farmer. 
 
 "John Wilson," was the reply. 
 
 "John Wilson — the same that lived near here when a boy 1" 
 
 " Tlie same, sir." . ' 
 
 " Then I do not want you." 
 
 Poor John, surprised at such a reply, passed on to the 
 house of the next farmer, and there a similar reply was 
 given. And he found no one in the neighborhood wher-e 
 his earlier years had been spent, who was willing to employ 
 him. 
 
 Passing on, he soon came in sight of the old school-house. 
 " Ah !" said lie, "I understand it now. I was a school-boy 
 there years ago ; but what kind of a school-boy % Lazy, dis- 
 obedient, often in mischief, and once caught in deliberate 
 lying; and though since then I have been trying to reform, 
 they all think me the same kind of a man that I was as a 
 boy. O that I had done as I ought to, when at school. 
 Then people would have confidence in me now." 
 
 80 it is, and school-boys and school-girls should remember 
 it, that character follows us, and is remembered, and that 
 those who have known us in our early days will be very apt 
 to look upon us in later years as they did in our youth. 
 
 A lazy boy generally makes a lazy man, just as a crooked 
 sapling makes a crooked tree. And so a shiftless, careless, 
 mischievous, untruthful boy is likely to have the same 
 character as he grows up to manhood. And even if he has 
 changed, it is hard to make people believe it ; for, as some 
 one has said, if the crack has been mended, people will 
 always be looking where it was. 
 
Readings and Kk(!Itations. 
 
 The ^fcat injiKS of idlers, thiev(^s, j)aupers, \a<ifahoiifls, 
 and criminals that till our penitentiaries and aliiis-houses 
 have come to be what they are, from wrong conduct and 
 wionj^ habits in youth ; as, on the other hand, those who 
 make the great and useful men of the connnunity are those 
 who began right coui-ses in their early days. As the general 
 rule, we expect to see the traits of youth continued into 
 manhood, and confirmed and strengthened rather than 
 weakened by yt^ars. And even where the character is I'eally 
 reformed, one suliers for a life-time for the errors and sins 
 of youth ; as the ffither told hihi son, " You niay draw out the 
 nails you have di'iven, Jnit the liolen in the p(>st ivill renKiin /" 
 Let all the young rememl)er it, that character is early 
 ormed, and it follows us wherever we go. 
 
 Beautiful Canada. 
 
 The grand old woods of Canada : 
 
 How cool and dim below 
 The shade of their sweet rustling leaves ! 
 Swift-changing webs the sunlight weaves 
 
 Where ferns and mosses grow. 
 
 The giant trees of Canada : 
 Dark pine and birch drooped low ; 
 The stately elm, the maple tall, 
 The sturdy beech, I love them all, 
 And well their forms I know. 
 
 The forest weaFh of Canada : 
 The choppers' blows resound 
 Thro' the crisp air, while cold and still 
 The snow's deep cloak o'er vale and hill 
 Lies white upon the ground. 
 
 The sparkling streams of Canada, 
 That 'neath cool shadows pass ; 
 They wind where sleek-fed cattle sleep. 
 Through verdant meadows, ankle degp 
 
 7 
 
 In clover blooms and grass. 
 
90 . Readings and Recitations. 
 
 The crystjil streams of Canada, 
 D(!op in whose inunnuriu;^ tide, 
 From pel)bly caverns, dimly seen 
 'Neath leafy shade of living green, 
 Grey trout and salmon glide. 
 
 The beauteous lak(^s of Canada : 
 \ With loving eyes 1 see 
 
 Their waters, stretched in endless chain 
 By fair St. Lawrence to the main, 
 As ocean wild and free. 
 
 Where white sails gleam o'er Huron's wave, 
 
 Or fade with dying day, 
 Fond memories in my heart awake, 
 Of home's dear dwelling by the lake. 
 
 Like sunshine passed away. 
 
 The prairies vast of Canada, 
 
 Where sun sinks to the eai-th. 
 En setting, whispering warm good nigiit 
 To myriad flowers, whose blushes bright 
 
 Will hail the morrow's birth. 
 
 The prairie wealth of Canada, 
 
 Whose dark, abundant soil, 
 IJnfurrowed yet, awaits the plough ; ( 
 
 Who sows shall have sure promise nov/ • 
 
 Of rich reward for toil. 
 
 What tho' the winter wind blows keen 
 
 When daylight darkly wanes, 
 A strong, true heart is hard to chill 
 When, seen afar, the home-light still 
 
 Shines l)right across the plains. 
 
 The robust life of Canada 
 
 In cheery homes I see. 
 Tho' gold nor jewels till the hand, 
 'Tis Nature's self has blessed the land, 
 
 Abuiraant, fair, and* free. 
 
RkAD^^GS and ReCITATIOxNS. 
 
 01 
 
 Her Treasures. 
 
 She had put her little children to bed, 
 
 And WHS sitting ))efore the tire, 
 Watching the sparks from the back-logs Hy, 
 
 Then fall on the hearth and expire. 
 
 She was sitting alone, for her liusband was late, 
 
 Detained at the little store 
 Which he kept in the mining-camp. But — hark I 
 
 Is not that his step on tlie floor 1 
 
 She turned with a smile ; then her face grew pale ; 
 
 For she saw, in the lamplight's glare, 
 Two men, with fierce and menacing looks. 
 
 Who were standing behind her chair. 
 
 She did not scream, but slie paused to think ; 
 
 Then she prayed to heaven for aid ; 
 When one of the men, in a rough voice, said : 
 
 " Well, you don't seem much afraid. 
 
 "You're a sensible woman. Just show us the place 
 Where you keep your silver and gold, 
 
 And no harm shall befall you ; but if you refuse 
 No power our wrath shall withhold." 
 
 " Come, show us your treasures," the other said. 
 
 Then a sudden smile lighted her face. 
 " I will," she replied, as she took up the lamp, 
 
 " Follow me ; I will show you the place." 
 
 She led the way to the children's room. 
 
 And there pointed to the bed 
 Where, nestling on either pillow, lay 
 
 A beautiful curly head. 
 
 "These are my treasures; I have no more," 
 
 She said, " neither silver nor gold." 
 As she spake, down the foremost robber's cheek 
 
 A glistening tear-drop rolled. 
 
 " I cannot stand this, let us go," he said ; 
 
 " Little woman, you put us to shame. 
 Your treasures are safe." And they stole away 
 
 As quietly as they^came, 
 
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 92 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 A Good Wife. 
 
 Hast thou a soft heart 1 — it is of God's breaking. Hast 
 thou a sweet wife 1 — she is of God's making. The Hebrews 
 have a saying, " He is not a man that hath not a woman." 
 Though man alone may be good, yet it is not good that man 
 should be alone. " Erery good gift and every perfect gift 
 is from above." A wife, though she is not perfect, yet is 
 a good gift, a beam darting from the Sun of mercy. How 
 happy are those marriages where Christ is at the wedding ! 
 Let none but those who have found favor in God's eyes find 
 favor in yours. Husbands should spread a mantle of charity 
 over their wives' infirmities. Do not put out the candle 
 because of the snuff. Husbands and wives should provoke 
 one another to love ; and they should love one another, 
 notwithstanding provocations. The tree of love should 
 grow up in the midst of the family, as the tree of life grew 
 in the garden of Eden, Good servants are a great blessing ; 
 good children are a great blessing ; but a good wife is the 
 greatest blessing; and such a help let him seek for, that 
 lacks one ; let him sigh for, that hath lost one ; let him de- 
 light in, that enjoys one. 
 
 w 
 
 ''■| 
 
 What a Woman Can Do. 
 
 Sue can say "No," and stick to it for all time. She can 
 also say " No " in such a low, soft voice that it means 
 " Yes." She can sharpen a lead pencil if you can give her 
 plenty of time and plenty of pencils. She can pass a dis- 
 play window of a draper's shop without stopping — if she is 
 running to catch a train. She can walk half the night with 
 a noisy baby in her arms without once expressing the desire 
 to murder the infant. She can appreciate a kiss from her 
 husband seventy-five years after the marriage ceremony has 
 taken place. She can suffer abuse and neglect for years, 
 which one touch of kindness or consideration will drive 
 from her recollection. She can go to church, and after- 
 wards tell you what every woman in the congregation had 
 on, and in some rare instances can give a faint idea of what 
 
- .i 
 I] 
 
 Headings and Recitations. 
 
 9,1 
 
 Hast 
 
 ebrews 
 Oman." 
 lat man 
 ect gift 
 , yet is 
 How 
 edding ! 
 yes find 
 charity 
 e candle 
 provoke 
 another, 
 ) should 
 life grew 
 blessing ; 
 fe is the 
 for, that 
 him de- 
 
 the text was. She can look her husband square in the eyes 
 when he tells her some cock-and-bull story about being "de- 
 tained at the office," without betraying in the least that she 
 knows him to be a colossal liar. She can — but what's the 
 use ? A woman can do anything or everything, and do it 
 well. She Cfin do more in a minute than a man can in an 
 hour, and do it better. She can make the alleged lords of 
 creation bow down to her own sweet will, and they will 
 never know it. Yes, a wrnian can do everything, with but 
 one exception — she cannot climb a tree ! 
 
 The Narrow Lot. 
 
 A LITTLE flower so lowly grew, 
 
 So lonely was it left, 
 That heaven look'd like an eye of blue, 
 
 Down in its rocky cleft. 
 
 What could the little flower do. 
 
 In such a darksome place, 
 But try to reach that eye of blue, 
 
 And climb to see heaven's face. 
 
 And there's no life so lone and low 
 But strength may still be given, 
 
 From narrowest lot on earth to grow 
 The straighter up to heaven. 
 
 '* 
 
 
 The Farmer's Winter Song. 
 
 Heap on the farmer's wintry hoard, 
 Heap high the golden corn ! 
 
 No richer gift has Autunni poured 
 From out her lavish horn. 
 
 Let other lands, exulting, glean 
 The apple from the pine, 
 
 The orange from the glossy green, 
 The cluster from the vine, 
 
ir, 
 
 94 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 We better love the hardy gift 
 
 Our rugged vales bestow, 
 To cheer us when the storm shall drift 
 
 Our harvest fields with snow. 
 
 Through vales of grass and meads of flow'rs 
 Our ploughs their furrows made, 
 
 While o'er the hills the sun and show'rs 
 Of changeful April played. 
 
 We dropped the seed o'er hill and plain, 
 
 Kept watch from day to day. 
 We frightened from our sprouting grain 
 
 The robber crows away. 
 
 All through the long bright days of June 
 Its leaves grew strong and fair. 
 
 And waved in hot midsummer's noon 
 Its soft and yellow hair. 
 
 And when with Autumn's moonlit eyes 
 
 Its harvest time had come, 
 We plucked away its frosted leaves. 
 
 And bore the treasures home. 
 
 There, richer than the fabled gifts 
 
 Apollo showered of old. 
 Fair hands the broken grain shall sift, 
 
 And knead its meal of gold. 
 
 
 Then shame on all the proud and vain 
 Whose folly laughs to scorn 
 
 The blessing of our hardy grain. 
 Our wealth of golden corn. 
 
 And let the good old crop adorn 
 
 The hills our fathers trod, 
 And let us for His golden corn 
 
 Send up our thanks to God, 
 
?^.l 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 9.-. 
 
 Little at First, but Mighty at Last. 
 
 A TRAVELLER through a dusty road 
 
 Htrew'd acorns on the lea, 
 And one took root, and sprouted up, 
 
 And grew into a tree. 
 Love sought its shade at evening time 
 
 To breathe its early vows. 
 And Age was pleased, in heats of noon. 
 
 To bask beneath its boughs ; 
 The dormouse loved its dangling twigs, 
 
 The birds sweet music bore ; 
 It stood a glory in its place, 
 
 A blessing evermore ! 
 
 A little spring had lost its way 
 
 Among the grass and fern ; 
 A passing stranger scoop'd a well, 
 
 Where weary man might turn. 
 He wall'd it in, and hung with care 
 
 A ladle at the brink ; 
 He thought not of the deed he did. 
 
 But judged that toil might drink. 
 He passed again — and lo ! the well. 
 
 By summers never dried. 
 Had cooled ten thousand parched tongues, 
 
 And saved a life beside ! 
 
 
 ■■■ >:■' 
 
 lAr. 
 
 A dreamer dropped a random thought ; 
 
 'Twas old, and yet 'twas new — 
 A simple fancy of the brain, 
 
 But strong in being true ; 
 It shone upon a genial mind, 
 
 And lo ! its light became 
 A lamp of life, a beacon ray, 
 
 A monitory flame. 
 The thought was small — its issue great ; 
 
 A watchfire on the hill ; 
 It shed its radiance far adown, 
 
 And cheers the valley still ! 
 
 % 
 
 
 ■^'^S, 
 
96 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 A nameless man, amid a crowd 
 
 That throng'd the daily mart, 
 Let fall a word of hope and love. 
 
 Unstudied, from the heai't ; 
 A whisper on the tumult tlirown — 
 
 A transitory l)reath — 
 It raised a l)T'other from the dust, 
 
 It saved a soul from death. 
 O gei'in ! O fount ! O word of love ! 
 
 () thought at random cast ! 
 Ye were but little at the first, 
 
 But mighty at the last ! 
 
 
 Josh Billings on Lager-Beer. 
 
 I iiAV finally cum tew the conclushun that lager-beer as 
 a beverage is not intoxicating. I hav bin told so by a Ger- 
 man, who has said he had drunk it all nite long, just tew 
 try the experiment, and was obliged tu go home entirely 
 sober in the morning. I hav seen this same man drink 
 sixteen glasses, and if he was drunk he was drunk in Ger- 
 man, and nobody could understand it. It is proper enuti 
 to state that this man kept a lager-beer saloon, and could 
 hav no object in stating what was not strictly thus. 
 
 I believed him tu the full extent of my {vbility. I never 
 drunk but three glasses ov lager in mi life, and that made 
 my head untwist as tho it was hung on the end ov a string, 
 but I was told that it wus owin to mi bile bein out ov place ; 
 and I guess it was so, for I never biled over wuss than I 
 did wlien I got hum that nite. Mi wife thot I was going 
 to die, and I was afraid that I shouldn't, for it did seem as 
 tho everything I had ever eaten in mi life wus cummin tew 
 the surface ; and I du really believe that if mi wife hadn't 
 pulled off mi butes just as slie did, they Nvud hav cum thun- 
 dering up tu. 
 
 O! how sick I wuz ! It wuz 14 years ago, and I can 
 taste it now. I never had so much experience in so sliort 
 a time. If enny man siiould tell me that lager-beer was not 
 intoxicating, I shud believe him ; but if he shud tell me 
 
^w 
 
 Headings and IIecitations. 
 
 97 
 
 
 
 that I wusn't drunk that nite, but th.at mi stunimick wuz 
 out ov order, I sliould ask him to state over in a few words 
 jest how a man felt and acted when he wuz well set up. If 
 1 wusn't drunk tlwit nite, I had some ov the most nateral 
 simi)tums that a man ever had and kep sober. 
 
 In the first place it was about 80 rods from where I drunk 
 tlie lager-beer to mi house, and I was then over 2 hours on 
 the road, and had a hole busted thru each one ov my 
 pantalun neez, and didn't liav enny hat, and tried to open 
 the door bi the bell-pull, and hickupped awfully, and saw 
 everything in the room trying to get round on the back side 
 of me ; and in sitting down in a chair, I didn't wait long 
 enutf for it to get exactly under me, wlien it wus going 
 round, and I set down a little tu soon and missed the chair 
 about 12 inches, and cudn't get up soon enough tew take 
 the next wun that cum along ; and that aint awl, mi wife 
 sed I wuz as drunk az a beest, and az I sed before, I began 
 tu spin up things freely. 
 
 If lager-beer iz not intoxicating, it uzed me mitey mean, 
 that I know. Still I hardly think lager-beer iz intoxicating, 
 for I hav bin told so ; and I am proba}>ly the only man 
 living who ever drunk enny when his liver was not plumb. 
 I don't want tew say ennything agin a harmless temperance 
 beverige, but if ever I drink enny more, it will be with mi 
 liands tied behind me and mi mouth pried open. I don't 
 think lager-beer is intoxicating, but if I remember rite, I 
 think it tastes like a glass of soapsuds that a pickle had 
 Iteen put to soak in. 
 
 » 
 
 
 ' 1^ 
 
 A Mule Story. 
 
 There are but two ways of learning eitlier good or evil. 
 One is, to leani by our own experience. The other is, to 
 learn from the experience of otiiers. I need not say that 
 the first metiiod is very expensive, and sometinies danger- 
 ous, especially when the lesson learned is an evil one. The 
 drunkard, of all men, knows the cost and pain of personal 
 experience. 
 
 
u 
 
 It, ■ • 
 
 98 
 
 Readings and UecitatioNs. 
 
 Last 4th of July a certain farming lad gained some very 
 impressive personal experience which he will remember all 
 his life. The night before the fourth he said to his vener- 
 able sire : " Father, the boys are going to celebrate Inde- 
 pendence to-morrow in the village, and there is going to be 
 a procession of the ' Antiques am' Horribles ' in the nmrn- 
 ing — mayn't I go over early and see the fun?" "Yes, 
 Sammy," answered the old man, "but you must do the 
 milking and the chores before you go." 
 
 Next morning the lad was up before daylight and, with 
 his milk-pail, hastened to the barn. It being quite dark he 
 had to feel his way, but unfortunately got into the wrong 
 pen — he got into the pen where the mule lived. 
 
 I am not much of a mulist. I don't know the domestic 
 habits of the mule, but I have an idea that the average 
 mule is not much of a milker. I do not remember ever 
 seeing mule milk or mule butter advertised for sale, nor 
 have I ever read of a mule that took a prize at a cattle-show 
 for being a superior dairy animal. 
 
 Josh Billings, in his great work on natural history, says 
 that a mule has four legs — two to travel with and two to 
 kick with. It was the last-mentioned that the boy got 
 introduced to. The introduction was so sudden and excit- 
 ing that the boy didn't have time to fill his pail, because 
 that disappeared through the skylight while he went through 
 the barn-door and landed in the mash-tub. He reviewed 
 the "Antiques and Horribles" in bed that day, and for 
 several days thereafter. 
 
 In a couple of weeks the young mule-milker managed to 
 crawl down-stairs, and went straight to the looking-glass. 
 His head was bandaged in a towel, and his face covered 
 with strips of sticking-plaster. His features seemed to be 
 slightly mixed up, his nose slanting one way, his chin cant- 
 ing another way, while his eyebrows looked as though they 
 were trying to crawl over the top of his head. As he gazed 
 at his awful reflection in the glass, he turned to his honored 
 parent and said : " Father, do you think I shall ever be as 
 good looking as I used to be ? " 
 
 "Well, no," answered the old man, "I don't think you 
 will, but Sammy, youUl know a good deal more.^^ 
 
Readings and Recitations. 
 
 Od 
 
 The old man was right. Sammy has learned by sad per- 
 sonal experience that it don't pay to milk a mule — especially 
 in the dark. And the man who undertakes to milk a rum- 
 shop will make as big a mistake as Sammy did. And when 
 he has spoiled his good' looks, lost his friends, squandered 
 his money, he will know by experience that liquor-shops do 
 not give the kind of milk that men should drink. 
 
 ■:■■■ til 
 
 Ml 
 
 ..Ji 
 
 Men of Canada, Hurry. 
 
 In one of the Western towns resided a widow who 
 had a son sixteen and a daughter eighteen years of 
 age. There had never been a dram-shop in the place 
 until some three years before ; the men petitioned the 
 county organization to grant a license to open a dram- 
 shop. The women are never guilty of such outrages. 
 One was opened, and the boy, who had been an exemplary 
 l>oy from childhood up, a regular attendant at the Sabbath- 
 school, soon was led astray — went there to play cards. Let 
 me tell you, I never knew a boy in my life who was ruined 
 by letting cards alone, but many a boy has been destroyed 
 through the influence of cards. You older ones here to- 
 night, to you let me say, that it will do you no hariu if you 
 never play another card. If you do not, you will not 
 set an example that will lead astray younger ones that 
 look to you as patterns. This boy went into card-playing 
 and beer-drinking, and from that to drunkenness, and 
 in less than fifteen months, in a drunken spree, killed 
 a comrade. He was arrested, tried, convicted, and sen- 
 tenced to be hanged. The day of execution came on, and 
 it found his sister asking executive interference in her 
 brother's behalf. The mother was in the prison cell, watch- 
 ing, praying, and comforting her boy as only a mother can. 
 The hour of execution came on, and he was literally torn 
 from his mother's arms, and she fell fainting to the floor. ' 
 Ho was taken to the gallows ; the black cap was adjusted, 
 the trap was sprung ; the rope broke, and he fell almost 
 lifeless to the ground. As they raised him and the blood 
 
 k^ 
 
 I -■ 
 
 r 
 
 ■■. ,*■■ 
 
 
^ ■ '-* 
 
 100 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 \'':i : 
 
 ■ I 1 
 
 h-; .*- 
 
 gushed from his nose and ears, lie, thinking of liis mother 
 last, said in a husky tone, " Oh, mother, for God's sake have 
 them hurry, won't you, please*?" The rope was adjusted, 
 and the trap was sprung, and his spirit was sent to Ciod 
 who gave it. Men of Canada, for God's sake I ask you 
 to " hurry! " "hurry! " Do not open more of the places of 
 ini(|uity, but "hurry" to blot them out, and drive them 
 from your land. Be brave ! Strike for a higher and better 
 civilization. From all the saloons there never flowed a 
 bl(\ssing, not one. Curses, and only curses, have come from 
 thf^m. How long will you thus continue to give them the 
 sanction of tiie law ? 
 
 I lis! 
 
 The Drunkard's Wife. 
 
 [Seriouslyy jvith great care.] 
 (Additional effect may be produced by a bell striking the hour.) 
 
 Dark is the night ! How dark ! No light ! No fire ! 
 Cold on the hearth, the last faint sparks expire ; 
 Shivering she watches by the cradle side. 
 For him who pledg'd her love — last year a bride ! 
 
 " Hark ! 'tis his footsteps ! No ! 'tis past, 'tis gone ;" 
 Tick, tick ! " How wearily the time crawls on ! 
 Why should he leave me thus % He once was kind, 
 And I believed 'twould last. How mad ! how blind I 
 
 " Rest thee, my babe — rest on — His hunger's cry ! 
 Sleep, for there is no food f the fount is dry ; 
 Famine and cold their wearying work have done, — 
 My heart must break ! — Heaven save " — The clock strikes 
 ONE ! 
 
 " Hush ! 'tis the dram-shop ! Yes, he's there, he's there I 
 For this ! for this ! he leaves me to despair ! 
 Leaves love, leaves truth — his wife ! his love ! for what % 
 The wanton's smile, the tavern and the sot ! 
 
Readings and Recitations. 
 
 101 
 
 " Yet I'll not curse liini — No, 'tis all in vain, 
 
 'Tis lony to wait, but sure he'll come agaiti ! 
 
 And I could starve and bless him, but for you, 
 
 Ml) child! his child! O, fiend" — The clock strikes two. 
 
 Hakk how the sign-board creaks ! the wind howls by ; 
 " Moan! nuxin! a dirge swells through the clouded sky ! 
 Ha ! 'tis his knock — he comes, he com<"!S once more ! — 
 '7VtS but the lattice jlaps ! my hojte in o'er. 
 
 " Can he desert us thus ? He knows I stay 
 Night after night in loneliness, to pray 
 For his return — ^and yet he sees no tear ! 
 No, NO, it cannot be ; he will be here. 
 
 " Nestle more closely, dear one, to my heart ! 
 Thou^rt cold- — thou\'t freezing ; but we will rtot part. 
 Husband ! I die ! Father — is it not he ? 
 God, protect my child !" — The clock strikes tiiueh. 
 
 i 
 
 
 ■ I 
 
 \i 
 
 A 'I 
 
 They're yone ! they're goTie ! the glimmering spa^'k hath Jled, 
 
 The wife and child are numbered with the dead ; 
 
 On the cold hearth, outstretched in solemn rest, 
 
 The babe lies frozen on its mother's breast ! 
 
 The drunkard came at last — but all was o'er — 
 
 Dread silence reigned around — the clock struck four. 
 
 Don't Run in Debt. 
 
 Don't run in debt, never n)ind, never mind 
 If your clothes are faded and torn : 
 
 Fix 'em up, make them do, it is better far 
 Than to have the heart weary and worn. 
 
 Who'll love you more for the cut of your hat. 
 Or your ruff, or the tie of your shoe, 
 
 The shape of your vest, or your boots or cravat, 
 If they know you're in debt for the new 1 
 
 |^^:f 
 
 
 * ■ --- -k' 
 
 •it' 
 
 X 
 
 .«• 
 
102 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 m 
 
 There's no coinfoi't, I tell you, in walking the street 
 In fine clothes if you know you'n; in debt, 
 
 And feel that some tradesman, perchance you may meet, 
 Will sneer, "They're not paid for just yet." 
 
 Good friend, let me beg of you, don't run in debt, 
 
 If the chairs and the sofas are old ; 
 They will fit your back better than any i.ew sot, 
 
 Unless they are paid for with gold. 
 
 If the house is too small, draw closer together. 
 
 Keep warm with a liearty good will ; 
 A big one unpaid for, in all kinds of weather. 
 
 Will send to your warm heart a chill. 
 
 Don't run in debt now, dear girls ; take the hint ; ' 
 If the fashions have changed since last season. 
 
 Old Nature is out in the very same tint. 
 
 And old Nature, we think, has some reason. 
 
 Just say to your friends that you cannot afford 
 To spend time to keep up with the fashions ; 
 
 That your purse is too light, and your honor too bright, 
 To be tarnished by such silly passions. 
 
 Gents, don't run in debt ; let your friends, if they can. 
 Have the horses, fine feathers, and flowers. 
 
 But, unless they are paid for, be more of a man 
 Than to envy the sunshiny hours. 
 
 If you've money to spare, I have nothing to say ; 
 
 Spend your pounds and your pence as you phrase ; 
 But mind you, the man who his note has to pay, 
 
 Is the man who is never at ease. 
 
 Kind husband, now don't run in debt any more ; 
 
 'Twill fill your wife's cup full of sorrow 
 To know that a neighbor will call at your door 
 
 With a bill you must settle to-morrow. 
 
 8^-'? 
 
>e 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 Oh, tako my advice, it is good, it is truo ; 
 
 Hut, lost you may some of you doul)t it, 
 I'll whisper a secret now, seeing 'tis you : 
 
 I've tried it, and know all alx)ut it. 
 
 •108 
 
 A Backwoods Sermon. 
 
 " My brethering and sisters: I air a ignorant man, follcrcd 
 the plow all my life, and never rubbed agin any college. 
 As I said afore, I'm ignorant, and thank God for it. Well, 
 I'm agin all high-larn't fellers what preaches grammar and 
 (Jreek for a thousand dollars a year. They've got so higli- 
 l.unt they contradicts Hcripter, what plainly tells us tliat 
 the sun rises and sets. They say it don't, but that th(5 
 earth keeps whirling about all the time. What ud come of 
 the water in the wells if it did 1 Would'nt it \\\ spill o'. ' 
 and leave 'em dry. And whp»''d we be? I may say to them, 
 as the sarpint said to Davia, 'Much larnin' hath made thee 
 mad.' When I pre hes, I never takes a tex till 1 git inter 
 the pulpit, then I preaches a plain sermon what even women 
 can understand. I never premedertates, but what is given 
 to me that I say. Now, I'm gwine ter hopen the Bible, and 
 the tirst verse I sees I'm gwine to take for a tex. (Suiting 
 the action to the word he opened the Bible, and commenced 
 reading and spelling together, ' Man is fearfully and wonder- 
 fully made,' — he pronounced it mad.) Wall, its a queer tex, 
 but I said I was gwine to preach from it, and I'm gwine to 
 do it. In the fust place, I'll divide my sarmint into three 
 heads. Fust and foremost 1 show you that a man will git 
 mad. Second, that sometimes he'll get fearfully mad. And 
 thirdly and lastly, when thar's lots of things to vex and 
 pester him, he'll git fearfully and wonderfully mad. And 
 in the application you see that good men sometimes gits 
 mad, for the Possle David hisself, who wrote the tex, got 
 mad and called all men liars, and cussed his enemies, wishen 
 'em to go down quick into hell. And Noah got tite and 
 cussed his nigger boy Ham, just like some drunken ;>.asters 
 now cusses his niggers. But Noah and David repented, 
 and all on us what gits mad must repent or the devil '11 
 git us. 
 
 
 ^mfft 
 
ii; 
 
 104 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 :|: t':' 
 
 Jotham and Betsey get Married. 
 
 The luinister was seated in his study, endeavoriiii; to 
 arrange the heads of to-morrow's discourse, when hi« atten- 
 tion was called by a loud knock at the front door. The 
 visitor proved to be a tall, gawky, shambling countryman, 
 evidently arrayed in his Sunday suit, and a stout girl 
 attired in a dress of red calico, wliich, from the fre(|uent 
 and complacent glances towards it by the fair owner, was 
 considered quite a magnificent aftair. 
 
 " Won't you walk in ?" asked the minister. 
 
 "Much obliged, squire, I don't know but we will. I say, 
 you're a minister, ain't you ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " I reckoned so. Betsey and me — that Betsey's a fust- 
 rate sort of gal, anyhow — 
 
 " Oh, Jotham," simpered the bashful Betsey. 
 
 " You •re now, and you needn't go for to deny it. Well, 
 Betsey and me have concluded to hitch teams, and we 
 wanted you to do it." 
 
 "You wish to be married 1" 
 
 " Yes, I believe that's what they call it. I say, though, 
 before we begin, what is going to be the damages, as I 
 reckon it isn't best to go it blind?" 
 
 " Oh, I never set any price ; I take what they give me." 
 
 " Well, that's all right ; go ahead, minister, if you please; 
 we are in a hurry, as Joe's got to tinish a-plantin' the 
 tater patch afore night, and Betsey, she's got to fetch the 
 butter." 
 
 The minister commenced the ceremony, which occupied 
 but a few minutes. 
 
 " Kiss me, Betsey," said tiie delighted l)ridegrooni. "You 
 are my old woman now ; ain't it nice 1" 
 
 " First-rate," was the sjitisfactory reply. 
 
 " Hold on a jerk," said Jotham, as lie left his brid<^ 
 abruptly and darted out of the gate to where the waggon 
 stood. 
 
 " What's your husband gone out for 1" asked the minister, 
 somewhat surprised. 
 
 " I expect it's for the sassages," she said. 
 
 l!:s 
 
v.t^, 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 105 
 
 Just then Jotham made his appearance dangling in his 
 hand a pailful of sausages, which he handed to the minister, 
 with the grin of the conferring a favor. 
 
 " We ain't got much money, and so we thought we'd 
 pay you in sassages. Mam made them, and I reckon 
 they're good. If they ain't, you just send them back and 
 we will send you some more." 
 
 
 n 
 
 Double His Wages. 
 
 A FEW years ago a large drug firm in New York adver- 
 tised for a boy. Next day the store was thronged with 
 applicants, among them a queer-looking little fellow, accom- 
 panied by a woman who proved to be his aunt, in lieu of 
 faithless parents by whom he had been abandoned. Look- 
 ing at this little waif, the merchant in the store promptly 
 said — 
 
 " Can't take him ; places all full ; besides, he is too small." 
 
 "I know that he is small," said the woman, "but he is 
 willing and faithful." 
 
 There was a twinkle in the boy's eyes which made the 
 merchant think again. A partner in the firm volunteered 
 to remark that he did not see what they wanted with such 
 a boy — there was so little of him. But after consultation 
 the boy was set to work. 
 
 A few days later a call was made on the boys in the 
 store for some one to stay at night. The prompt response 
 of the little fellow contrasted well with the reluctance of 
 others. In the middle of the night the merchant looked in 
 to see if all was right in the store, and presently discovered 
 his youthful protege busy scissoring labels. 
 
 "What are you doing?" said he, "I did not tell you to 
 work at night." 
 
 " I know you did not tell me to, but I thought I might 
 as well be doing something." 
 
 In the morning the cashier got orders to " double that 
 boy's wages, for he is wiitjng." 
 
1 
 
 i;r" 
 
 1% ■ ■ 
 
 p'' 
 
 p 
 
 i 
 
 n 
 '"■. 
 
 
 106 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 Only a few weeks elapsed before a show of wild beasts 
 passed through the streets, and very naturally, all hands 
 ruslied to witness the spectacle. A thief saw his oppor- 
 tunity, and entered at the rear door to seize something, but 
 in a twinkling found himself firmly clutched by the diminu- 
 tive clerk aforesaid, and after a struggle was captured. 
 Not only was a robbery prevented, but valuable articles 
 taken from other stores were recovered. When asked by 
 the merchant why ho stayed behind to watch when others 
 quit their work, the reply was : 
 
 " You told me never to leave the store when others were 
 absent, and I thought I'd stay." 
 
 Orders were immediately given once more : " Double that 
 boy's wages ; he is willing and faithful." 
 
 To-day that boy is getting a salary of $2,500, and next 
 January he will become a member of the firm. 
 
 ¥ ii 
 
 
 I Wish I had Known it Before. 
 
 A BEAUTIFUL woman lay on a bed of sickness in an 
 elegant residence on one of the finest and most fashionable 
 of Boston's broad avenues. She was surrounded by every 
 luxury, and attended by kind friends anxious to anticipate 
 every wish, and to relieve the monotony of her weary, pain- 
 ful days in every possible manner. One afternoon she 
 opened her eyes and said, in a low weak voice : 
 
 " Read to me, please. Oh, dear, how I wish there was 
 something new in matter and manner in the literary world ! 
 I am so tired of everything ! " 
 
 Her sister went to the next room for a book of poems, 
 and while she was gone the professional nurse, who sat 
 beside her bed, took from the pocket of her plain drab 
 wrapper a small Bible, opened it, and began to read in a 
 subdued voice : 
 
 " And seeing the multitude, he went up into the moun- 
 tain ; and when he was set his disciples came unto him, and 
 he opened his mouth and taught them, saying." 
 
Readings and Recitations. 
 
 107 
 
 beasts 
 hands 
 oppor- 
 12, but 
 liminu- 
 ptured. 
 articles 
 ked by 
 1 others 
 
 ;rs were 
 
 ble that 
 
 ,nd next 
 
 ss in an 
 shionable 
 by every 
 anticipate 
 iry, pain- 
 noon she 
 
 here was 
 ry world ! 
 
 )f poems, 
 who sat 
 ^ain drab 
 Iread in a 
 
 Ihe moun- 
 him, and 
 
 The sick woman listened attentively until the nurse 
 paused with the words, " And the people were astonished 
 at his doctrine, for he taught them as one having autliority, 
 and not as the scribes." 
 
 "That is beautiful," she said; "that will create a sensa- 
 tion 1 Who wrote it] Where did you get if?" 
 
 " Why," said the nurse, in astonishment, looking with 
 surprise at her patient, and thinking at first she was wander- 
 ing in her mind ; " it's the Bible ! Christ's Sermon on the 
 Mount, you know." 
 
 " That in the Bible ! Anything so beautiful and so good 
 as that in the Bible ?" 
 
 " What did you suppose was in the Bible, if not some- 
 thing good V asked the nurse, seriously, yet smiling, in spite 
 of herself, at her patient's tone of surprise and incredulity. 
 
 " Oh, I don't know, I never thought much about it. I 
 never opened a Bible in my life. It was a matter of pride 
 with my father to never have a Bible in the house. How 
 did this one come here 1 Oh ! it is yours — your pocket- 
 Bible. It is strange you should have surprised me into 
 listening to a chapter, and that I should have been so 
 charmed, and not know to what I was listening." 
 
 "You have certainly heard the Bible read in church?" 
 asked the nurse in surprise. 
 
 " Not I ; I have never been to chiirch. We have always 
 made Sunday a holiday. Papa got into that way in Paris. 
 We have been to all popular places of amusement, of course, 
 but never to church. I have never thought about the 
 Bible. I did not suppose it had literary merit. I had no 
 idea it was written in the simple, beautiful style of the 
 portion you have just read. I wish I had known it 
 before." « 
 
 A few hours later her disease took a fatal turn. The 
 physician came and told her that her time on earth was 
 very short. She would never see another sunrise. 
 
 " It cannot be possible," she said ; " I never supposed it 
 possible for death to 3ome to me. What was the prayer 
 you read, nurse? 'Our Father who art in heaven.' Say 
 it with me, husband," and he did so. 
 
 " I wish I had known it before," she said, over and over. 
 
 
 
 
■i' (■ 
 
 108 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 until she fell into a sleep from which she never awoke, and 
 that wail of regret was the last word upon her dying lips. 
 
 The nurse said it was the saddest experience of her career, 
 to see that beautiful, gifted young woman, with kind friends, 
 a loving husband and a beautiful home, who had all her life 
 taken pride in ignoring the Bible and the Christian Sabbath, 
 turn, when death came, from everything she had prized to 
 the little despised book, and die with the cry upon her lips 
 " I wish I had known it before." 
 
 V 
 
 To a Skeleton. 
 
 [This is one of the finest things in all waif poetry. It was found 
 
 {)inned to a skeleton in one of the museums in London, and first pub- 
 ished in the Mornimj Chronicle of that city, when a reward of 
 fifty guineas was offered for discovery of the author. Who is 
 the author has never been known or suspected. ] 
 
 Behold this ruin, 'twas a skull 
 
 Once of ethereal spirit full : 
 
 This narrow cell was life's retreat. 
 
 This space was thought's mysterious seat. 
 
 What beauteous visions filled this spot, 
 
 What dreams of pleasure long forgot ! 
 
 Nor love, nor joy, nor hope, nor fear 
 
 Have left one trace or record here. 
 
 Beneath this mouldering canopy 
 
 Once shone the bright and busy eye. 
 
 But start not at the dismal void ! 
 
 If social love that eye employed. 
 
 If with no lawless fire it gleamed, • 
 
 But through the dews of kindness beamed, 
 
 That eye shall be forever bright. 
 
 When stars and suns are sunk in night. 
 
 Within this hollow cavern hung 
 
 The ready, swift and tuneful tongue. 
 
 If falsehood's honey it disdained. 
 
 And where it could not praise, was chained, 
 
!, and 
 ips. 
 aieer, 
 lends, 
 er life 
 bbath, 
 zed to 
 31' lips 
 
 as found 
 
 irst pub- 
 
 !ward of 
 
 Who is 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 If bold in virtue's cause it spoke, 
 Yet gentle concord never broke. 
 That silent tongue shall plead for thee 
 When time unveils eternity. 
 
 tSay, did these lingers delve the mine, 
 Or witli its envied rubies shine 1 
 To hew the rock or wear the gem 
 Can little now avail to them ; 
 But if the page of truth they sought. 
 Or comfort to the mourner brought. 
 These hands a richer meed shall claim 
 Than all that waits on wealth or fame. 
 
 Avails it whether bare or shod 
 These feet the path of duty trod 1 
 If from the bowers of ease they fled 
 To seek affection's humble shed ; 
 If grandeur's guilty bribe they spurned, 
 And home to virtue's cot returned. 
 These feet with angels' wings shall vie 
 And tread the palace of the sky. 
 
 109 
 
 t ■ 
 
 ^, 
 
 led. 
 
 A Picnic with Death. 
 
 A STORY OP THE GREEK ISLANDS. 
 
 There are not many places in Europe, or, indeed, in the 
 whole world, more beautiful than the little islands which 
 stud the sea between Greece and Asia Minor. From Scio 
 and Lesbos down to rocky little Tenedos, they all seem just 
 made on purpose for a holiday jaunt ; and so, doubtless, 
 thought the party of merry picnickers who came skimming 
 over the smooth bright sea one fine May morning on their 
 way from the isle of Syra to a small^ low-lying islet a few 
 miles beyond it. 
 
 "Well, I call that quite a lovely place," cried one of the 
 girls, as the green slopes and broad white sands of the 
 smaller islands, dotted here and there with dark clumps of 
 
 ,!ii 
 
 ■■».Ji! 
 
 ''..-.Vj.i 
 
il' 
 
 i - 
 
 Wijp 
 
 
 W) 
 
 
 m<i 
 
 
 railj 
 
 
 m 
 
 
 W'l ' 
 
 
 P: 
 
 
 1, 
 
 
 no 
 
 Readings and Recitations 
 
 
 trees, came full into view. " I wonder the folks here 
 should give it such a bad name." 
 
 "There's a story they tell about it," said her brother, 
 " how some old chief lived here once who made his son clear 
 out because he'd done something awful mean ; and one night 
 the son came back with a lot of pirates, and killed his 
 father, and burned up the whole place, and ever since then 
 nobody will live on it at any price." 
 
 '* They do seem shy of it, that's a fact," added another. 
 " I had quite a job to make our old Greek fellow yonder " 
 (pointing to the sallow, wiry, gray-haired fisherman in the 
 bows) " bring us over here at all ; and when he saw the lunch 
 baskets put in, he muttered something which they told me 
 meant, 'He who feasts there shall have Death for his guest.'" 
 
 Beyond all doubt old Stephanos, the fisherman, was any- 
 thing but pleased with his job, even though it was the best 
 day's work that he had done that year. His brown, wizened 
 face seemed to grow gloomier as the islet drew nearer ; and 
 when the boat at length ran right up on to the smooth sand, 
 nothing could persuade him to go any farther upon the "evil 
 ground." He curled himself snugly up in the bottom of the 
 boat, and prepared to sleep until the party came back. 
 
 But the joyous holiday-makers troubled themselves little 
 about Stephanos or his fears, dismissing both with a hearty 
 laugh. The lunch-baskets were soon landed, and their first 
 idea was to have their meal on the shore, and then explore 
 the island. But finding no convenient spot along the beach, 
 they decided (little dreaming how important that decision 
 would be to them all) to ascend the ridge above, and carry 
 their lunch along with them. 
 
 A snug place was soon found under the lee of a huge rock, 
 which completely sheltered them from the sun ; and there, 
 with the cool sea-breeze playing around them, and the little 
 island outspread below them in the midst of the clear, bright 
 waters, they enjoyed themselves to the utmost. 
 
 But the fresh breeze died away little by little, and a hot, 
 close, lifeless heaviness settled down upon the lonely sea. 
 
 " Isn'v it terribly hot "J " cried a girl disconsolately. "I 
 thought it was going to be 
 as Broadway in August." 
 
 quite nice, and now it's as bad 
 
Readings and Recitations. 
 
 Ill 
 
 " it'll be cool enough before long, I guess," said tlie leader 
 of the party, who had scrambled up on to the rock overhead. 
 " There's a big cloud coming along over yonder, and a rain- 
 cloud at that." 
 
 Every one rose to look, and a burst of admiring exclama- 
 tions broke forth : " How grand ! " " Doesn't it come on 
 quickly 1 " " It doesn't seem to spread at all, though." " Is 
 it a cloud, after all V " Why, what else can it be 1 " 
 
 The careless question was suddenly and terribly answered. 
 As the picknickers looked down, with a feeling of wonder 
 which was just beginning to be mingled with a vague 
 uneasiness, upon the long dark gray band that was sweep- 
 ing over the smooth sea, they saw it reach a lonely rock 
 that stood gauntly up out of the blue sun-lit waters several 
 miles to the north-west. 
 
 As they passed it in their boat that morning, they had 
 looked up and seen that rock towering full lifty feet over- 
 head ; but now, as the advancing shadow reached it, it van- 
 ished at once beneath a mountain of foaming water that 
 leaped up into the air more than a hundred feet. 
 
 "It's a wave!" screamed the leader, springing back. 
 "Run! run!" 
 
 The warning was hardly needed. Almost before he could 
 utter it the whole party were running helter-skelter toward 
 the top of the ridge. 
 
 But quickly as they fled, they were just in time. Hardly 
 had the last one been dragged up by the rest on to the steep 
 tower-shaped rock that crowned the slope, when there came 
 a shock and a crash as if the very earth were torn asunder. 
 In a moment the whole island had disappeared, and all 
 around them up to the very foot of the rock was one roaring 
 whirlpool of boiling foam and lashing spi ly. 
 
 The wave itself went by them like the rush of a water- 
 fall, but such a mighty mass of water could not sweep over 
 the sea without shaking it far and wide. Following upon 
 the great wave came a long train of lesser billows, roaring 
 and foaming and lashing on every side, and more than two 
 hours passed before they could venture to descend from 
 their place of refuge. 
 
 When they did come down at last, they found themselves 
 
r 
 
 112 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 1^ I 
 
 in the midst of a scene of desolation which no words can 
 describe. By one stroke the beautiful little fairy islet had 
 been changed into a hideous desert. Trees were torn up by 
 the roots, or twisted round like straws. Stones and gravel 
 lay heaped in uneven ridges, between which lay deep pools 
 of salt water. Huge boulders, hurled from their places, 
 stood gauntly up amid the dismal waste of bare, wet sand 
 that overspread all the once green and sunny uplands, and 
 the sea was rolling fathom-deep over the spot where their 
 boat had lain high upon the beach only a few hours before. 
 
 To look for any place of encampment amid such a chaos 
 was simply hopeless. Shivering with cold and terror, the 
 forlorn party crept back to their sheltering rock. There, 
 with the waters surging about them like a dull funeral wail, 
 they cowered all through the long dreary night. 
 
 The next morning our castaways were luckily seen by a 
 passing steamer, which sent a boat to take them off. Noth- 
 ing more was ever heard of their own boat, or of poor old 
 Stephanos, whose superstitious fears had brought down 
 destruction upon him by the very means which he took to 
 avoid it ; and although the excursionists remained some 
 time in Greek waters, their first island picnic was also their 
 last. 
 
 The House-Top Saint. 
 
 " Yes, yes, sonny, I's mighty fo'handed, and no ways like 
 poo' white folks, nor yet like any of dese onsanctified col'd 
 folks dat grab deir liberty like a dog grabs a bone — no 
 thanks to nobody ! " 
 
 Thus the sable, queenly Sibyl Mclvor ended the long, 
 story of her prosperity since she had become her own mis- 
 tress, to a young teacher, as she was arranging his snowy 
 linen in his trunk. 
 
 " I'm truly glad to hear of all this comfort and plenty, 
 Sibyl ; but I hope your treasures are not all laid up on 
 earth. I hope you are a Christian?" said the young stranger. 
 
 Sibyl put up her great hands, and straightened and ele- 
 vated the horns of her grey turban : and then, planting them 
 
Readings and Recitations. 
 
 nn 
 
 on her capacious hips, she looked the beardless youth in the 
 eye, and exclaimed with a sarcastic smile, " You hope I'm a 
 Christian, do you 1 Why, sonny, I was a Christian afore 
 your mammy was born, I reckons ! But for dese lust 
 twenty-five years, J's been one o' de kind dat makes Satan 
 shake in his hoofs — I is one of de house-top saints, sonny ! " 
 
 " House-top saints ? What kind of saints are those 1 " 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha ! " laughed Sibyl ; " I thought like's not you 
 never even heerd tell on 'em up your way. Dey's mighty 
 scarce anywhere ; but de Lor's got one on 'em, at any rate, 
 in dis place and on dis plantation ! " replied Sibyl, triumph- 
 antly. 
 
 " And that is you ? " 
 
 "Yes, sonny, dat is me/" 
 
 " Then tell me what you mean by being a house-top saint." 
 
 "Well, I means dat I's been t'rough all de stories o' my 
 Father's house on 'arth, from de cellar up ; and now I's 
 fairly on de roof- yes, on de very ridge-pole ; and dere I 
 sits and sings and shouts and sees heaven — like you never 
 see it t'rough de clouds down yere." 
 
 *' How did you get there, auntie 1 " 
 
 " How does you get from de cellar to de parlor, and from 
 de parlor to de chamber, and from de chamber to de roof 1 
 Why, the builder has put sta'rs thar, and you sees 'em and 
 puts your feet on 'em and mounts, ha ! " 
 
 " But there are the same stairs in our Father's house for 
 all his children, as for you ; and yet you say house-top saints 
 are very scarce." 
 
 "Sartin, sonny. Sta'rs don't get people up, 'less dey 
 mounts 'em. If dere was a million o' sta'rs leadin' up to 
 glory, it wouldn't help dem dat sits down at de bottom and 
 howls and mourns 'bout how helpless dey is ! Br udder 
 Adam, dere, dat's a blackin' of your boots, he's de husban' 
 of my bussum, and yet he's nothin' but only a poor, down- 
 cellar 'sciple, sittin' in de dark, and whinin' and lamentin' 
 'cause he ain't up sta'rs ! I says to him, says I, ' Brudder ' 
 — I's alius called him ' Brudder ' since he was born into the 
 kingdom — ' why don't you come up into the light ? ' 
 
 " ' Oh ! ' says he, ' Sibby, I's too on worthy ; I doesn't de- 
 sarve de light dat Cod has made for de holy ones.' 
 
 
Pi- 
 If 
 
 114 
 
 Rkadings and Recitations. 
 
 m 
 
 " ' Plioo,' says I, 'Biuclder Adam! Don't you 'member,' 
 says I, ' when our niassa done married de gov'ness, arter old 
 missus' death 1 Miss Alice, she was as poor as an unfeath- 
 ered chicken ; but did she go down cellar and sit 'mong de 
 po'k barr'ls and de tiash 'cause she was poor and wasn't 
 worthy to live up stars'? Not slie ! She took her place to 
 de head o' de table, and w'ar all de lacery and jewelry 
 massa gib her, and hold up her head high, like she was 
 sayin', " I's no more poor gov'ness, teaching Col'n Mclvor's 
 chil'n ; but I's de Col'n's loved wife, and I stan's for de 
 mother of his chil'n," as she had a right to say. And de 
 Col'n love her all de more for her not bein' a fool and settin' 
 down cellar 'mong de po'k barr'ls ! ' 
 
 " Dere, sonny, dat's de way I talk to Brudder Adam ! 
 But so far it haint fotched him up ! De poor deluded cretur' 
 thinks he's humble, when he's only low-minded and grovelin' 
 like ! It's unworthy of a blood-bought soul for to stick to 
 de cold, dark cellar, when he mought live in de light and 
 warmf, up on de house-top ! " 
 
 " That's very true, Sibyl ; but few of us reach the house- 
 top," said the young man, thoughtfully. 
 
 " Mo' fools you, den ! " cried Sibyl. " De house-top is 
 dere, and de sta'rs is dere, and de grand glorious Master is 
 dere, up 'bove all, callin' to you day and night, ' Frien', 
 come up higher ! ' He reaches down His shinin' han' and 
 offers for to di'aw you up ; but you shakes your head and 
 pulls back and says, ' No, no, Lord ; I isn't nothing.' Is 
 dat de way to treat Him who has bought light and life for 
 you ? Oh ! shame on you, sonny, and on all de down-cellar 
 and parlor and chamber Christians ! " 
 
 "What are parlor Christians, auntie V asked the young 
 man. 
 
 " Parlor Christians, honey ? Why, dem is de ones dat 
 gets barely out o' de cellar and goes straightway and 
 forgets what kind o' creturs dey was down dere ! Dey grow 
 proud and dresses up fine like de worl's folks, and dances, 
 and sings worldly trash o' songs, and has just 'ligion enough 
 to make a show wid. Our old missus, shfe used to train 
 'mong her col'd folks wuss den old King Fario did 'mong de 
 'Gyptians. But, bless you, de minute de parson or any 
 
Readings and Recitations. 
 
 115 
 
 other good brudder come along, how she did tune up her 
 harp ! She was mighty 'ligious in de parlor, but she left 
 her 'ligion dere when she went out. 
 
 " I do think missus got to heaven, wid all her infarmities. 
 But she didn't get very high up till de Bridegroom come 
 and called for her ! Den she said to me, one dead-o'-night, 
 'Oh! Sibby,' says she — she held tight on to my hand' — 
 ' Oh ! Sibby, if you could only go along o' me, and I could 
 keep hold o' your garments, I'd have hope o' getting through 
 de shinin' gate ! your face shines like silver, Sibby!' says 
 she. 'Dear soul,' says I, 'dis light you see isn't mine! It 
 all comes 'fleeted on to poor black Sibyl from de cross ; and 
 dere is heaps more of it to shine on you and every other 
 poor sinner dat will come near enough to cotch de rays ! ' 
 
 "'Oh!' says she, 'Sibby, when I heard you shoutin' 
 Glory to God, and talkin' o' Him on de house-top, I thought 
 it was all sup'stition and ignorance. But now, oh ! Sibby, 
 I'd like to touch de hem o' your garment, if I could on'y 
 ketch a glimpse o' Christ.' 
 
 " 'Do you b'lieve dat you's a sinner, missus 1' says I. 
 
 " 'Yes, de chief o' sinners,' says she, with a groan. 
 
 " 'Do you b'lieve dat Christ died for sinners, and is able 
 to carry out His plan V says I. 
 
 " 'Yes,' says she. 
 
 "'Well, den,' says I, 'if you's sinner 'nough, and Christ 
 is Savior 'nough, what's to hender your bein' saved 1 Just 
 you quit lookin' at yourself, and look to Him.' 
 
 " Den she kotch sight o' de cross, and she forgot herself ; 
 and her face light up like an angel's ; and she was a new 
 missus from dat hour till she went up. She died a-singin', 
 
 " * In my han' no price I bring, 
 Simply to dy cross I cling.' 
 
 " But she mought a sung all de way along, if she hadn't 
 forgot the hoomiliation o' de cellar, and 'bused de privileges 
 o' (le parlor. Parlors is fine things ; but dey ain't made 
 for folks to spen' deir whole time in." 
 
 "What's a chamber saint, auntie 1" asked the young 
 man. 
 
 " Chamber saints is dem dat's 'scaped de dark and de 
 
116 
 
 ReadiKus and Rkcitations. 
 
 scare of de cellar, and do lioney-traps o' de parloi', and got 
 t'rough many worries, and so feels a-tired, and is glad o' 
 rest. Dey says, 'Well, we's got 'long mighty well, and can 
 now see de way clar up to glory.' And sometimes dey for- 
 gets dat dey's on'y half way up, and thinks dey's come off 
 con(jueror a'ready. So dey's very apt to lie down wid deir 
 hands folded, thinkin' that Satan isn't nowhar, now ! But 
 he is close by 'em, and he smooves deir soft pillows, and 
 sings 'em to sleep and to slumber ; and de work o' de king- 
 dom don't get no help from deni — not for one while ! De 
 chamber is a sort o' half-way house made for rest and for 
 comfort ; but some turns it into a roostin'-place ! You 
 know Brudder Bunyan, sonny ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " What, never heerd tell o' John Bunyan?" 
 
 "Oh! yes." 
 
 " I thought you couldn't all be so ignorant 'bout 'ligion 
 up in Boston as dat ! Well, you know he wrote 'bout a 
 brudder dat got asleep and los' his roll, and dat's what's de 
 matter wid heaps o' Christians in de world. Dey falls 
 asleep and loses deir hope." 
 
 "And do you keep in this joyful and wakeful frame all 
 the time, auntie ! " asked the young learner. 
 
 " 1 does, honey, By de help of de Lord, and a contin'al 
 watch, I keep de head ob de old sarpint mashed under my 
 heel, pretty gineral. Why, sometimes, when he raises up 
 and thrusts his fangs out, I has such power gi'n me to 
 stamp on him dat I can hear his bones crack — mostly ! I 
 tell you, honey, he don't like me, and he's most gi'n me up 
 for los'." 
 
 " Now, Sibyl, you are speaking in figures. Tell me 
 plainly how you get the victory over Satan 1" 
 
 " Heaps o' ways," she replied. " Sometimes I gets up 
 in de mornin', and sees work enough for two women ahead 
 o' me. Maybe my head done ache and my narves is done 
 rampant ; and I hears a voice sayin' in my ears, ' Come 
 or go what likes, Sibby, dat ar work is got to be done ! 
 You's sick and tired a'ready ! Your lot's a mighty hard one, 
 sister Sibby' — Satan often has de imperdence to call me 
 'sister' — 'and if Adam was only a pearter man, and if 
 
ReADTNUS ANT) RkCITATIONS. 
 
 117 
 
 Tom wasn't larno, and if Judy and Cle'patry wasn't dead, 
 you coijld live mighty easy. JJut just you look at dat ar 
 pile o' shirts to iron, 'sides eookin' for Adam and Tom, and 
 keepin' your house like a Christian oughter!' Dat's how 
 he 'sails me when I's weak ! Den J faces straight about 
 and looks at him, and says, in de words o' Scripter, ' ( 'lar 
 out and git ahind my hack, Satan ! Dat ar pile o' shirts 
 ain't high enough to hide Him dat is my strength !' And 
 sometimes I whisks de shirts up and roll 'em into a hundle. 
 and I heaves 'em back into the clothes-baskt, and says to 
 'em, ' You lay dar till to-morrow, will you ? I hain't no 
 slave to work, nor to Satan ! for I can 'ford to wait, and 
 sing a hime to chor up my sperits, if I like.' And den 
 Satan drops his tail and slinks off, most general ; and I 
 goes 'bout my work singin' : 
 
 ** ' My Master bruise de sarpint's head, » 
 
 And bind him wid a chain ; 
 Come brudders, halolujah shout, 
 Wid all yer might and main ! 
 'Halolujah!'" 
 
 " Does Satan always assail you through your work 1 " 
 asked the young stranger. 
 
 " No, bless you, honey ; sometimes he 'tacks me through 
 my stummick ; and dat's de way he 'tacks rich and grand 
 folks, most gineral. If I eat too hearty o' fat bacon and 
 corn-cake in times gone, I used to get low in 'ligion, and 
 my hope failed, and I den was such a fool I thought my 
 Christ had forgot to be gracious to me ! But I know better 
 now, and I keep my body under, like brudder Paul ; and 
 nothin' has power to separate me from Him I loves. I'd 
 had sorrows enough to break a dozen hearts dat has no 
 Jesus to share 'em wid, but every one on 'em has only 
 fetched me nearer to Him ! Soni'3 folks would like to 
 shirk all trouble on deir way to glory, and swim into de 
 shinin' harbor through a sea o' honey ! But, sonny, dere's 
 crosses to b'ar, and I hain't mean enough to want my 
 blessed Jesus to b'ar 'em all alone. It's my glory here dat 
 I can take hold o' one end o' de cross, and help Him up de 
 hill wid de load o' poor, bruised and wounded and sick 
 sinners He's got on His hands and His heart to get up to 
 
mtm 
 
 
 I?/ 
 
 ■:| 
 
 118 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 glory ! But, la ! honey ! how de time has flew ; I must go 
 home and get Brudder Adam's dinner ; for it's onQ of my 
 articles o' faith never to keep him waitin' beyond twelve 
 o'clock when he's hungry and tired, for dat alius gi's Satan 
 fresh 'vantage over him. Come up to my place some day, 
 and we'll have more talk about de way to glory." 
 
 Readings from the Bible. 
 
 There are no grander passages in all literature than are 
 to be found in the Bible. Look up the following as just a 
 few samples : — 
 
 Exod. XV. 1-19; Deut. xxxii. 1-19; 2 8am. i. 17-27; 
 Psalms i., xxii., cxxv. ; Isaiah Ix. ; Dan. vi. ; Hab. iii. ; 
 Matt. vii. 7-29; Luke xv. 11-32; Acts xxvi. ; Rom. viii. 
 31-39; 1 Cor. xiii. ; 2 Peter iii. 3-18.; Rev. xxi. 1-12 
 and 21-27. 
 
 
 Some Noble Hymns. 
 
 Methodist Hyran-Book No. 8, 22, 97, 115, 132, 146, 225, 
 349, 370, 478, 500, 645, 834, and plenty more. 
 
 :ii! 
 
 Saved by a Baby's Curl. 
 
 " A baby's curl saved my soul from ruin," he said, as we 
 watched a little curly-headed child playing on the lawn one 
 day, and listened to its merry voice calling now and then, 
 "Papa, see!" 
 
 " That was years ago," he continued — " years ago, when I 
 was a young man. We began life — my sweet girl-wife and 
 I — under plain but prosperous circumstances, for I had 
 a good position, was strong and well, and promised to 
 become a rising man. For three years everything went 
 smoothly ; a little boy was given to us, and we were very 
 proud and happy ; he grew rapidly, and when I came home 
 at pight from my business he would rush to welcome me 
 
 
Readings and Recitations. 
 
 119 
 
 and nestle his little curly head on my shoulder. Oh, how 
 could I ever have brought grief on such a wife and child ! 
 
 I fell into evil company, and gradually my home lost its 
 attractions Night after night 1 left my young wife and child 
 alone and plunged into dissipation. 1 could not attend to 
 business and lost my place. Day after day I sank lower 
 and lower, constantly dc'epening the wretchedness which I 
 had brought on myself and family. One night my wife 
 bowed in anguish over the dead form of our child, broken- 
 hearted. We were very poor then. 1 had squandered th*? 
 little sum of raoney which we had laid by, and in her ex- 
 tremity an old friend came to her help and bore hei', weep- 
 ing bitter tears, away to a far-off country home away from 
 me, leaving me to my solitude. It was terrible, that utter 
 silence ; no sweet pleading voice urging me to reform, no 
 baby's lisping prattle, no gleaming curls — that sunny head 
 buried in the earth. Yet even this did not sober me ; but 
 now alone in our one little room, to which we had become 
 reduced, I drank more deeply, sinking lower and lower. 
 One day I awoke from a drunken sleep, thoroughly sober, 
 but hungry. I had not eaten food for a long time, and my 
 last penny had gone for liquor. I rushed from the house 
 and was soon mingling with the city's throng, my mind 
 intent on one object — thpft. Wicked as I was, I had never 
 stolen before. I saw a gentleman carelessly drop his purse 
 into his pocket as he passed within a crowded store, and, 
 following, in a moment more the purse was in my possession. 
 
 Hurrying home, with V)urning face and trembling limbs, 
 I reached the room which T had so recently left, another 
 sin upon my soul, and closing the door carefully, 1 listened 
 as if I expected some voice of detection to suddenly call. 
 
 How vividly that scene comes up before me now — the 
 untidy bed— there was no woman's hand to keep it neatly 
 made ; the table, half spread, strewn with different objects ; 
 the clock on the wall silent now, for no hand had wound it 
 at night, no weary eyes followed its dragging hours, and 
 watching for the absent husband's return. An old dress 
 lay over the cradle — I had thrown it there in a drunken 
 delirium some nights before, as I searched a trunk for some- 
 thing I could convert into money. That empty cradle con- 
 
 ■*M 
 
»' ) 
 
 120 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 ;; r , 
 
 
 fronted me now, as I fastened firmly the door in guilty 
 terror, and lifted the chair which I had kicked over with an 
 oath as I passed out in the morning. And so I sat down 
 and opened the purse. 
 
 There were rolls of bills. I liad not had so much for 
 mouths. I counted them out, laid them on the table, and 
 then, searching further, I discovered in an inner compart- 
 ment a white tissue paper folded carefully. Opening it, 
 something soft and clingy twisted itself around my fingers 
 — a golden ringlet gleaming in the light from the window. 
 A faintness came over me, and all my past rushed before 
 me as it does before a" drowning man. I seemed to feel my 
 baby once again in my arms, and bowing over that little 
 lock of hair, I wept like a child. Then the thought came — 
 Oh, if I could return it — this curl and the money ! Per- 
 haps that tiny, precious treasure was all the man had left 
 of some dear, dead child. Once more I looked through the 
 purse, noting every mark — yes, there was an address half 
 effaced. I studied it closer, made it out, and in a half-hour 
 I was ringing the bell of the door of the house to which the 
 address led me, and inquiring for the name of the man I had 
 wronged. He had just come in, and when I saw him I told 
 everything. He listened kindly, then took my hand and 
 said, " Let this little curl save you, and I will be your 
 friend from this moment, rejoicing that my sweet angel 
 child has out of heaven drawn a human soul to God." Or- 
 dering a lunch, he bade me " eat and rest." Oh, how merci- 
 fully — how tenderly ! Is it not thus that God receives us 1 
 Then we talked a long time together, and from that hour I 
 was saved ; my wife returned to me ; a better home became 
 ours ; that good man took me into his own business firm ; 
 he trusted me, and I never, thank God, deceived him or 
 betrayed his trust. To-day — oh, how humbly I say it ! — I 
 am a wealthy and prosperous man, trying to help humanity 
 and lead all erring ones to a better life. I love my children, 
 but there is a dear baby's grave which is a sacred thing to 
 me, for through that sweet child's curl of hair I was saved 
 from ruin. I keep the cradle of our first-born set apart 
 like an altar, and there do I pray often to Him whose 
 " mercy endureth forever." 
 
 
Readings and Recitations. 
 
 121 
 
 ;uilty 
 bh an 
 down 
 
 ill for 
 B, and 
 apart- 
 
 ng it, 
 
 angers 
 
 indow. 
 
 before 
 
 eel my 
 
 ,t little 
 
 3ame — - 
 
 ! Per- 
 
 lad left 
 
 ugh the 
 
 3SS half 
 
 alf-hour 
 
 [lich the 
 
 m I had 
 
 n I told 
 
 md and 
 
 be your 
 
 3t augel 
 ' Or- 
 ^v merci- 
 sives us 1 
 ,t hour I 
 became 
 ss firm ; 
 him or 
 ,y it !— I 
 lumanity 
 Ichildren, 
 thing to 
 as saved 
 iet apart 
 whose 
 
 9 
 
 The Rajah's Jest. 
 
 The slave who kept the rajah's gate, 
 By some odd freak or chance of fate, 
 In face and form was in accord 
 Almost exactly with his lord ; 
 The hue of eye and tone of speech 
 Were absolutely like in each. 
 The rajah loved a jest to play, 
 And took into his head one day 
 To fool his court, and so arranged 
 That he and slave their garbs exchanged. 
 The slave was decked with costly gem, 
 Silk robes and regal diadem ; 
 The rajah donned the slave's attire, 
 Ragged and rent and stained with mire. 
 In each man's case, from head to feet. 
 The transformation was complete. 
 The court assembled, wise and grave. 
 And haughty nobles homage gave 
 To the false rajah on the throne. 
 And the real rajah passed unknown. 
 It pleased the monarch mightily 
 Those rich and haughty men to see 
 Bowing before a slave ; and proud 
 Of his good jest he laughed aloud. 
 Then the false rajah's eyes flashed fire, 
 And, in a voice that shook with ire, 
 "Who is that noisy man 1" he said, 
 " This instant sever off his head ! " 
 Ere the poor rajah could protest 
 A slave obeyed the stern behest. 
 And the false rajah after ruled, 
 The court ne'er knew it had been fooled ; 
 He ne'er confessed, nor for an hour 
 Gave to another man his power. 
 He learned a lesson from his rise : 
 Dare, when you may, to seize your prize, 
 And, fearing slip, 'twixt cup and lip. 
 Once fastened, ne'er relax your grip. 
 
n 
 
 > 
 
 I 
 
 
 MMita 
 
 atmim 
 
 ^'if 
 
 122 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 A Sermon on Hay-making. 
 
 it" 'i- 
 
 I SHALL address you, my exalted children, from the uni- 
 versally well-known words : " Make hay while the sun 
 shines." 
 
 The words are taken from the book of nature, or rather 
 from the book of unwritten literature The words are part 
 of the earth, and part of the heavens. " Make hay " is 
 earthly, but " sun shines " is heavenly. 
 
 I will divide the text in the following manner ; 
 
 "Make" is a word of acti ity. 
 
 " Hay " is a word of nutrition. 
 
 " While " is a word of duration. 
 
 " Sun " is a word astronomical. 
 
 " Shines " is a word diffusive. 
 The subject is agiicultural, astronomical, nutritious, diffusive : 
 " Make hay while the sun shines." 
 
 There are few things in this mortal state that are ready 
 made. You have to do the making part yourself. We 
 have to make for one another. The baker makes our bread. 
 The tailor makes our clothes. The lawyer makes our wills. 
 Somebody has to make our bed, or else we make a fuss. 
 Yes, make your fortune, beloved, and make haste to do it. 
 Don't make any mistake, we tare an active race, living on 
 each other. The big fish swallow little fish, and bigger fish 
 the big fish. Large birds prey on little birds, and great 
 beasts on smaller beasts. But this word of activity is in 
 connection with the pleasant and boisterous rioting of hay- 
 making. Get half a dozen young men and young women 
 in a hay field, and let them begin to pelt eacli other with 
 hay, and the hay will soon be made. Turn five hundred 
 school children into a hay field, and the hay will be made 
 presently. 
 
 You see, beloved, that in making hay there is some profit ; 
 so when you can blend pleasure and profit, and do both when 
 you do either, you must admit that is a pleasing and profitable 
 undertaking. Let your endeavors be to make hay ; that is, 
 make money. There is no advantage in being poor. Old 
 Mrs. Trotter says : " To be sure, it is no sin to be poor, but 
 it is miglity unconvanient." Certainly our "treasures 
 
Readings and Recitations. 
 
 123 
 
 le uni- 
 te sun 
 
 rather 
 re part 
 lay " i» 
 
 liffusive : 
 
 ,re re'ady 
 jlf. We 
 ar bread, 
 mr wills, 
 e a fuss, 
 to do it. 
 iving on 
 gger fish 
 nd great 
 ity is in 
 of hay- 
 women 
 ;her with 
 hundred 
 be made 
 
 ought to be in heaven," but why not be well off in both 
 worlds ? A full cupboard, a full purse, ;ind a full stomach 
 will make a man feel more heavenly than the want of them. 
 
 The next stage in the text is " while," which is duration, 
 and it means that we are to make hay while we can, or 
 while the sun shines, as you cannot always make it. You 
 can afford to rest when the clouds are out, if you work 
 when the sun is out. Don't Solomon say, " There is a tide 
 in the affairs of man " — Shakespeare or Solomon, I am not 
 sure which ; but every man has a sunshiny day in his life 
 when he can make hay, and if he does not em))race the 
 opportunity, he makes a fool of himself. 
 
 Now I come to the sun, that " light of lights," the great 
 illumination of the skies. What should we do without 
 light, beloved 1 Ah ! my dears, we do not rely upon a rush- 
 light to illuminate us, or a stinking paraffin lamp, nor a 
 dirty piece of candle stuck in an old ginger-beer bottle : 
 but the sun, the sun, beloved, "while the sun shines." 
 
 God hangs up one golden lamp over a city, and it lights 
 up that city far better than the 39,000 lamp-posts — and no 
 gas rate to pay. The sun shines for every man, rich and 
 poor ; the big farmer and the little husbandman ; shines all 
 over the hay-field, and ever-/ man's hay.-field. Who can 
 keep it off ? 
 
 Yes, it shines — spreads — covers the fields — goes all over 
 it, and seems to say to us. Now then, my lads, up and at it ; 
 all at it. Now is your time ; now or never ; the sun is out, 
 make your hay ; the tide is up, float your boats ; the kettle 
 boils, make your tea, and now, beloved, we will make the 
 collection. Remember, now is the time for giving. "Make 
 hay" — I mean make the collection, then we will close the 
 service. 
 
 
 e profit ; 
 
 th when 
 
 rotitable 
 
 that is. 
 
 Old 
 
 Ipoor, but 
 
 Itreasures 
 
 ^or 
 
 '' Bill Simpson's Darter." 
 
 No MATTER how hard and ugly the truth is, it is more 
 pleasing than the aftectation of what is not real. Exposure 
 is certain to follow people who try to go through life behind 
 a mask of false pretences. We have little sympathy for 
 
 '^'1 
 ^^'l 
 
 
 
Ui 
 
 124 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 l''4 
 
 F 
 
 St 
 
 ■Jit 
 
 people like " Bill Simpson's Darter." A gentleman travel- 
 ling from Buffalo to New York City tells the story : 
 
 At Albany two ladies, dressed in the extreme of fashion, 
 entered the car. Their manners indicated great affectation 
 and consequent shallowness. 
 
 The only unoccupied seat in the car was directly behind a 
 quiet-looking lady, evidently from the country. Her dress 
 was of calico, her bonnet of plain straw, and her gloves 
 were of cotton. She could not, however, have looked 
 neater, and she had a good, honest face. 
 
 As the fasliionable ladies adjusted their draperies in the 
 unoccupied seat, one of them said to the other : 
 
 " Don't you think it too bad that there are such poor 
 accommodations on railway trains now 1 " 
 
 " How, in what way 1 " asked her companion. 
 
 " Why, here we are crowded up with all classes of people, 
 some of them so common. Look at that person in front 
 of us." 
 
 " Horrid, isn't she V 
 
 "Perfectly dreadful." 
 
 "Looks like a common laborer." 
 
 ^^ How annoying to have to come in contact with such 
 people % " 
 
 " Belongs to some ordinary family 
 exclude one's self from such persons wlien travelling even 
 short distances ! I suppose it's horrid in me to say it, but 
 I have all my life had such a repugnance to common labor- 
 ing people." 
 
 The lady in the calico dress must have heard a part of 
 this conversation, but her face was perfectly composed. 
 
 At that moment an elderly man, in tlie home-spun and 
 home-made garments of a farmer, came down the aisle. He 
 stopped before the ladies of fashion, closely scrutinized the 
 features of tlie one having " such a repugnance to common 
 peopl; '1 just as the train stopped at a station, cried out 
 
 loud gii to be heard by every person in the car, — 
 
 " ; (, !so» Kyar, haint you old Bill Simpson's darter? But 
 I knov.' you ai! 'hout askin'. How de do, anyhow? You 
 don't change a speck. Got the same nose you had when 
 
 If one could only 
 
Readings and HecitatioNs. 
 
 125 
 
 bravel- 
 
 tshion, 
 3tation 
 
 jhind a 
 
 r dress 
 
 gloves 
 
 looked 
 
 i in the 
 
 tch poor 
 
 E people, 
 in front 
 
 rith such 
 
 )uld only 
 ling even 
 Ly it, but 
 ion labor- 
 la part of 
 losed. 
 [spun and 
 lisle. He 
 Inized the 
 common 
 cried out 
 
 ker? But 
 
 )W 1 You 
 
 Ihad when 
 
 you wor a little gal o' twelve or tifteen years, trottin' bar'- 
 foot round my old farm in Podunk County. 
 
 " Yer mind how I youst to give yer two bits a day an' 
 your dinner for helpin' my young uns dig taters ! Ho ! 
 ho ! ho ! " 
 
 The young lady had dropped her beaded veil, and was 
 nervously biting at her fan, but tlie old farmer went on 
 heedlessly : 
 
 "They's ben mighty changes sence then. Your pap went 
 out to Coloraday and made a big fortin' thar, an' I hear 
 you live in great style. But Bill Simpson ain't the man ter 
 fergit old frens, and you tell him that you've saw old Jack 
 Billings, what youst to give him a meny a day's work when 
 he was so pore his fam'ly had ter wait till the hens laid 
 'fore they could hev any breakfast. You kin remember 
 that yerself, I reckon. 
 
 " An' there wa'nt nobody gladder nor me, when yer pap 
 did get so rich so suddint, for lie was a mighty hard-workin' 
 blacksmith, an' always pore 'cause of bad luck. 
 
 " My wife sez she lost an awful good washwoman when 
 yer ma moved, an' — I git off here. Good-by ! good-by ! " 
 
 The meekest, most subdued person on that train during 
 the rest of the trip was " Bill Simpson's darter." 
 
 An Echo Exercise. 
 
 Instrtidions. 
 
 [Select a neatly-dressed boy with a clear voice. Ascertain that 
 he has learned his part correctly : obtain perfect silence. On rising 
 let him gently tap the table, then proceed slowly. The conductor, 
 concealed from view, acts the part of Echo 1 
 
 Child. Echo, Echo, — do you hear? 
 Echo. Yes, dear child, I'm always near. 
 
 C. Can you teach me how to live 1 
 E. I the wisest counsels give. 
 
 C. I should like to grow up good. 
 
 E. Right, my child, and so you should, 
 
 '». LS 
 
mm 
 
 "— '°-™' 
 
 1^' 
 
 126 
 
 Readings and Hecitatiok^. 
 
 
 
 iSS'': 
 
 t': 
 
 C. May I enter heaven above 1 * 
 
 E. Yes, if you the Saviour love. 
 
 C. Heaven — for little ones like me 1 
 
 E. Heaven is throng'd with such as thee. 
 
 C. When should I for fitness pray 1 
 E. Now, my child, to-day, to-day. 
 
 C. In my path are dangers found % 
 E. There are many all around. 
 
 C. Where's the best defence for youth 1 
 E. In the sacred Word of Truth. . 
 
 G. Who should my companions be % 
 E. Choose the wise, from sinners flee. 
 
 C. Which is best, to save or spend % 
 E. Make the Savings Bank your friend. 
 
 C. Which at home is lov'd the best 1 
 E. That good child who loves the rest. 
 
 C. What should be my daily rule 1 
 E. Never be too late at school. 
 
 C. Is strong drink a dangerous snare ? 
 E. Yes, dear child, beware, beware. 
 
 C. Will a little injure me 1 
 
 E. None at all is best for thee. 
 
 C. Shall I join the temperance band 1 
 E. Do, my child, and firmly stand. 
 
 C. Is it wise to learn to smoke 1 
 E. Nay — avoid that costly yoke. 
 
 C. All vour counsel I have heard, 
 Give me now a parting word. 
 
 E. Seek for grace to make you wise, 
 Early seekers gain the prize. 
 
1 
 
 RkADINGS and ttE(!ITATIONS. 
 
 C. Echo, Echo, just and true 
 
 Are your ways, and counsels too ; 
 By God's help I'll choose the right, 
 Hold it fast with all my might. 
 
 127 
 
 Thanks, kind Echo, thanks 
 
 (rood night ! 
 
 The Interrupted Speech. 
 
 [Two or three young men may be placed in different parts of the 
 house among the audience, so as to appear as real interrupters. 
 They must be careful to break in upon the speaker at the proper 
 time, and speak out their words prompt and loud, especially making 
 the ejaculation "Oh ! " very forcible.] 
 
 Mr. Chairman, Ladies and Gentlemen : — Having been 
 invited by your society to speak to-night, it is with pleasure 
 that I appear before you. My subject will be "cider." I 
 have chosen " cider " because I consider it a most dangerous 
 beverage, and to be doing more harm (in some places, at 
 least) than even whisky or brandy. 
 
 \_Voice. — " Oh ! what a wliopper ! "] 
 
 The gentleman may cry " Oh ! " and doubt my word : but 
 I think I can prove what I have said to be true. Nearly 
 every drinker begins with a light drink — cider, lager, or 
 home-wine ; and many a man, now a drundard, acquired the 
 taste for strong drink, not at the saloon or low groggery, 
 but in his father's cellar at the cider barrel. Even a Christian 
 mother who would no more allow a whisky bottle on her 
 sideboard than she would a snake in her baby's cradle, will 
 yet keep cider in her cellar, or home-made wine in her cup- 
 board, and will allow her children to drink, and give to the 
 neighbor's children. 
 
 [Voice. — "What were apples made for, then?"] 
 
 To eat ! If they had been made to drink, I believe they 
 would have grown in liquid drops, and without cores. 
 
 [Voice. — "When you eat 'em, don't you swallow the 
 juice V] 
 
 Yes, my friend, but there is a vast difference between 
 apple juice and cider. 
 
w^ 
 
 mmutm 
 
 128 
 
 Keadings and ^EClTATrONS. 
 
 K ' 
 
 [ Voice. — " Prove it ! Prove it ! I defy you to prove it !"] 
 
 Well, my friend, I accept your challenge. When about 
 to eat an apple, you first look it over, do you not, to see 
 that it is clean ; you then wipe it or pare it, and if you find 
 a decayed spot or a woi'm-hole, you cut the piece out and 
 convince yourself that the worm is not in. Then you eat 
 your apple, and know that the juice is pure. But it is not 
 so with cider. No ; not much ? Why, it is the poor, 
 wormy apples that are sent to the cider-mill. L)o they wash 
 them ^ No ! Do they pare them 1 No ! Do they cut out 
 the rotten parts or hunt out the worms ? No ! no ! They 
 tumble them in altogether, apples and mud ; 
 
 [Voice.— ''Oh ]"] 
 
 Crickets and grasshoppers ; 
 
 [Voice.— "Oh \ stop!"] 
 
 Worms and bugs ; 
 
 [ Foice.—" Stop ! stop!"] 
 
 Caterpillars and spiders ; and grind them altogether, and 
 call it cider. 
 
 [ Voice. — " No soup for me, thank you."] 
 
 Does the gentleman see any difference between this stuff 
 and pure apple-juice ? 
 
 Voice. — " I've gone out ! "] 
 
 Another voice. — " He's now an outsider."] 
 
 And I hope, hereafter, he, and all of you, may live with- 
 out cider, for it is the mother of intemperance— -the seed of 
 appetite — a perversion of one of God's good gifts. The 
 match that rires the building ; a conductor that draws the 
 lightning ; a leak that sinks the ship ; a wolf in the garb of 
 a lamb ; a thief pretending to be a friend ; a traitor in the 
 uniform of a patriot ; a block over which many a Christian 
 has stumbled out of the Church and lost his religion. A 
 devil changed from an angel ; a serpent with the coo of a 
 dove ; a curse made out of a blessing. Then trust it not. 
 May our nation soon be free from the curse of strong drink 
 in every form. 
 
 [Voice. — "Amen."] 
 
Readings and Recitations. 
 
 129 
 
 '' A Little Child shall Lead Them." 
 
 When the Boston train came steaming into the depot, 
 the crowds rushed for seats. 
 
 As a band of recruits mounted the platform, they shouted 
 back to their friends who had accompanied them to the 
 train, the various slang phrases they could command, inter- 
 spersed with an oath now and then. As the train moved 
 off they pushed each other into the car, where many ladies 
 were seated, including a ^Vlrs. B. and her two boys. 
 
 Then the oaths came out thick and fast, each one evi- 
 dently trying to outdo the others in profanity. Mrs. B. 
 shuddered for herself and for her boys, for she could not 
 bear to have their young minds contaminated by such lan- 
 guage. 
 
 If the train had not been so crowded, she would have 
 looked for seats elsewhere, but under the circumstances she 
 was compelled to remain where she was. 
 
 Finally, after this coarse jesting had continued nearly an 
 hour, a little girl, who, with her mother sat in front of the 
 party, stepped out timidly from her seat, and going up to 
 the ringleader of the group, a young man whose counten- 
 ance indicated considerable intelligence, she presented him 
 with a small Bible. 
 
 She was a little delicate-looking creature, only seven or 
 eight years old, and as she laid the book in his hand she 
 raised her soft eyes appealingly to his, but without saying 
 a word went back to her seat. 
 
 The party could not have been more completely hushed if 
 an angel had silenced them. Not another oath was heard, 
 and scarcely a word was spoken by any of them during the 
 remainder of the journey. 
 
 The young man who had received the book seemed par- 
 ticularly impressed. He got out of the car at the next 
 station and purchased a paper of candy for his little friend, 
 which he presented to her. He then stooped down and 
 kissed her, and said that he should always keep the little 
 Bible for her sake. 
 
 The little girl's mother afterward told Mrs. B. that her 
 child had been so troubled by the wickedness of those young 
 
I* I 
 
 130 
 
 Headings and REciTAtioNf^. 
 
 men, that she could not rest until she had given her little 
 Bible, which she valued so highly .herself. 
 
 Every one wlio witnessed it seemed to be affected by the 
 little incident, which perhaps, by the blessing of God, may 
 have led to the conversion of at least one soul. 
 
 "A little child shall lead them." 
 
 The Choice of Trades. 
 
 [Eleven boys and girls arranged in a semi circular group, 
 the larger boys standing near the centre begins:] 
 
 Come, boys and girls, 
 'Let's each of us now 
 Choose the trade we will have 
 When we're women and men. 
 We are all temperance soldiers. 
 So let what will come. 
 Our trade shan't encourage 
 The traffic in rum. 
 Tom Bent, you're the oldest. 
 We'll begin where you stand, \at his right] 
 And I'll speak after Joseph, 
 Standing here at this hand [at his left]. 
 
 One of 
 
 B*. »S 
 
 Tom Bent. I'll be a farmer ; 
 But you shall never hear 
 That Thomas Bent's hops 
 Ever make ale or beer. 
 Or that Thomas Bent's apples 
 Make cider to drink — 
 For vinegar and cooking 
 He'll have plenty, I think. 
 And I'll raise such fine crops 
 To make men grow strong ; 
 I shall just sing and whistle 
 The summer day long. 
 
UEAfUNGS A?CD tlECITATIONS. 
 
 131 
 
 Second Boy. I'll be a lawyer ; 
 But I never will lend 
 My counsel to bad men, 
 A bad cause to defend. 
 And I'll work without fees 
 If I ever can aid 
 The cold-water army 
 To put down the drink trade. 
 
 Girl. I'll be a dressmaker 
 And milliner too : 
 My dresses and bonnets 
 Will be wonders to view. 
 And I'll do what I can 
 That they never shall hide 
 The sorrowful heart 
 Of a spirit-drinker's bride. 
 
 Boy or Girl. I'll be a school-teacher, 
 And shall do what I can 
 To make of each lad 
 A good temperance man. 
 And I'll teach all my girls 
 To regard with a frown 
 Both tobacco and rum, 
 And so put them down. 
 
 Girl or Boy. I'll be a missionary 
 When I've grown good and wise, 
 And teach the dark pagans 
 The way to the skies. 
 I shall tell them the path 
 That by drunkards is trod, 
 Leads far, far away 
 From our Father and God. 
 
 Boy. I'll be a sailor. 
 Then captain some day, 
 And sail o'er the ocean 
 To lands far away. 
 
 tl 
 
 ^1 
 
If j -. ^iL^^i^:^:imf>&'^m^^ 
 
 *M*?S?.fe*^,f<«&rt.5ft;^.3y-,,.r»iiV«v*«>Mw^ 
 
 IK \ 
 
 
 V : •• 
 
 
 4 
 
 
 
 
 
 5 'i 
 
 132 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 But old Alcohol never 
 Shall step on my deck. 
 For where'i r he is harbored 
 There's sure to be wreck. 
 
 Hoi/. I'll be a doctor ; 
 And when folks are ill, 
 I'll be ready to cure them 
 With powder or pill ; 
 But I ne'er will prescribe 
 Whisky, brandy, or gin, 
 To awaken old tastes. 
 Or the new to begin. 
 
 Girl. I'll be a housekeeper, 
 To boil, bake, and stew. 
 And take care of my house 
 As our mothers do. 
 I'll look after my household. 
 And ever despise 
 Putting wine on the table. 
 And brandy in pies. 
 
 Boy. I'll be a merchant, 
 And keep a big store. 
 With large piles of goods 
 And clerks by the score. 
 And I'll pay better wages 
 Than other men do, 
 If they'll all be teetotalers. 
 Tried men and true. 
 
 Joseph [at tiie left hand]. I mean to fill 
 An editor's station. 
 For his words reach men's ears 
 All over the nation. 
 I'll get good for myself. 
 And do good to others. 
 And try to help all 
 As though they were brothers. 
 No matter what fashionable wine-bibbers say, 
 I'll teach total abstinence, the only safe way. 
 
Readings and Recitations. 
 
 133 
 
 First Boy again. A member of Parliament 
 I'm intending to be, 
 Perhaps me Prime Minister 
 You one day will, see ; 
 And if I help make laws 
 For this mighty nation, 
 Neither sailors nor soldiers 
 Will get drink with their ration ; . 
 And I'll do what I can 
 To lay by on the shelves 
 All the members who drink 
 And make fools of themselves. 
 
 All in concert. 
 True and earnest boys and girls, 
 Who will work with a will. 
 Can take a long step 
 Towards removing this ill. 
 
 Conference of the Senses. 
 
 Chairman begins : 
 
 Ladies and Gentlemen, — 
 
 There are five persons present who've sotnethin;'; to say. 
 And 'twill not become me to stand in tiieir way ; 
 So I'll call upon Messrs. John Eyesight and Nose 
 The first declaration at once to propose. 
 
 Bye. 
 
 "I see," said the Eye, "that in cot, hall, and shop, 
 The victims of drink who once took but a drop, 
 And thought they should always but act on the plan 
 Of drinking no more than becometh a man ; 
 But as they are deceived, and have wandered aside, 
 I'd advise all. to walk on the abstinence side." 
 
 
 m 
 
-"-"^'""^'"""'""T* 
 
 ■i*i''mih»in%^mimiXiimk^MKii'.^j^mMe,t 
 
 0i 
 
 134 
 
 'r' ' 
 
 
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 > .' . 
 
 m 
 
 
 w 
 
 
 w 
 
 ^ 
 
 :mmj> 
 
 
 '•'■ /v 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 Nose. 
 
 "I smell," said the Nose, "that the foe is in store, 
 
 JVheii I muse as I pass by the liquor-shop door ; 
 
 But when I get scent, I instinctively say, 
 
 Thk hoary-head monster, I'll keep him at bay ; 
 
 For where tfiere is drink, there is danger we know, 
 
 But Meetotal ' is safe for the high and the low." 
 
 Ear. 
 
 " I hear," said the Ear, " that wherever I go, 
 Strong drinks are producing sin, sorrow, and woe. 
 As I lie in my bed, the slaves of the bowl 
 Like poor idiots rave, swear, quarrel, and howl ; 
 So I say to each present, as through life you all jog. 
 Keep out op the reach op the Brewer's mad dog." 
 
 Hand. 
 
 " I feel," said the Hand, " strong drink is a snare 
 
 Which hurries men on to the verge of despair ; 
 
 It beggars their homes, spreadeth sorrow and blight. 
 
 And daily retards every cause that is right \ 
 
 Then while God spareth life, with the sober firm stand. 
 
 And oppose the poul fiend with heart, will, and hand.' 
 
 Tongue. ■ 
 
 "I taste," said the Tongue, "the drink's bitter fruit, 
 And urge young and old to strike at the root ; 
 That root's moderation — a foe in disguise, 
 Which slowly, but surely, blinds many men's eyes ; 
 For the young of both sexes are wise, I am sure, 
 Who through life determine such a foe to abjure." 
 
 The Chairman. 
 
 Ladies and Gentlemen, 
 You've heard what the senses have sensibly said, 
 So I trust many of you to-night will be led 
 To abandon the cup, and begin to reform ; 
 Come and sign our pledge, then in sunshine and storm 
 Hold fast to our plan, nor under any pretence, 
 Touch a drop of the stuff, for it's a foe to each sense," 
 
)W, 
 
 id, 
 
 HAND. 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 What is War ? 
 
 135 
 
 What, speaking in quite unofficial language, is the purport 
 of war 1 To my own knowledge, for example, there dwell 
 and toil, in the British village of Drumdrudge, usually some 
 five hundred souls. From these, by certain " natural ene- 
 mies " of the French, there are successively selected, during 
 the French war, say thirty able-bodied men. Drumdrudge, 
 at her own expense, has suckled and nursed them ; she has, 
 not without difficulty and sorrow, fed them up to manhood, 
 and even trained them to crafts, so that one can weave, 
 another build, another hammer. Nevertheless, amid much 
 weeping and swearing, they are selected, all dressed in red, 
 and shipped away, at public charges, some two thousand 
 miles, or say only to the south of Spain, and fed there till 
 wanted Am i now to that same spot, in the south of Spain, 
 are thirty ,rimilar French artisans, from a French Drum- 
 drudge, in like manner wending; till at length, after infinite 
 effort, the two parties come into actual juxtaposition ; and 
 thirty stand fronting thirty, each with a gun in his hand. 
 Straightway the word " Fire " is given, and they blow the 
 souls out of one another ; and in place of sixty brisk, useful 
 craftsmen, the world has sixty dead carcases, which it must 
 buiy, and anew shed tears for. Had these men any quarrel 1 
 Busy as the d'^ il is, not the smallest ! They lived far 
 enough apart; were the entirest '^'trangers ; nay, in so wide 
 a universe there was -ven; unconsciously, by commerce, some 
 mutual helpfulness j)etv,'een them. How then? Simpleton ! 
 their governors \\Hd tVillen out; and, instead of shooting 
 one another, had the <• luning to make these poor blockheads 
 shoot. 
 
 m 
 
 nxi 
 
 1 SENSE. 
 
 A Shepherd Boy's Prayer. 
 
 A LITTLE lad was keeping his sheep one Sunday morn- 
 ing. The bells were ringing for servic»^ at church, and 
 the people were i "\g over the fields, when tlie little fellow 
 began to think t'ui'^ he, too, would like to pray to God. 
 But what could h' say'} for he had never learned any 
 praye*'. So he knelt down, and commenced the alphabet—^ 
 
 
1 
 
 
 l' 
 
 If 
 
 
 
 
 136 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 A,B,C,D, and so on to Z. A gentleman happening to pass 
 the other side of the hedge, heard the lad's voice, and looking 
 through the bushes, saw the little fellow kneeling, with 
 folded hands and closed eyes, saying A,B,C. 
 
 " What are you doing, my little man?" 
 
 The lad looked up. 
 
 " Please, sir, I was praying." 
 
 " But what were you saying your letters for?" 
 
 " Why, I didn't know any prayer, only I felt that I 
 wanted God to take care of me and help me take care of the 
 sheep ; so I thought if I said all I knew, He would put it 
 together and spell all I wanted." 
 
 "Bless your heart, my little mar He ^nll. He will, He 
 will ; when the heart speaks rij^ht, th .5 jan't say wrong." 
 
 The prayer that goes to heaven comeo era the heart. 
 
 i« ' 
 
 
 
 The Poor Fisherman's Lamp. 
 
 Many years ago, a poor fisherman who carried on his pro- 
 fession on a bold and rocky coast, sailed out to sea one day 
 to cast his lines into the deep. Towards evening, when he 
 was about to return, the wind suddenly sprung up and 
 became stronger and stronger until it rose to a violent storm. 
 The small worn-out boat of the fisherman was a poor vessel 
 to bear such a gale, and it was tossed on the high rough 
 waves like a ball of feathers — now lifted upon their foaming 
 crest, and now sinking down in the deep hollow, with watery 
 wall on either side. The coast toward which he was steer- 
 ing was very dangerous. High precipices overhung the 
 deep, and reefs ran out from the shore. — Some sharp rocks 
 rose above the water, but others far more to be feared, lay 
 hid beneath. Well did the poor man know that if on that 
 dark and dreadful night his little boat did but touch one of 
 these rocks, it would break to pieces like an egg-shell, and 
 he would be los^i in the surging waves. What the fisherman 
 felt as the night grew black around him, and hid everything 
 but the foaming billows from his view, you may imagine ; 
 for now he could no longer see any marks to steer by, and 
 soon he knew not on what part of the coast he was. Every 
 
Readings and Recitations. 
 
 137 
 
 5 pass 
 
 (oking 
 
 with 
 
 that I 
 
 3 of the 
 
 put it 
 
 dU, He 
 
 wrong." 
 ',art. 
 
 y 
 
 his pro- 
 one day 
 when he 
 up and 
 it storm, 
 or vessel 
 ;h rough 
 foaming 
 h watery 
 as steer- 
 Lung the 
 rp rocks 
 |ared, lay 
 on that 
 !h one of 
 ihell, and 
 lisherman 
 rerything 
 [imagine ; 
 1- by, and 
 Every 
 
 moment he expected to strike upon some fatal rock wliich 
 would hurst the frail planks of his boat, and prove to him 
 the stroke of death. It was a dreadful hour ; but lo, while 
 almost suffering the bitterness of death, a glancing ray of 
 light beamed faintly upon him from the shore, and showed 
 him the direction of the coast. 
 
 It came from a little lamp, which burned and shone from 
 the window of an humble hut. Revived and rejoiced by the 
 ray of hope, he now put forth the utmost effort of his re- 
 maining strength, and calling upon God for help, lie rowed, 
 with weak oars, his little bark through the wild breaker., 
 directly towards the light. Nearer and still nearer he 
 approached the shore — his mind tossed, like the sea around 
 him, with the dread of death and the hope of life, till at 
 last, to his great joy, he sprang safely upon the land. Over- 
 come with this exertion he sank to the ground. At length 
 he found strength enough to rise and kneel, and thank the 
 merciful hand of God for delivering him from so great a 
 danger. But he did more than this, he determined to build 
 a hut on that very spot, with a window towards the sea, and 
 every night to put in that window a bright lamp, to direct 
 storm-tossed or ship-wrecked mariners to a place of safety. 
 Poor though he was, he was able to fulfil his vow. He 
 would rather be without bread to eat, than that that lamp 
 should want oil to feed the flame. The hut stands to this 
 day, and its nightly bright light has already saved many, 
 and shown them the way across the stormy wave. 
 
 Now, to such a light the cause of missions may be fitly 
 compared ; and the poor fisherman resembles those men of 
 God who seek to place the light of life where the benighted 
 and perishing may see it and be saved. They can tell from 
 their own experience what it is to be tossed on the dark 
 and dangerous ocean of this sinful world, in storm and 
 night, without compass or landmark, and without a ray of 
 light to steer by — in the fear of death and hell. But they 
 have found deliverance : it was brought to them by the 
 bright light of the gospel. This has shown them the wfiy 
 of life. And how can they who have thus escaped the 
 dread of danger, and found the joy of salvation, do otherwise 
 than, like the poor fisherman, place their lamp in the win- 
 10 
 

 138 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 dow, that it may shine into the darkness of the heathen 
 world, that thousands of others, yet in sorrow and sin, may 
 see the light that leads to salvation and eternal glory. 
 Should they not rather want bread than that the missionary 
 lamp should want oil. Have you such a lamp in your 
 window ? I mean, have you that merciful compassion, that 
 willingness to make sacrifices to save the heathen from 
 spiritual and eternal death, which the poor fisherman felt 
 for the deliverance of the storm-tossed mariners ? 
 
 Missionary Beans. 
 
 A MOST ingenious method of aidiag the mission fund, was 
 adopted some time ago by a humble villager in Norfolk. He 
 felt that he ought to do something won :han he had hitherto 
 done, for the spread of the Gospel in heathen lands ; but 
 his means were limited, and he scarcely knew what plan to 
 adopt to accomplish the desired object. At length, the 
 thought struck him that he might take half a pint of beans, 
 which cost only about a halfpenny, to the approaching 
 missionary meeting, and challenge some one to plant them 
 and give the proceeds to the Society. He did so, and, 
 befoi" ':he meeting commenced, placed the beans on the 
 platform, without any other person knowing about it. He 
 attached a note to them, addressed to the chairman, request- 
 
 ing that some friend 
 
 or friends would take them and grow 
 
 them for three years, and give the proceeds to the mission 
 cause. The chairman that year happened to be a farmer : 
 he read the note, and asked the question, who would grow 
 the beans. The villager himself rose, and offered to take 
 half of them if the chairman would take the other half, 
 which he at once agreed to do. At subsequent missionary 
 meetings the produce of the pint of beans was reported as 
 follows : The first year, eleven pints ; the second year, 
 nine bushels ; and third year, two hundred and seventy-six 
 bushels : which, when sold, realized for the mission fund 
 the sum of £81 14s. 9d., which was handed to the treasurer; 
 
Readings and Recitations. 
 
 139 
 
 eathen 
 n, may 
 glory, 
 sioiiary 
 ill your 
 311, that 
 jn from 
 lan felt 
 
 uud, was 
 "folk. He 
 1 hitherto 
 .nds ; but 
 t plan to 
 iigth, the 
 of beans, 
 iroaching 
 ^ant them 
 so, and, 
 s on the 
 It it. He 
 , request- 
 and grow 
 te mission 
 farmer ; 
 >uld grow 
 to take 
 ;her half, 
 missionary 
 ported as 
 ,nd year, 
 !venty-six 
 lion fund 
 reasurer. 
 
 The Four Clerks. 
 
 In one of the inland towns were, a few years since, four 
 boys, apprentices in as many different stores. By a similarity 
 of disposition, education and a^^e, tliey became very intimate, 
 and in a revival that occurred in that village, all became 
 Christians. 
 
 They at once identitied themselves as such before the 
 world, and went out to labor in the vineyard of their Master. 
 In Sabbath and mission schools, they were faithful, zealous, 
 earnest workers ; their voices were heard in prayer and 
 praise in the weekly church meetings ; the outcast, the 
 sorrowing, the despondent were cheered with words of hope 
 and courage ; their respective pastors looked to them, even 
 in their youthfulness, for active co-operation in every word 
 and work, and did not look in vain. 
 
 Although entirely dependent on their own industry for 
 support, and, in some instances, aiding dependent brothers 
 and sisters, with the meagre salary of clerks under age, y at 
 from a sense of duty, they made a mutual pledge to ea^a 
 other to give one-tenth of their income to the Lord. 
 
 Nobly has that pledge been fultilled, and God has testitied 
 in their experience, that He will honor those who honor 
 Him. Without money or influential friends, each has 
 attained an enviable position in business circles and in 
 society. 
 
 One is a highly-esteemed merchant in one of our cities, 
 whose heart is ever devising liberal things, responding to 
 every call made in behalf of the poor and needy. As he 
 once remarked, " I can't help giving, there is so much pleas- 
 ure in it." 
 
 Another is an active, energetic business man,' but even 
 more active in the Church and Sabbath-school, disburs- 
 ing freely of his own substance, and the trusted almoner 
 of others' bounty. 
 
 The third is the cashier of a bank, of whom a well-known 
 Western missionary writes thus : " Noble soul that he is ! 
 Your town has sent out none more noble. I think that 
 for Christ, daily, his example tells as much as any that I 
 know/' 
 
140 
 
 Readings and Rfcitations. 
 
 ill 
 
 II 
 
 'f.M 
 
 'V* ". 
 
 ^;>;i 
 
 ^>!.:| 
 
 ■r: : 
 
 The fourth is a partner in a banking-house of one of the 
 most responsible firms in the country. Upon few men do 
 such heavy business responsibilities rest. Honored, trusted, 
 loved by his partners, and held in respect and confidence, 
 he has attained a position that few could reach after years 
 of most laborious effort. In the Church and Sabbath-school 
 he is ever at his post, shrinking from no duty, though it 
 lead through tire and llame, conscientious to the last degree, 
 and ever "'^ diligent in business, serving the Lord." 
 
 The enviable position these once poor and penniless boys 
 now sustain, shows the truth of the eternal Word : " There 
 is that scattereth and yet increaseth," and proves that 
 godliness is profitable even in this life. Their benefactions 
 are not limited by their pledge, but in many cases, perhaps 
 in each, exceed that amount. 
 
 Great power for the Church and for Christ lies in the 
 hand of business, Christian men, and it is a beautiful sight 
 to witness an extended business carried on in the fear of 
 the Lord, making Him — with reverence we speak it — a 
 partner, and a partaker of the profits. We know of firms 
 that open on their ledger a regular account to the credit of 
 benevolence, and as conscientiously pay this debt as any 
 other. Such men are an honor to the Church and world. 
 " Go and do thou likewise." 
 
 li 
 
 Jamie Johnston. 
 
 In a certain parish in the county of Forfar, there lived, 
 a few years ago, a particular individual of the name of 
 Jamie Johnston. Jamie was a poor beggar, who had no 
 home of his own, but lived continually on the parish. As 
 report went, he had at some reuiote period of his life, from 
 some cause unknown, lost the use of his legs, and was, in 
 consequence, dependent for sustenance on the charity of 
 the people of the district. Gifted with the knack of mak- 
 ing himself agreeable wherever he went, Jamie had became 
 a great and universal favorite among the farmers' wives, 
 who always took care that he should be provided for in a 
 
Rkadinos and Recitations. 
 
 141 
 
 3f the 
 en do 
 •usted, 
 clence, 
 [• years 
 -school 
 ►ugh it 
 degree, 
 
 !ss boys 
 " There 
 es that 
 factions 
 perhaps 
 
 s in the 
 Eul sight 
 e fear of 
 ^k it — a 
 of tirms 
 credit of 
 as any 
 1 world. 
 
 sre lived, 
 name of 
 
 had no 
 ish. As 
 life, from 
 d was, in 
 larity ot 
 
 of niak- 
 
 |d became 
 
 rs' wives, 
 
 for in a 
 
 comfortable way. Indeed they strove with eacli other who 
 should treat him best, for they were well aware that Jamie 
 had most praise for her who put most butter on his bread 
 and most sugar in his teacup. He was welcome to stay at 
 any farm as long as he pleased ; and when he wished to 
 remove to another place he was invariably transported 
 thither either in a cart, or, if the distance was short, on 
 the broad shoulders of one or two stout ploughmen. Never 
 was a king or beggar half so happy and blitlie-hearted as 
 Jamie Johnston. He had plenty to eat and nothing to do 
 all the year round, and he was truly thankful. One day 
 two strong ploughmen, llab and Jock, took upon them- 
 selves the burden and responsibility of conveying Jamie 
 from their own farm to another about a quarter of a mile 
 distant. Hoisted on Rab's back, Jamie was as proud as an 
 emperor, and he forthwith began to crow and chuckle, and 
 crack his jokes with the greatest good-will in the world. 
 The ploughmen, being in haste, determined to take what 
 is called a " near cut " through a certain park where a 
 number of cattle were grazing. They were about half way 
 through this park, when the three were " struck all of a 
 heap " by seeing a large, black, ferocious-looking bull com- 
 ing up to them, lashing the air with his long tail, pawing 
 and tearing the ground with his feet, moaning and roaring 
 in a manner calculated to strike teri'or and dismav into 
 the stoutest heart. 
 
 "Oh, for guidness sake, Rab, run wi' a' yer might, and 
 save me frae that brute," cried Jamie. 
 
 Rab ran accordingly as fast as he could, Jock helping 
 him as best he might. Nothwithstanding all their efforts, 
 however, it was too evident the brute was fast gaining 
 ground, and would soon overtake them. They were still a 
 pretty long distance from the fence, and Rab was nigh fall- 
 ing to the ground exhausted with the weight of the unfor 
 tunate Jamie. 
 
 " Jock, my good freen'," said that individual, " could ye 
 no stop behind a bit, an' try an' keep the beast back 1 Bet- 
 ter ane should risk hirasel', than that the three o' us should 
 be killed. Rin, Rab, rin, and save me at ony rate." 
 
 Jock instead of acting as Jamie desired, ran away and 
 
 ■M 
 
 ■m 
 
 li 
 

 «M 
 
 w^ 
 
 142 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 m 
 
 m 
 
 I*. 
 
 '*-'^-.)'-; 
 
 •i^'S-i. 
 
 f. '■ 
 
 
 left his friends to their fate. The bull was within a few 
 yards of thoT when to the infinite astonishment of the 
 exhausted R, , the lame man on his back sprang off, and 
 making good use of the legs long supposed to be useless, 
 soon left the bull and his two friends far behind, leapt the 
 fence, and was out of sight in the twinkling of an eyelid. 
 The astonishment of Ilab and Jock it would be impossible 
 to describe. Forgetful of their pursuer, they stood rooted 
 to the earth, and stared, with dilated eyes and open mouths, 
 alternately at each other and the rapidly retreating figure 
 of Jamie Johnston. The infuriated beast was likewise 
 taken by surprise, and instead of following up its advantage, 
 stood still all at once, and "glowered," amazed and " dum- 
 founded like " at the scene before it. As soon as the 
 ploughmen were able to comprehend how matters stood, 
 they set up such a roar of laughter as started the echoes 
 of the hills. It is needless to relate that Jamie Johnston 
 from that day, was never again seen in the parish. 
 
 Three Truths, or Die. 
 
 A CRRTAIN king, named Asmodeus, established an ordin- 
 ance, by which every malefactor taken and brought before 
 the judge, should distinctly declare three truths against 
 which no exception could be taken, or else be capitally con- 
 demned. If, however, he did what was required of him, 
 his life and property should be safe. It chanced that a 
 certain soldier transgressed the law and fled. He hid him- 
 self in a forest, and there committed many atrocities, des- 
 poiling and slaying whomsoever he could lay his hands 
 upon. When the judge of the district ascertained his 
 haunt, he ordered the forest to be surrounded, and the 
 soldier to be seized and brought bound to the seat of judg- 
 ment. 
 
 "You know the law," said the judge. 
 
 " I do," returned the other, " if I declare three unques- 
 tionable truths I shall be free ; but if not I must die." 
 
 "True," replied the judge. "Take, then, advantage of 
 
Readings and RKriTATioNs. 
 
 14.1 
 
 \ few 
 f the 
 r, and 
 ieless, 
 Dt the 
 'yelid. 
 )ssible 
 rooted 
 ouths, 
 figure 
 kewise 
 mtage, 
 " dum- 
 as the 
 stood, 
 echoes 
 (hnston 
 
 the law's clemency, or undergo the punishment it awards 
 without delay." 
 
 " Caustj silence to be kept," said the soldier, undauntedly. 
 
 His wish being complied with, he proceeded in the fol- 
 lowing manner : 
 
 " The first truth is this — I protest before you all that 
 from my youth up I have been a bad man." 
 
 The judge, iiearing this, said to the bystanders, " He 
 says true." 
 
 They answered : "Else he had not been in his present 
 situation." 
 
 "Go on, then," said the judge; "what is the second 
 truth ?" 
 
 " I like not," exclaimed he, " the dangerous situation in 
 which I stand." 
 
 " Certainly," said the judge, " we may credit thee. Now 
 then, for the third truth, and tliou hast saved thy life." 
 
 " Why," he replied, " if I once get out of this place, T 
 will never willingly re-enter it." 
 
 "Amen!" said the judge. "Thy wit hath saved thee! 
 go in peace." 
 
 crdin- 
 before 
 I against 
 Uy con- 
 |o£ him, 
 that a 
 lid him- 
 |ies, des- 
 hands 
 led his 
 und the 
 )f judg- 
 
 unques- 
 
 litage of 
 
 Hope. 
 
 Eggs are eggs, but some are rotten ; and so hopes are 
 hopes, but many of them are delusions. Hopes are like 
 women, there is a touch of angel about them all, but there 
 are two sorts. 
 
 The sanguine man's hope pops up in a moment, like 
 Jack-in-the-box ; it works with a spring, and does not go 
 by reason. Whenever this man looks out of the window he 
 sees better times coming, although it is nearly all in his own 
 eye, and nowhere else. This is the kind of brother to be 
 on the road with, on a pitch-dark night, when it pours with 
 rain, for he carries candles in his eyes, and a fireside in his 
 heart. Beware of being misled by him, and then you may 
 safely keep his company. His fault is that he counts his 
 chickens before they are hatched, and sells his herrings 
 before they are in the net. He is sure to make his fortune 
 
144 
 
 Readings and Rkcitations. 
 
 i 
 
 
 at his new shop, for he had not opened the door five 
 minutes before two of the neighbors crowded in, one of them 
 wanted a loaf of bread on trust, and the other asked change 
 for a shilling. Well, good soul, though he is a little soft at 
 times, there is much in him to praise ; and I like to think of 
 one of his odd sayings, " Never say i/ie till you're dead, and 
 then it is no use, so let it alone." 
 
 My neighbor Shiftless is waiting for his aunt to die, but 
 the old lady has as m;iny lives as nine cats, and my notion 
 is, that when she does die, she will leave her little money to 
 the Hospital for Stray Dogs, sooner than her nephew Jack 
 shall have it. He that waits for dead folks' shoes may go 
 long barefoot. If Jack Shiftless had never had an aunt, he 
 might have tucked up his shirt sleeves and worked for him- 
 self, but they told him that he was born with a silver spoon 
 in his mouth, and that made a spoon of him, so that he is 
 no more use at work than a cow at catching hares. 
 
 I wish people would think less about windfalls and plant 
 more apple trees. 
 
 Some people were born on the first of April. Poor sillies, 
 they have wind on the brain, and dream while they are 
 awake. They may hold their mouths open a long v/hile 
 before fried ham and eggs will come flying into them, and 
 yet they really seem to believe that some stroke of luck 
 will some day set them up and make gentlemaai of them. 
 Once in a while, one man in a million may stumble against 
 a fortune, but thousands ruin themselves by idle expecta- 
 tions. 
 
 Expect to get half of what you earn, a quarter of what is 
 your due, and none of what you have lent, and you will be 
 near the mark. A man ought to hope within the bounds 
 of reason and the promises of the good old Book. Hope is 
 no hope, but sheer folly, when a man hopes for impossibili- 
 ties, or looks for crops without sowing seed and for happi- 
 ness without doing good. He who marries a slovenly, 
 dressy girl, and hopes to make her a good wife, might as 
 well buy a goose and expect it to turn out a milch cow. 
 
 He who takes his boys to the beer shop and trusts that 
 they will grow up sober, turns the wolf loose and expects it 
 to do no harm. 
 
Readings and Recitattons. 
 
 14.1 
 
 As to the next world, it is a fjroat pity that men do not 
 take a little more care wiien they talk of it. If a man dies 
 drunk somebody or other is sure to say, " I hope he is jjone 
 to heaven." It is all very well to wish it, but to hope it is 
 another thing. Men turn their faces to hell and hope to 
 get to heaven. Why don't they walk into tlK. horse-pond 
 and ' to keep dry^ 
 
 ' Th».ie is only one rock to build good hopes on — the blessed 
 Jesus. Build on no other, as you love your soul. , 
 
 The Christmas Song. 
 
 The song that rang amid the hills 
 
 O'er all the lands of earth distils, 
 
 And every golden Christmas morn 
 
 Repeats the tale of Jesus born. 
 
 While millions bless the Infant Stranger, 
 
 The lowly One of Bethlehem's manger. 
 
 Old belfry towers, with gladsome peal. 
 Ring forth the joy ; and we will kneel, 
 And bring our gifts of love and gold 
 To Him of prophet-bard foretold ; 
 The Babe of Bethlehem is our brother, 
 The Son of Mary, blessed mother. 
 
 The night was radiant with stars. 
 And hushed the din of hostile wars ; 
 The whole earth lay in tranquil calm, 
 When shepherds heard the blessed psalm ; 
 Not since creation's work was ended, 
 Had earth with heaven so sweetly blended. 
 
 Down all the star-lit paths on high 
 The angels gathered from the sky. 
 And never rang so sweet a chime 
 As on that gladdest night of time ; 
 And ever as the year grows older, 
 The song is sweeter, clearer, bolder. 
 
mm 
 
 \>l ' <rmmiff)ft 
 
 i;: 
 
 If: 
 
 146 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 As from the mountains, without hand, 
 The stone was cut, and through the land 
 Rolled on, increasing in its strength, 
 Until it filled the earth at length ; 
 So rolls the song from heights of azure. 
 To fill the world with love and treasure. 
 
 It eastward rolls, o'er mountain falls. 
 And softly drops on palace halls. 
 Where bloody sceptres long in scorn 
 Have mocked the rights of land forlorn ; 
 And kings allured have turned to listen. 
 While hope's bright star is seen to glisten. 
 
 And westward where the stately march 
 Of empires move toward freedom's arch, 
 The hills of Christendom ring on, — 
 And still shall ring, till Christ alone. 
 O'er kingdoms vast, and isles of ocean. 
 Shall claim the world's supreme devotion. 
 
 At each returning Christmas morn 
 • Of Jesus, child of promise born ; 
 Come nearer still, we pray, and dwell, 
 Our own adored Immanuel ; 
 Receive us while our sins confessing. 
 And give us each a Christian blessing. 
 
 Roll on, sweet song, the wide world round, 
 Till from the depths to heights profound 
 A gladder song at last shall rise. 
 And till with joy the listening skies : 
 " The earth is concjuered ! Swing the banners ! 
 Earth and heaven repeat hosannas !" 
 
 Hail, hail the world's glad Cl»ristmas time, 
 When peace shall ring its sweetest chime ; 
 The morn will break, and every knee 
 Shall meekly bow, and all shall see 
 The Babe of Bethlehem, sweet and tender. 
 With glory crowned, in regal splendor. 
 
 
Readings and Recitations. 
 
 A Cup of Tea. 
 
 147 
 
 Sitting in a station the otlier day, I had a little sermon 
 preached in a way I like ; and I'll report it for your benefit, 
 because it taught one of the lessons we all should learn, 
 and taught it in mch a natural, simple way that no one 
 could forget it. 
 
 It was a bleak, snowy day ; the train was late, the ladies' 
 room, dark and smokv ; and the dozen women, old and 
 young, who sat waiting impatiendy, all looked cross, low- 
 spirited, or stupici. I felt all three, and thought, as I looked 
 around, that my fellow-beings were a very unamiable, unin- 
 teresting set. 
 
 Just then a forlorn old woman, shaking with palsy, came 
 in with a basket of wares, and went about mutely offering 
 them to the sitters. Nobody bought anything ; .and the 
 poor old soul stood blinking at tlie door a minute, as if 
 reluctant to go into the bitter storm again. She turned 
 presently and poked about the room, as if trying to find 
 something ; and than a pale lady in black, who lay as if 
 asleep on a sofa, opened her eyes and saw the old woman, 
 and instantly asked in a kind voice, " Have you lost any- 
 thing, ma'am 1" 
 
 " No, dear, I'm looking for the lieatin' place to have a 
 warm 'fore I goes out ngain. My eyes is poor, and I don't 
 seem to find the furnace nowheres." 
 
 " Here it is." And the ladv led her to the steam radi- 
 ator, placed a chair, and showed her how to warm her feet. 
 
 "Well, now, ain't that nice!" said the old woman, 
 spreading her ragged mittens to dry. "Tlianky, dear ; this 
 is proper comfortable, ain't it? I'm almost frozen to-day, 
 being lame ; and not selling nmch makes me down-hearted." 
 
 The lady smiled, went to the counter, bought a cup of 
 tea and some sort of food, carried it herself to the old 
 woman, and said as respectfully and kindly, as if the poor 
 woman had been dressed in silk and fur : " Won't you have 
 a cup of tea ? It's very comforting a day like this." 
 
 " Sakes alive ! do they give tea at this depot ?" cried the 
 old lady, in a tone of innocent surprise that made a smile 
 go round the room, touching the glummest face like a 
 
 
 m 
 
,^Fk. 
 
 »faaa>fc«ssf«»te»i«i»iato«*^ 
 
 
 148 
 
 Readfngs and Recitations. 
 
 m ^^ 
 
 ■ ■ ■ iiii 
 
 streak of sunshine. " Well, now, this is just lovely," added 
 the old lady, sipping away with a relish. " This does warm 
 the cockles of my heart !" 
 
 While she refreshed herself, telling her story meanwhile, 
 the lady looked over the poor little wares in the basket, 
 bought soap and pins, shoe-strings and tape, and cheered 
 the old soul by paying well for them. 
 
 As I watched lier doing this, I thought what a sweet face 
 she had, though I had considered her plain before. I felt 
 dreadfully ashamed of myself, that I had grimly shaken my 
 head when the basket was offered me ; and as I saw the 
 look of interest, sympathy and kindness come into the 
 dismal faces around me, I did wish that I was the magician 
 to call it out. It was only a kind word and a friendly act, 
 but somehow it brightened that dingy room wonderfully. 
 It changed the faces of a dozen women, and I think it 
 touched a dozen hearts ; for I saw many eyes follow the 
 plain, pale lady with sudden respect. And when the old 
 woman got up to go, several persons beckoned to her and 
 bought something, as if they wanted to repair their first 
 negligence. 
 
 Old beggar women are not romantic ; neither are cups of 
 tea, boot-laces and colored soap. There were no gentlemen 
 present to be impressed with the lady's kind act, so it wasn't 
 done for effect ; and no possible reward could be received 
 for it except the ungrammatical thanks of a ragged old 
 woman. But that simple little charity was as good as a 
 sermon to those who saw it, juid I think each traveller went 
 on her way better for that half-hour in the dreary station. 
 I can testify that one of them did, and notliing but the 
 emptiness of her purse prevented her from "comforting the 
 cockles of the heart " of every forlorn old woman she met, 
 for a week after. 
 
 Woman. 
 
 With the holy name of woman I associate every soft, 
 tender, and delicate affection. I think of her as the young 
 and bashful virgin, with eyes sparkling, and cheeks crim- 
 
Readings and Recitations. 
 
 149 
 
 soiled witli each impassioned feeling of the heart ; as the 
 chaste and virtuous matron, tired with the follies of the 
 world, and preparing for tlie grave to which she must soon 
 descend. She is formed to adorn and humanize mankind, 
 to soothe his cares, and strew his path with flowers. In the 
 hour of distress, she is the rock on which he leans for sup- 
 port ; and when called away from earth, her tears bedew 
 his grave ! 
 
 soft, 
 young 
 crim- 
 
 A Strange, Strong Letter. 
 
 The following letter was written by a father to a son, of 
 dissipated habits : 
 
 "J/?/ Dear Son, — What would you think of yourself if 
 you should come to our bedside every night, and, wakening 
 us, tell us that you would not allow us to sleep any 
 more 1 That is just ivJuit you are doing ; and that is just 
 why I am up here a little after midnight writing to you. 
 Your mother is nearly worn out with turning from side to 
 side, and with sighing, because you won't let her sleep. 
 That mother, who nursed you in your infancy, toiled for 
 you in your childhood, and looked with pride and joy upon 
 you, as you were growing up to manhood, as she counted on 
 the comfort and support you would give her, in her declin- 
 ing years. 
 
 " We read of a most barbarous manner in which one of 
 the Oriental nations punishes some of its criminals. It is 
 by cutting the tiesli from the body in small pieces — slowly 
 cutting off the limbs, beginning with the fingers and toes,_ 
 one joint at a time, till the wretched victim dies. That is 
 just what you are doing, you are killing your mother by 
 inches. You have planted many of the white hairs that are 
 appearing so thickly in her head, before the time. Your 
 cruel hand is drawing the lines of sorrow on her dear face, 
 making her look prematurely old. You might as well stick 
 your knife into her body every time you come near her, for 
 your conduct is stabbing her to the heart. You might as 
 well bring her coffin and force her into it, for you are press- 
 ing her toward it with very rapid steps. 
 
Si-J 
 
 ' «■■ ■; \ 
 
 W'^ 
 
 , i'' 
 
 2} 
 
 ■ 'T-y. 
 
 1 
 
 ^ 
 
 i 
 
 
 150 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 " Would you tread on her body if prostrated on the 
 floor ? And yet with un^^ratef ul foot, you are treading on 
 her lieart and crushing out its life and joy — no, I needn't 
 say *joy,' for that is a word we have long ago ceased to use, 
 because you have taken it away from us. Of course, we 
 have to meet our friends with smiles, but they little know 
 of the bitterness within. You have taken all the roses out 
 of your sister's patliway and scattered thorns instead, and 
 from the pain they inflict, scalding tears are often seen 
 coursing down her cheeks. Thus you are blighting her life 
 as well as ours. 
 
 "And what can you promise yourself for the future^ 
 Look at the miserable, bloated, ragged wretches, whom you 
 meet every day on the streets, and see in them an exact 
 picture of what you are fast coming to, and will be, in 
 a few years. Then in the end a drunkard's grave and 
 a drunkard's doom 1 For the Bible says, ' No drunkard 
 shall inherit the kingdom of God.' Where, then, will you 
 be? If not in the kingdom of God you must be somewhere 
 else. 
 
 '• Will not tliese considerations induce you to quit at 
 once, and for all time % And may God help you, for He 
 can and He will, if you earnestly ask Him. 
 
 "Your affectionate, but sorrow-stricken father. 
 
 A Band of Hope Exercise. 
 
 For Tiro Yonth.s. 
 
 Who are gainers 1 — Wise abstainers. 
 Who are losers ?~Foolish boozers. 
 Who are I'isers ? — Drink despisers. 
 Who are sinkers'? — Spirit drinkers. 
 Who are lenders?— Prudent spenders. 
 Who are wasters ? — Strong drink tasters 
 Who are mad men ? — Drunken bad men 
 Who are givers ? — Temperate livers. 
 Who are sorrowers ? — Drinking borrowe 
 Who are trust ones ? — Sober just ones. 
 
Readings and Recitations. 
 
 151 
 
 Who are praters 1 — Gin partakers. 
 Who are brave men 1 — Those who save men. 
 Who are brawlers '?— Grog-sliop callers. 
 Who are grumblers 1— Sottish stumblers. 
 Who are thinkers 1 — Water drinkers. 
 Who are sufferers 1 — Pot-house shufflers. 
 Who are thrivers 1 — Temperance strivers. 
 Who are downcast 1 — Beer slaves — bound fast. 
 
 "O ARE FREE MEN 1 — StAUNCH TEETOTAL MEN. 
 
 ^\T 
 
 Watching One's Self. 
 
 When I was a boy, we had a schoolmaster who had an 
 odd way of catching idle boys. One day he called to us : 
 " Boys, I must have closer attention to your books. The 
 f.rst one that sees another idle, I want you to inform me, 
 !tnd I will attend to the case." 
 
 Ah ! thought I to myself, there is Joe Simmons, that I 
 don't like. I'll watch him, and if I see him look off' his book, 
 I'll tell. It was not long before I saw Joe look off his book, 
 and immediately I informed the master. 
 
 "Indeed !" said he, "How do you know he was idleT' 
 
 " I saw him," said I. 
 
 "You did? and were your eyes on your book when you 
 s'lw him '?" 
 
 I was caught, and I never watched for idle boys again. 
 
 If we are sufficiently watchful over our own conduct, we 
 shall have no time to ffnd fault with the conduct of others. 
 
 The Birth of Christ. 
 
 Sound over all waters, reach out from all lands, 
 The chorus of voices, the clasping of hands ; 
 Sing hymns that were sung by the stars of the morn. 
 Sing songs of the angels when Jesus was born. 
 
 With glad jubilations 
 
 Bring hope to the nations ! 
 
4' -i.. 
 
 m 
 
 •I 
 
 
 
 '; I 
 
 
 152 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 Tlie dark night is ending and dawn has begun ; 
 Rise, hope of the ages, arise like the sun, 
 
 All speech How to music, all hearts beat as one. 
 
 Sing the bridal of nations, with chorals of love, 
 Sing out the war vulture, and sing in the dove. 
 Till the hearts of the people keep time in accord, 
 And the voice of the world is the voice of the Lord ! 
 
 Clasp hands of the nations 
 
 In strong gratulations ; 
 The dark night is ending, the dawn has begun ; 
 Rise, hope of the ages, arise like the sun. 
 
 All speech flow to music, all hearts beat as one. 
 
 Blow, bugles of battle, the marches of peace. 
 East, west, north and south, let the long quarrel cease ; 
 Sing the song of great joy that the angels began, 
 Sing of glory to God and good-will to man. 
 
 Hark ! joining in chorus 
 
 Tiie heavens bend o'er us. 
 The dark night is ending and day is begun ; 
 Rise, hope of the ages, arise like the sun. 
 
 All speech flow to music, all hearts beat as one. 
 
 
 Easter Tide. 
 
 "The Lord is risen, indeed !" 
 Oh, verity most dear, most sweet. 
 That makes my faith and joy complete- 
 My soul's sufficing creed, 
 That all the past illumes. 
 Irradiates earth's glooms. 
 Sheds light on future tombs — 
 And kindles Adam's dust, and mine, 
 To immortality divine ! 
 
 "The Lord is risen, indeed !" 
 Then death is not an endless sleep ; 
 Grim warders shall not always keep 
 
 My flesh with ruthless greed. 
 
Readings and Recitations. 
 
 Since the dear Christ arose— 
 Conqueror of those last foes 
 Which my true life oppose. 
 Lie where I may, low winds shall wave 
 Sweet Easter-flowers above my grave. 
 
 "The Lord is risen, -'ideed I" 
 I hear His resurrection song, 
 This sacred morning, roll along 
 The paths of mortal need. 
 He could not rise aione ; 
 For me the hindering stone 
 And watch were overthrown. 
 Since He is risen I shall arise, 
 He lifts me to th' eternal skies. 
 
 " The Lord is risen, indeed !" 
 He lives that I may live through Him ; 
 And this 'mid doubts and dangers dim, 
 Is my sufficient creed. 
 Oh, happy Easter morn, 
 For all of woman l^orn 
 Wiio put not Christ to scorn. 
 But lay their weakness in His tomb. 
 To vanish with its mortal gloom. 
 
 153 
 
 'III 
 
 u 
 
 Precious Bible. 
 
 Tins precious book I had rather own 
 
 Than all the golden gems 
 That are in monarch's coffers shown, 
 
 Or on their diadems. 
 
 And were the seas one crystal light, 
 
 This earth a golden ball. 
 And gems were all the stars of night. 
 
 This book were worth them all. 
 
 "ril 
 
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 154- Readings and Recitations. 
 
 II-; . 
 
 lt\ 
 
 U 
 
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 'i 
 
 ' :t 
 
 Sam Jones on Card-Playing. 
 
 In my own town I preached a sermon and said tliat card- 
 playing was wrong, that it was a curse ; and I spoke of it 
 in unmeasured terms. And, bretliren, if a tiling is wrong 
 it is wrong, and I hit it, if it is a little wrong just as hard 
 as I do when it is is a big wrong. And the difference 
 between card-playing and gambling is just the difference 
 between a little rattlesnake and a big rattlesnake. You 
 would cut off the head of the big one, and only cut off the 
 tail of the little one ; but I am going to hit both snakes 
 alike ; I will hit both the little snake and the big snake fair 
 and square on the head. I will treat wrongs, little and big, 
 alike. Now, I said I condemned card-playing ; and the next 
 morning a deacon in the church, a clean man and as good a 
 friend as I have, gets his conscience stirred up. I always 
 have the conscience of men with me ; but it is mighty hard 
 to get their heads with me. Their conscience is always on 
 my side. Well, that brother got his conscience stirred up, 
 and the next morning he said to me, " Sam " — we were boys 
 together — "Sam, we all know that you were perfectly sincere 
 la?t night, but some of us disagree with you. In your denun- 
 ciation of card-playing last night you said some pretty strong 
 things. If you will convince me, however, that there is any 
 harm in card-playing, I will quit it." I answered : 
 
 " Bill, you are a deacon, and you are convinced of one 
 thing. You are of no account in your church. Ain't that 
 sol" 
 
 " Yes, I know I am of no account in the church." 
 
 " Well, Bill, that's just it. If you were of any account 
 in the world, I could waste time upon you, but God knows 
 I cannot afford to throw away any time on you." 
 
 And, brethren, you can put this class of men — those who 
 get to card playing and to theatre-going, and are members 
 of the church — in a bundle together and say to them, "You 
 are not worth the powder and lead it would take to kill you. 
 You know it. There is no use of my standing here to praise 
 you, and extolling you to the skies, when I know you 
 
 ain't worth anything." 
 
Readings and Recitations. 
 
 155 
 
 card- 
 
 of it 
 vrong 
 
 hard 
 jrence 
 jrence 
 You 
 iff the 
 snakes 
 ie fair 
 id big, 
 e next 
 good a 
 always 
 y hard 
 ays on 
 
 ed up, 
 ■e boys 
 
 incere 
 denun- 
 
 strong 
 
 is any 
 
 of one 
 't that 
 
 ,ccount 
 I knows 
 
 ise wlio 
 lenibers 
 
 " You 
 ill you. 
 
 praise 
 
 A New and Striking Argument for Teetotalism. 
 
 The anecdote is told of Dr. Benjamin Ward Richardson, 
 that by a simple experiment he convinced an intelligent 
 young man of the importance of total abstinence, when 
 argument or appeal might have been in vain. The young 
 man was singing the praises of the " ruddy bumper," as he 
 called it, and saying that it not only did liim good, but that 
 he could not get through the day without it. 
 
 Without attempting a direct reply, Dr. Richardson said, 
 " Will you be good enough to feel my pulse as I am stand- 
 ing here*?" 
 
 He did so, and the doctor said, " Count it carefully, and 
 tell me what it says." 
 
 "Your pulse," was the reply, "boats seventy-four to the 
 minute." 
 
 The doctor than sat down in a chair, and asked him to 
 count it again. He did so, and said, " It has gone down to 
 seventy." 
 
 The doctor then laid himself down on the lounge, and 
 said, " Now count it again." 
 
 He did so, and exclaimed, " Why it is only sixty-four ; 
 what an extraordinary thing ! " 
 
 The doctor then said, " When you lie down at night, that 
 is the way that Nature gives your heart icst. In sleep you 
 know nothing about it, but that beating organ is resting to 
 that extent ; and if you reckon it up, you will see at once 
 it is a great deal of rest, because in lying down the heart is 
 doing ten strokes less every minute than before. Now multi- 
 ply that number by sixty, and it is six hundred, and 
 multiply that number again, by the eight hours you may 
 give to sleep, and, within a fraction, it is Jive thousand 
 strokes less than tohen you are awake. And as the heart 
 throws out some six ounces of blood at every stroke or pulsa- 
 tion, it makes a difference of thirty thousand ounces, or 
 nearly nineteen hundred pounds, of lifting during the night, 
 or nearly eleven millions of ounces, or almost seven hundred 
 thousand pounds, of lifting in a single year ; and this by so 
 delicate an organ or instrument as the human heart. When 
 I lie down at night without alcohol, that is the rest that my^ 
 
 I 
 
.^^f'^im 
 
 156 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 " ,1 
 
 s 
 
 heart gets. But when you take your wine or whisky, or 
 grog of any kind, you do not get that rest, for the effect of 
 alcohol or spirit is to increase the number of strokes ; and 
 instead of getting this rest you put on something like 
 ffteen thousand extra strokes, or souh; ninety thousand ounces 
 of extra lifting, in a single night ; and the result is, that you 
 rise up weak and exhausted, and unfit for the next day's 
 work till you have taken another drink, which, in the end, 
 increases the exhaustion, and rapidly wears away the life 
 itself." 
 
 The young man acknowledged that all this was perfectly 
 true, though it had never before struck him in that light. 
 He carefully reckoned up the figures, and finding what it 
 meant to be lifting up so many extra thousand ounces when- 
 ever he took a drink, he became a total abstainer, with 
 every benefit as he admits, to his purse, his health, and his 
 happiness. 
 
 Well Frightened. 
 
 Years ago, in the State of New York, there was an even- 
 ing party, to whicli a fashionable young man was invited. 
 He was dressed in a swallow-tailed coat, lavender pantaloons 
 and gloves, with a white vest and button-hole bouquet. 
 
 It was fashionable to drink wine. The young ru.«n drank 
 to excess, became very hilarious, and left, on account of it, 
 rather early in the evening. On his way home, he stumbled 
 into several saloons, and by drinking became quite intoxi- 
 cated ; and not finding his way home, he crawled into a 
 barn and slept on the threshing-floor. 
 
 About four o'clock the next morning, a gentleman passing 
 that way, heard a terrible moan. He stopped and listened, 
 and then distinctly heard : 
 
 " Oh, don't kill me ! For heaven's sake, let me liv3 ! Oh 
 —ah! oh— ah!" 
 
 The gentleman listening, certainly thought some one was 
 being murdered. He proceeded cautiously to the barn, 
 lighted a match, held it over his head, and saw, lying in a 
 corner, the young man with the white vest and lavender 
 gloves, almost exhausted ; for close to him, down on their 
 knees, were two calves, sucking his ears, 
 
 vj: 
 
Hkadings and Recitations. 
 
 15^ 
 
 The Rum Maniac. 
 
 " Why ain I thus ?" the maniac cried, 
 " Confined 'mid crazy people, why ? 
 
 I am not mad, knave, stand aside, 
 I'll have my freedom, or I'll die ; 
 
 It's not for cure that here I've come, 
 
 I tell thee, all I want is rum — 
 
 I must have rum. 
 
 " Sane 1 yes, and have been all the while ; 
 
 Why then tormented thus ? 'tis sad ! 
 Why chained, and held in duress vile ? 
 
 The men who brought me here were mad ; 
 I will not stay where spectres come — 
 Let me go hence ; I nmst have rum — 
 
 I must have rum. 
 
 " 'Tis he ! 'tis he ! my aged sire ! 
 
 What has disturbed thee in thy grave 1 
 Why bend on me that eye of fire 1 
 
 Why torment since thou canst not save 1 
 Back to the church-yard, whence you've come 
 Return, return, but send me rum — 
 
 Oh ! send me rum ! 
 
 " Why is my mother musing there 
 
 On that same consecrated spot. 
 Where once she taught me words of prayer '? 
 
 But now she hears — she heeds me not ; 
 Mute in her winding-sheet she stands. 
 Cold, cold, I feel her icy hands — 
 
 Her icy hands ! 
 
 " She's vanished ; but a dearer friend, 
 
 I know her by her angel smile. 
 Has come, her partner to attend. 
 
 His hours of misery to beguile ; 
 Haste ! haste ! loved one, and set me free, ' 
 'Twere heaven to 'scape from hence to thee — 
 
 From hence to thee. 
 
r'^^mmmma 
 
 
 fcV, 
 
 158 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 " She does not hear— away she flies, 
 Regardless of tlie cliain I wear, 
 
 Back to her mansion in the skies, 
 To dwell with kindred spirits there. 
 
 Why has she gone 1 Why did she come '? 
 
 Oh, God ! I'm ruined ! Give me rum — 
 
 Oh! 
 
 give me rum 
 
 " Guard, guard, the e windows — bar that door. 
 
 Yonder I, arme^.' I)andi<"ti see ; 
 They've robbed my house of all its stores, 
 
 And now returned to murder me ; 
 Drive, drive them hence — but give me rum, 
 
 Oh ! ffive me luni ! 
 
 
 
 " See how that rug, those reptiles soil ; 
 
 They're crawling o'er me in my bed i 
 I feel their clammy, snaky coil 
 
 On every limb — around my head, 
 With forked tongue, I see them play ; 
 I hear them hiss — tear them away ! 
 
 Tear them away ! 
 
 " A fiend ! a fiend ! with many a dart, 
 
 Glares on me with his blood-shot eye. 
 And aims his missiles at my heart ; 
 
 Oh ! whither, whither shall I fly ] 
 Fly ! No, it is no time for flight ! 
 
 I know thy hellish purpose well, 
 A vaunt ! a vaunt ! thou hated sprite. 
 
 And hie thee to thy native hell ! 
 
 " He's gone ! he's gone ! and I am free ; 
 
 He's gone, the faithless braggart -liar — 
 He said he'd come to summon me — 
 
 See, there again ! my bed on fire ! 
 Fire ! water ! help ! Oh, haste ! I die ! 
 
 The flames are kindling round my head, 
 The smoke ! I'm strangling ! cannot fly ; 
 
 Oh, snatch me from this burning bed ! 
 
Headinos and Rkcitations. 
 
 lo!) 
 
 " There ! there ! again tluit demon's there ! 
 
 Crouching to make a fresh attack ; 
 See liow his flaming eye-balls glare ! 
 
 Thou flend of tiends ; what's brought thee back ! 
 Back in thy car ! for whom 1 for where ? 
 
 He smiles — he beckons me to come ; 
 What are those words, thou'st written there] 
 
 ' In hell thky never want for rum ' — 
 
 In liell they never want for rum. 
 
 " ' Not want for rum ' — read that again— 
 
 I feel the spell ; haste, drive nie down 
 Where rum is free ; where revellers reign, 
 
 And I can wear the drunkards' crown. 
 Accept thy proffer, fiend, I will, 
 
 And to thy drunken banquet come ; 
 Fill the great cauldron from thy still 
 
 With boiling, burning, fiery rum — 
 There will I quench this horrid thirst ! 
 
 With boor^ companions drink and dwell, 
 Nor plead for rum, as here I must — 
 
 There's liberty to drink in hell," 
 
 Thus raved that maniac rum had made. 
 
 Then starting from his haunted bed : 
 " On, on ye demons, on," he said. 
 
 Then silent lay — his soul had fled. 
 
 Scoffer, beware ! he in that shroud 
 
 Was once a temperate drinker too ; 
 And felt as safe, disclaimed as loud 
 
 Against extravagance, as you. 
 
 »om thence, methinks I hear him say : 
 
 "Has^r. t dash the chalice —break the spell, 
 
 Stop wliiie you can, and where you may, 
 There's no escape when once in hell !" 
 
 Oh, God ! Thy gr '"ious Spirit send, 
 
 That we the nnjcker's snare may fly ; 
 And thus escape that dreadful end, 
 
 That death eternal, drunkard's die, 
 
 It. 
 
 Hi?. 
 
£.■1 
 
 160 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 I-;'.'', vi 
 
 Keep Out of Bad Company. 
 
 In in one of our towns, there was a whole lot of girls 
 got together, and agreed between one another that they 
 would marry the drunken boys of the town, and reform 
 them. They did so. And now there are more little old 
 whippoorwill widows, going around that town than in any 
 place 1 ever saw. 
 
 Keep out of bad company. You recollect the young 
 lady who said : " Father, may I go to the ball to-night ? " 
 at a certain place. " No, daughter ; I don't want you to 
 go." "Why, father?" "Well, daughter, I don't like the 
 company you will be in." "Well," she said, "father, I 
 know all of them are not good that will be there, but," she 
 said, "I am not afraid of their hurting me." About that 
 time there was a dead coal lying upon the hearth. He said : 
 "Daughter, what is thaf?" 8he said, "A dead coal." He 
 said, " Pick it up." She picked it up in her fingers, and he 
 said, "Does it burn you?" "No, sir." " Well, throw it 
 down." She threw it down, and he said^" Daughter, what 
 is that on your fingers?" She said, "It is smut." "Well, 
 daughter, remember when you go into bad company, if they 
 don't burn you, they will smut you every time. 
 
 Ralph Erskine. 
 
 FATHER OF THE SCOTTISH SECESSION. 
 
 The only amusement in which this celebrated man in- 
 dulged was playing on the violin. He was so great a pro- 
 ficient on this instrument, and so often beguiled his leisure 
 hours with it, that the people of Dumfermline believed he 
 composed his sermons to its tones, as a poet writes along to 
 a particular air. They also tell the following traditionary 
 anecdote connected with the subject : — A poor man in one 
 of the neighboring parishes, having a child to baptize, re- 
 solved not to employ his own clergyman, with whom he was 
 at issue on certain points of doctrine, but to have the office 
 performed by some minister, of whose tenets, fame gave a 
 
Readings and Recitations. 
 
 161 
 
 better report. With the child in his arms, therefore, and 
 attended by the full complement of old and young women 
 v/ho usually minister on such occasions, he proceeded to the 
 
 manse of some miles off (not that of Mr. Erskine), 
 
 where he inquired if the clergyman was at home. "No, he's 
 no at ha'Jie the noo " answered the servant lass ; " he's doon 
 the burn fishing ; but I can soon cry him in." " Ye needna 
 gie yoursel' the trouble," replied the man, quite shocked at 
 this account of the minister's habits; "nane o' your tishin' 
 ministers shall bapteeze my bairn." Off he then trudged, 
 followed by his whole train, to the residence of another 
 parochial clergyman, at the distance of some miles. Here 
 on inquiring if the minister was at home, the lass answered, 
 " Deed he's no at hame the day, he's been out since sax i' 
 the morning at the shooting. Ye needna wait, neither ; 
 for he'll be sae made out (fatigued) when he comes back, 
 that he'll no be able to boo to a calf, let-a-be, kirsen a wean ! " 
 " Wait, lassie ? " cried the man, in a tone of indignant scorn ; 
 "wad 1 wait, dy'e think, to hand up my bairn before a 
 minister that gangs out at sax i' the morning to shoot God's 
 creatures 1 I'll awa' doon to good Mr. Erskine at Dumferm- 
 line, and he'll be neither out fishing nor shooting, I think." 
 The whole baptismal train then set off for Dumfermline, 
 sure that the father of the Secession, although now a placed 
 minister, would at least be engaged in no unclerical sports, 
 to incapacitate him for performing the sacred ordinance in 
 question. On arriving at the manse, which they did not 
 
 till late in the evening, the man, on 
 
 rapping 
 
 at the door. 
 
 anticipated that he would not be at home any more than his 
 brethren, as he heard the strains of a fiddle proceeding from 
 the upper chamber. " The minister will no l^e at hame," 
 he said with a sly smile, to the girl who came to the door, 
 "or your lad (sweet-heart) wadna be playing that gate t'ye 
 on the fiddle." "The minister is at hame," quoth the girl, 
 "mair by token it's himsel' that's playin, honest man; he 
 aye takes a tune at night, before gangin' to bed. Indeed, 
 there's nae lad o' mine th.at can play that gate : it wad be 
 something to tell if ony o' them could. " That the minister « 
 playing ! " cried the man, in a degree of astonishment and 
 horror far transcending what he had expressed on either of 
 
i'' " 
 
 ftv'. : ' 
 
 162 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 the former occasions. " If he does this, what may the rest 
 no dol Weel, I fairly gie them up a'thegither. I have 
 travelled this hale day in search o' a godly minister, and 
 never man met wi' mair disappointments in a day's journey. 
 I'll tell ye what, gudewife," he added, turning to the dis- 
 consolate party behind. " we'll just awa' back to our ain 
 minister after a' ! He's no a'thegither sound, it's true ; but 
 let him be what he likes in doctrine, blame hae me, if I ever 
 kenned him fish, shoot, or play on the fiddle a' his days ! " 
 
 The Babies. 
 
 At the banquet of the Army of the Tennessee a toast 
 was proposed, " The Babies." Mark Twain responded : 
 
 "The babies"— I like that. We haven't all had the 
 good fortune to be ladies. We haven't all been generals or 
 poets or statesmen. But when toasts work down to babies, 
 we stand on common ground, for we have all been there. 
 We have all been babies. It is a shame that for thousands 
 of years the world's banquets have utterly ignored the baby, 
 as if he didn't amount to anything. If you gentlemen will 
 stop and think a minute ; if you will go back fifty or one 
 hundred years, to your early married life, and contemplate 
 your first baby, you will remember that he amounted to a 
 good deal, and even something over. You soldiers all 
 know that when he arrived at family headquarters, you had 
 to hand in your resignation. He took entire command. 
 You became his lackey, his mere body-servant, and you had 
 to stand around, too. He was not a commander who made 
 allowance for time, distance, weather, or anything else. You 
 had to execute his order whether it was possible or not ; 
 and there was only one form of marching in his manual of 
 tactics, and that, double quick. He treated you with every 
 sort of insolence and disrespect, and the bravest of you 
 didn't dare to say a word. You could face the death-storm 
 of Donaldson and Vicksburg, and give back blow for blow, 
 but when he clawed your whiskers, and pulled your hair 
 and twisted your nose, you had to take it. When the 
 
.;•^ 
 
 Headings and Recitations. 
 
 163 
 
 thunders of war were sounding in your ears you set your 
 face towards the batteries and advanced with steady tread ; 
 but when he turned on the terrors of his war-whoops, you 
 advanced in another direction (and ghid of the chance, too). 
 When he called for soothing syrup, did you venture to 
 throw out any side remarks about certain service being 
 unbecoming an officer and a gentleman 1 No, you got up 
 and got it. If he ordered his pap-bottle did you talk back 1 
 No, you went to work and warmed it. You even descended 
 so far in your menial office as to sup at that warm insipid 
 stuff yourself, to see if it was right, — three parts water to 
 one of milk, a touch of sugar to modify the colic, and a drop 
 of peppermint to kill the hiccough. 1 can taste it yet ! 
 
 And how much you learned as you went along ! Senti- 
 mental young folks still take stock in that beautiful old 
 saying, that when the baby smiles in his sleep, it is because 
 angels are whispering to him. .Very pretty, bi^t too thin ! 
 Simply wind on the stomach. 
 
 My friends, if the baby proposed to take a walk at his 
 usual hour, 2.30 in the morning, didn't you rise up 
 promptly, and remark that it was the very thing you were 
 about to propose yourself 1 Oh, yes, you were under good 
 discipline, and you went fluttering up and down the room 
 in your undress uniform ; you not only prattled undignified 
 baby talk, but you tuned up your martial voice and tried 
 to sing, " Rock-a-by baby, in the tree top," for instance. 
 What a spectacle for the Army of Tennessee, and what an 
 affliction for the neighbors, too ! For it isn't everybody 
 within a mile around, that likes military music at three 
 o'clock in the morning. And when you had been keeping 
 this sort of thing up two or three hours, and your little 
 velvet had intimated that nothinji suited him like exercise 
 and noise, what did you say? You simply went on till 
 yoa dropped in the last ditch. The idea tliat a baby don't 
 amount to anything ! Why, our baby is just a house and 
 front yard by itself. As long as you are in your right 
 mind don't you ever pray for twins. Yes, it was high time 
 for the toast-master to recognize the importance of babies. 
 Think what is in store for the present crop ! Fifty years 
 henoe we shall all be dead, I trust, and then this flag, if it 
 
 m 
 
 ■inf 
 
 iC,\ 
 
 ■r 
 
 '^ 
 
164 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 
 -••:,: :.|; 
 '^■1 
 
 ^'1 
 
 '+■ i: 
 
 
 still survives, and let us hope it may, will be floating 
 over 200,000,000. Let the babies be well trained, for 
 we are going to leave a big contract on their hands. 
 Among the three or four million cradles now rocking in 
 this land, are some which the nation would preserve for 
 ages as sacred things, if we could know which ones they 
 are. In one of these cradles, an unconscious Farragut of 
 the future is at this moment teething. Think of it ! In 
 another a future great historian is lying, and doubtless he 
 will continue to lie, till his earthly mission is ended. In 
 another, a future President is busying himself with no pro- 
 founder problem of state than that, of what has become of 
 his hair so early. And in mighty array, in other cradles, 
 there are some 00,000 future office-seekers getting ready to 
 furnish him the occasion to grapple with that same old 
 problem once more. And still in one more cradle, some- 
 where under the flag, the future Commander-in-Chief of the 
 American Armies is so little burdened with his approach- 
 ing grandeurs and responsibilities, as to be giving his 
 strategic mind at this moment to trying to find out some 
 way to get his big toe into his mouth. 
 
 
 ■■■' ' ! 
 
 The United Empire Loyalists. 
 
 In the brave old revolution days, 
 
 So by our' sires 'tis told, 
 King's-men i nd rebels, all ablaze, 
 With wrath and wrong, 
 Strove hard and long ; 
 
 And, fearsome to behold. 
 O'er town and wilderness afar. 
 O'er quaking land and sea and air, 
 All dark and stern the clouds of war 
 
 In bursting thunders rolled. 
 
 Men of one blood — of British blood, 
 Rushed to the mortal strife ; 
 
 Men brothers born, 
 
 In hate and scorn, 
 Shed each, the other's life. 
 
Readings and REciTATroNs. 
 
 Which had the right and which the wron« 
 It boots not now to say ; ° 
 
 But when at last 
 The war-clouds passed 
 Cornwallis sailed away ; 
 He sailed away and left the field 
 lo those who knew right well to wield 
 1 he powers of war, but not to yield, 
 1 hough Britons fought the day. 
 
 Cornwallis sailed away, but left 
 Full many a loyal man, 
 Who wore the red, 
 And fought and bled 
 Till Royal George's banner fled 
 -Not to return again. 
 
 What didthey then, those loyal men. 
 When Britain's cause was lost? 
 Did they consent, 
 And dwell content 
 Where crown and law and parliament 
 Were trampled in the dust ? 
 
 Dear were their homes where they were born • 
 Where slept their honored dead • 
 And rich and wide ' 
 
 On every side 
 The fruitful acres spread • 
 
 But dearer to their faithful hearts, 
 Ihan home or gold or lands. 
 
 Were Britain's laws, and Britain's crown, 
 And Britain's flag of long renown, 
 And grip of British hands. 
 
 They would not spurn the glorious old, 
 
 lo grasp the gaudy new • 
 Of yesterday's rebellion born 
 They held the upstart-powcr in scorn— ' 
 
 lo Britain they stood true, 
 
 165 
 
 II' 
 
 li* 
 
 
m. 
 
 ^H -5 
 
 166 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 With high resolve they looked tlieir last 
 On home and native land ; 
 And sore they wept 
 O'er those that slept 
 In honored graves that must be kept 
 By grace of stranger's hand. 
 
 ;, .1 
 
 I'^yU 
 
 
 They looked their last and got them out 
 Into the wilderness, 
 The stern old wilderness ! 
 All dark and rude 
 And unsubdued ; 
 The savage wilderness I 
 Where wild beasts howled 
 And Indians prowled ; 
 The lonely wilderness I 
 Where social joys must be forgot, 
 And budding childhood grow untaught ; 
 
 Where hopeless hunger might assail 
 Should autumn's promised fruitage fail ; 
 Where sickness, unrestrained by skill, 
 Might slay their dear one:i at its will ; 
 
 Where they must lay 
 
 Their dead away 
 Without the man of God to say 
 The sad, sweet words, how dear to men, 
 Of resurrection hope ; but then 
 'Twas British wilderness ! 
 
 Where they might sing 
 
 God save the King, 
 And live protected by his laws, 
 And loyally uphold his cause ; 
 
 'J 
 
 'Twas welcome wilderness ! 
 Though dark and rude 
 And unsubdued ; 
 Though wild beasts howled 
 And Indians prowled ; 
 
Readings and Recitations. 
 
 For there, their sturdy hands 
 By hated treason undefiled 
 Might win, from the Canadian wild 
 
 A liome on Britisli lands. 
 
 These be thy heroes, Canada ' 
 These men of proof, whose test 
 
 Was m the fevered pulse of strife 
 When loeman thrusts at foeman's life • 
 
 A17 ^^ ^^^ ^^^^^ '^^hest 
 
 When right must toil for scanty bread, 
 While wrong on sumptuous fare is fed 
 wu . ^"^ "'"^* ^^oose t^etween • 
 When right must shelter 'neath the skies 
 While wrong in lordly mansion lies. 
 And men must choose between • 
 , When right is cursed and crucified, 
 
 While wrong is cheered and glorified, 
 And men must choose between 
 
 Stern was the test. 
 
 And sorely pressed. 
 That proved their blood best of the best • 
 And when for Canada you pray 
 
 Implore kind Heaven 
 
 That, like a leaven. 
 
 The hero-blood which then was given 
 May quicken in her veins always ;- 
 ihat from those worthy sires may spring 
 In numbers as the stars. 
 
 Strong-hearted sons, whose gloryinff 
 Shall be in Right, ^ ^ ^ 
 
 _ Though recreant Might 
 Be strong against her in the fight. 
 And many be her scars • ° ' 
 So, like the sun, her honored name 
 J^hall shine to latest years the same. 
 
 —liev. Le Roy Hooker 
 
 167 
 
168 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 
 Questions and Answers. 
 
 [There are some curious replies given by pupils to examination 
 questions in the day schools. The following were actually given, 
 not as jokes at all, but as strious answers ! ] 
 
 Capillary — A little caterpillar. 
 Conjugate — To all wrinkle up. 
 Crosier — A staff carried by the Deity. 
 Culinary — Cunning or cute. 
 
 Demagogue - 
 
 -A vessel containing beer. 
 
 Erudition — The act of wiping out. ■ 
 
 Mediocrity — The science of the Medes. 
 
 Prism — A prim, precise person. 
 
 Tenacious — Ten acres of land. ' 
 
 Chronolo<jy is the science of the brain. 
 
 A common noun is small things. 
 
 A vorb is something to eat. 
 
 A dependent sentence is one that hangs from its clause. 
 
 Parallel lines are lines that can never meet until they run 
 together. 
 
 A circle is a round straight line with a whole in the 
 middle. 
 
 The great lakes of America is Champagne. 
 
 New York is bounded by Montreal. 
 
 Russia is very cold and tyrannical. 
 
 The two most famous volcanoes of Europe is Sodom and 
 Gomorrah. 
 
 Ireland is called the Emigrant Isle, because it is so 
 beautiful and green, 
 
 Climate lasts all the time, and weather only a few days. 
 
 The Puritans found an insane asylum in the wilds of 
 America. 
 
 Guerilla warfare is war where men rode on gorillas. 
 
 ?«■'- 
 
 On a Runaway Train. 
 
 It was a sultry day, and tired of my long ride westward, 
 and the heat and confinement of the cars, I took oppor- 
 tunity, while the train waited for connections, to walk along 
 the platform to refresh myself. As I was strolling by the 
 
Readings and Recitations. 
 
 169 
 
 mination 
 y given, 
 
 clause, 
 they run 
 
 e in the 
 
 doni and 
 
 it is so 
 
 w days, 
 wilds of 
 
 as. 
 
 '^estward, 
 k oppor- 
 alk along 
 ig by the 
 
 engine, an unusually fine one, I stopped to admire it, and 
 presently began a conversation with the engineer, who 
 seemed good-humored and friendly, and whom I perceived 
 to be a very intelligent man. 
 
 Seeing my interest in his engine, he presently invited me 
 to take a seat in the cab ; and during the half-hour we were 
 compelled to wait at the station, he gave me many practical 
 points of his vocation, concluding with the following narra- 
 tive of an experience without a parallel, so far as 1 know, 
 in the annals of life on the rail. He said : — 
 
 " In the summer of '78 I was promoted to passenger- 
 engine 49, the same we are in now. It was, and is still, 
 one of the finest and fastest engines on this line. 'J'he road 
 had then h ien built only five or six years, but was already 
 doing a large freight and passenger business. 
 
 "The division that I ran over was a long one — a hundred 
 and twenty miles. The * boys ' called it the ' ridge,' because 
 it was up-grade from both ends to nearly the middle. The 
 grade was pretty heavy for a part of the way, so when there 
 happened to be a long train, an extra engine, called a 
 'lielper,' was ordered out to help the regular engine up the 
 grade. At the top was a tank and a side-track, where 
 'helpers' uncmipled. It was the duty of '49' to take the 
 west-bound express over this division. 
 
 "One evening there happened to be several coaches of 
 excursionists besides the regular train, and consequently an 
 extra engine — but not the regular ' helper,' as it happened — 
 had been ordered up to help me over the grade. I felt 
 rather uneasy when I saw 'No. 14' back down and couple 
 on in front of me. 
 
 "No. 14 was a very good engine, as good as any on the 
 road for power, weight and speed, V)ut she was in charge of 
 an engineer whom I distrusted, Dick Rogers, a heavy-built 
 and headstrong fellow, much too fond of liquor. He went 
 on his 'sprees' when off duty, and so had been allowed to 
 keep his place ; but it was whispered among the ' boys ' 
 that he had had touches of tremens already. 
 
 " You can never quite trust a man with an appetite for 
 liquor ; put that down in black and white. 
 
 " I became more uneasy when I mounted Dick's engine 
 18 
 
!■*• 
 
 ri t' 
 
 n': 
 
 170 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 I ) 
 
 to talk with him a minute and compare watches ; for I 
 detected the smell of whiskey in his breath, and saw that 
 his face was red and his eyes blood-shot. 
 
 "At length 'AH aboard' was given, the gong struck, and 
 we pulled out. Side-tracks, streets, houses and signal-lights 
 were soon passed. As we got on the main line, we quick- 
 ened speed, and soon were going up the grade at a rate of 
 about thirty-nine iniles an hour. 
 
 " The west-bound express made but two stops in the entire 
 distance to the 'summit.' We made these all right and on 
 time. Everything was working as well as usual. It had 
 grown dark ; and as the forward engine prevented my see- 
 ing the track ahead, I leaned back after a time on my 
 cushion. My own son, Johnny, was tiring for me then. 
 
 " Poor boy ! He was only nineteen. I didn't want him 
 to go on the road, but he begged so hard that I took him 
 on to fire for me. Well, I sat watching him as he now and 
 then replenished the fire, and listening to the drum-like 
 sound of the exhaust. You know that noise, so unvaried 
 and continuous, tends to quiet and benumb the senses. I 
 must have sat so for a minute or two. 
 
 " Suddenly Johnny called out to me. ' Ain't you run- 
 ning faster than usual, father?' lie shouted. 
 
 " I started and looked out. The engine was swaying 
 violently ; and though I could see but little in the darkness, 
 I knew that we were on the level stretch and getting near 
 the side track, at the sunnnit where No. 14 was to unhook 
 from us. 
 
 " What did Dick mean by not slowing up ? I at once 
 shut off, then sprung on the air brake. 
 
 "There was a rapid slackening of speed for a few moments 
 — then a sharp snap and a shrill hiss ! 
 
 " The rubber hose had burst ; the vacuum brakes were 
 useless ! and, the speed at once quickening again, we went 
 tearing past the side track and entered on the long stretch 
 of down grade beyond where, with the patent brake burst, 
 the efforts of both engines would be needed to stop or hold 
 the train. 
 
 "Angry and astonished that Rogers could be so utterly 
 careless, I bade Johnny set the tender brakes, and opened 
 
Readings and Recitations. 
 
 171 
 
 for I 
 that 
 
 ;aw 
 
 uck, and 
 liil-lights 
 v^e quick- 
 % rate of 
 
 ho entire 
 it and on 
 It had 
 I my see- 
 e on my 
 then, 
 ivant him 
 took him 
 I now and 
 drum-like 
 unvaried 
 lenses. I 
 
 you 
 
 run- 
 
 sway mg 
 
 [darkness, 
 
 zing near 
 
 unhook 
 
 1 1 at once 
 
 moments 
 
 Ikes were 
 I we went 
 stretch 
 :e burst, 
 or hold 
 
 utterly 
 opened 
 
 the front window of the cub, to shout to the foolhardy man 
 ahead. Meantime the train conductor, or some one else, 
 was pulling furiously at the bell-cord from the rear of the 
 train. The instant I had opened the sash I knew by tlie 
 sound of the forward engine; that she was phmging ahead 
 under full pressure of steam. Twice I shouted at the top 
 of my voice. 
 
 " But tlie roar was too heavy. Then I whistled ' down 
 brakes.' As if in response, a wild laugh rose from tlie front 
 enfifine ; then a jar seemed to go through the train ; and I 
 
 felt we were froini: faster than ever. I 
 
 blew agam- 
 
 -loudei 
 
 and longer than before. This time it was answered by three 
 shrieks from the otiier whistle, followed by a number of the 
 most awful yells that ever came out of a human throat I 
 
 "I knew then what was the cause of the reckless speed. 
 Rogers was drunk, crazy drunk, and was running away with 
 us down a seventy-foot grade ! And we were powerless to 
 stop him ! 
 
 " What a situation ! Yet this was not the worst. As 
 we had not stopped at the sunmiit, we were now running 
 ahead of orders and ahead of time, and were liable to run 
 into a train coming up the line. It was of no use to reverse 
 my engine against the whole force of the train, and that of 
 the other engine besides. Once more I blew the signal for 
 'down brakes.' 
 
 " Just then a light shone ahead. It was the lamp of the 
 station where we usually passed an up-freight. The head- 
 light of the frieght was not there ! For an instant I felt 
 faint and sick. I saw the terrible danger from wliich it 
 seemed there could be no escape. The freight usually 
 reached the station before we did ; but we were so much 
 ahead of time, that it had not yet arrived. Yet it could not 
 be very far away, and with our heavy train running at 
 lightning speed, crowded with passengers as it was, a col- 
 lision must occur ! 
 
 " For an instant I felt paralyzed. Then it occurred to 
 me that perhaps the freight might be a little behind time, 
 and possibly had not yet passed the next station below. 
 That was our only chance for life. With trembling hands 
 I tore a leaf out of my memorandum book, and upon it wrote : 
 
172 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 •J "II 
 
 \l I 
 
 " * For heaven's sake, clear the line ! We^ve lost coyitrol of 
 the train. — Williams.' 
 
 "Wadding this up with a lump of coal in my handker- 
 chief, I had just time to thi-ow it as w(» swept by tlie 
 telegrapli office at the station. By j,'ood luck it liit the door, 
 and I saw the door open as we rushed out of sight. If the 
 freight had not yet passed the next station below, it could 
 be ordered to the side track there, and so clear the road for 
 us. 
 
 "Just then, through the open window, I saw Kojrers' 
 
 fireman — a slight little fellow- 
 
 coming 
 
 along 
 
 the 
 
 running- 
 
 board beside tlie boiler of our engine. 
 
 "'For God's sake!' he cried, — though I could scarcely 
 hear him above the roar, — ' Stop her ! stop her I Rogers is 
 blind drunk! He'll kill us all !' 
 
 " I saw now that our only chance for life was to board 
 Rogers' engine, overpower him and get control of it. It was 
 a life-and-death business. But one man had better die than 
 a whole trainful. 
 
 " By this time the conductor and brakcman had come 
 forward, but were so excited and alarmed that they were 
 good for nothing to help nie. They- clung to the platform 
 rail of the express car, behind the tender, and shouted, 
 ' Stop her ! stop her ! ' 
 
 " ' Boys,' I said, to Johnny and Jim (Rogers' fireman), 
 * we must get aboard that other engine and knock Rogers 
 down. Take the coal sledges and come after me.' 
 
 "The prospect of a hand-to-hand conflict with a madman 
 was a terrible one. But I dared not stop to think of my 
 own chances. The heavy bar which readied from my own 
 engine to the other was about six feet long, and the only 
 way to cross over was to get astride the bar and slide along 
 on it. I led the way, first throwing my wrench over on the 
 tender ; then I cautiously got down on the bar and began to 
 work my way across. It was a desperate act. The suck 
 and rush of the air behind the tender, and the tremendous 
 swaying and jerking, nearly threw me ofi" several times. 
 But 1 kept a tight grip on the bar and got across, climbed 
 upon the tender and made my way over the coal. 
 
 " There stood Rogers, steadying himself, as the locomotive 
 
)ntrol of 
 
 ijuulker- 
 by the 
 \w door, 
 If the 
 it could 
 road for 
 
 Rogers' 
 ruiiuing- 
 
 scarcely 
 logers is 
 
 to board 
 . It was 
 • die than 
 
 lad come 
 
 liey were 
 
 platform 
 
 shouted, 
 
 |lireman), 
 Kogers 
 
 madman 
 |ik of my 
 my own 
 J the only 
 lide along 
 rer on the 
 began to 
 'he suck 
 knendous 
 li times, 
 climbed 
 
 jomotive 
 
 Readixgs and Rkcitations. 
 
 173 
 
 leaped and bounded on, with his bfick to me. He had not 
 seen me; and I determined to wait an instant till he opened 
 the fire iloor again, tlien knock him down and tie him — for 
 I was no match for him physically. I heard nothing of 
 Johnny or Jim, but I dared not turn to look for them. 
 
 "Suddenly, as I stood tliere poising myself to spiing on 
 Rogers, we swept like lightning round a curve and — merci- 
 ful heaven ! less tlian a mile down the track gleamed, the 
 headliglit of the freight ! 
 
 " Rogers saw it too, and the awful danger broke through 
 the crazing spell of the liquor. With a strange, scared cry 
 he settled back upon his cushion, limp and helpless. 
 
 " But I scarcely noticed him. There was not a moment, 
 even for disabling him. With one bound I was in the cab 
 and blew the whistle, then threw back the reversing lever. 
 The shock of the reverse steam almost lifted the engine 
 from the track and me from my seat. The big drivers 
 spinning around on the rails looked like circles of living 
 fire, and enveloped the engine in a perfect shower of sparks ! 
 Nobly now did old " 14 " struggle and groan, as if conscious 
 of the terrible danger. 
 
 "'Twas vain ! As well might we have tried to stop an 
 avalanche or oppose a flood. Nearer and nearer we came 
 to that dreadful light. 
 
 "Onwatd we drove, and in another moment I saw that 
 to stop was impossible, that the collision would come. In- 
 stinctively I closed the throttle and turned to jump. Then 
 I thought of those I was leaving to their awful fate. If I 
 stuck to my post, I could perhaps lessen the shock and save 
 many lives — even if I lost my own. Better one home 
 should be desolated than a score, and again I threw back 
 the reversing lever, bracing myself to meet the shock, when, 
 suddenly, I saw the freight headlight deflect — dart to one 
 side ! 
 
 " Could it be *? 
 
 "Yes, praised be God for His mercy to us that night, 
 the freight was going on the side track at L. station ; and, 
 seeing the danger, its engineer had barely time to quicken 
 up and get his train off the main line, when, with diminished 
 speed, we ran by. 
 
:! 
 
 Ifti 
 
 174 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 *' To stop the train and pull Rogeis oti* the engine was 
 my first duty. This done I went back to my own engine, 
 which I found in charge of Jim alone. ' Where's Johnny "?' 
 was my first anxious question. 
 
 " Alas ! the hardest blow was still in store for me. 
 Joliniiyjjtoor boy, in trying to cross on the connecting bar 
 to help me to overpower Rogers, had been thrown oti". I 
 knew in a moment that h&^nuist have been killed ; for we 
 were ruiniing seventy miles an Iiour:^^-:was obliged to go 
 on. But two hours later the station-folks fouiKnTim,~seven 
 miles back, lying mangled and dead at the foot of some 
 rocks a few yards from the track." 
 
 lii ; 
 
 
 I- 
 
 The Child Witness. 
 
 I WITNESSED a short time ago, in one of our higher 
 Courts, a beautiful illustration of the simplicity and power 
 of the truth. A little girl nine years of age was offered as 
 a witness against a prisoner, who was on trial for felony 
 committed in her father's house. 
 
 " Now, Emily," said the counsel for the prisoner, upon 
 her being offered as a witness, " I desire to know if you 
 understand the nature of an oath?" 
 
 " I don't know what you mean, sir V was the simple 
 answer. 
 
 "There, your lordship," said the counsel, addressing the 
 Court, "is anything further necessary to demonstrate the 
 validity of my objection 1 This witness should most assur- 
 edly be rejected. She does not comprehend the nature of 
 an oath." 
 
 " Let us see," said the judge. " Come here, my daughter." 
 
 Assured by the kind tone and manner of the judge, the 
 child stepped toward him and looked confidently up in 
 his face with a calm, clear eye, and in a manner so artless 
 and frank tiiat it went straight to the heart. 
 
 " Did you ever take an oath*?" inquired the judge. 
 
 The little girl stepped back with a look of horror, and the 
 
igine was 
 n engine, 
 Johnny 1' 
 
 for nie. 
 icting bar 
 ^^n ott". I 
 i ; for we 
 ged to go 
 iim,~Eeven 
 t of some 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 175 
 
 lur higher 
 
 and power 
 
 offered as 
 
 •or felony 
 
 )ner, upon 
 ow if you 
 
 he simple 
 
 essing the 
 strate the 
 lost assur- 
 nature of 
 
 laughter." 
 [judge, the 
 bly up in 
 so artless 
 
 Ir, and the 
 
 red blood mantled in a blush, all over her face and neck, as 
 she answered — 
 
 "No, sir," She thought he intended to inquire if she 
 had ever blasphemed. 
 
 "I do not mean that," said the judge, who saw her mis- 
 take ; "I mean, were you ever a witness before V 
 
 " No, sir, I never was in Court before," was the answer. 
 
 He handed her the Bible, open. " Do you know that 
 book, my daughter 1" 
 
 She looked at it, and answered, "Yes, sir, it is the fVible." 
 ^crytHv-exer read if?" he asked. 
 
 " Yes, sir, everymormTTg and evening." 
 
 " Can you tell me what the Bible is I'TmjTiirefl-thaJudire. 
 
 " It is the Word of the great God," she answered. 
 
 " Well, place your hand upon this Bible, and listen to 
 what I say ;" and he repeated slowly and solenmly the oath 
 usually administered to witnesses. " Now," said tlie judge, 
 " you have been sworn as a witness ; will you tell me what 
 will befall you, if you do not tell the truth?" 
 
 "I shall be shut up in prison," answered Ihe child. 
 
 " Anything elsel" asked the judge. 
 
 " I shall not go to heaven," she replied. 
 
 "How do you know thisi" asked the judge again. 
 
 The child took the Bible, and turning rapidly to the 
 chapter containing the Commandments, pointed to the 
 injunction, "Thou shalt not bear icilse witness against thy 
 neighbor." "I learned that,'' she said, "before I could 
 read." 
 
 " Has anyone talked to you about being a witness in 
 Court here against this man?'' inquired the judge. 
 
 " Yes, sir," she replied. " My mother heard tlie}^ wanted 
 me to be a witness, and last night she called me to her 
 room and asked me to tell her the Ten Connnandments, 
 and then we kneeled down together, and she prayed that I 
 might understand how wicked it was to bear false witness 
 against my neighbor, and that (rod would hel}) me, a little 
 child, to tell the truth as it was before Him. And when I 
 came up here with father, she kissed me, and told me to 
 remember the Ninth Commandment, and that God would 
 hear every word that I said." 
 
It- ■ 
 
 W" 
 
 \ 
 
 ' 5 
 
 1 
 
 176 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 "Do you believe this?" asked the judge, while a tear 
 glistened in his eye and his lips quivered with emotion, 
 
 "Yes, sir," said tlie child, with a voice and manner that 
 showed her conviction of the truth was perfect. 
 
 "God bless you, my child," said the judge, "you have a 
 good mother. This witness is competent," he continued. 
 " Were I on trial for my life, and innocent of the charge 
 against me, I would pray God for such witnesses as this. 
 Let her be examined." 
 
 She told her story with the simplicity of a child, as she 
 was, but there was a directness about it which carried con- 
 virition of its truth to every heart. She was rigidly cross- 
 examined. The counsel plied her with intinite and ingen- 
 ious questionings, l)ut she varied from her first statement 
 in nothing, The truth as spoken by that little child was 
 sublime. Falsehood and perjury had preceded her testi- 
 mony. The prisoner had intrenched himself in lies, until 
 he deemed himself impregnable. Witnesses had falsified 
 facts in his favor, and villainy had manufactured for him a 
 sham defence. But before her testimony falsehood was 
 ^scatteTed-li4ve-iiliafl\ The little child, for whom a mother 
 had prayed for strengtli IxTbe^ gTve«r-het__to^£)eak the truth 
 as it was before God, broke the cunning device ofTmrtufed— 
 villainy to pieces, like a potter's vessel. The strength that 
 her mother prayed for was given her, and the sublime and 
 terrible simplicity (terrible, I mean, to the prisoner and 
 his perjured associates) with which she spoke, was like a 
 revelation from God Himself. 
 
 The Two Farmers. 
 
 In a small country town there lived two wealthy farmers, 
 whose lands adjoined eacli other. On some account or other, 
 they became involved in a lawsuit, which botii lessened 
 their money and pi'omoted a spirit of rancor toward each 
 other. After a time, one of these men was convinced of 
 the sinfulness of his past conduct, when, yielding to the 
 
! a tear 
 on. 
 ner that 
 
 1 have a 
 
 Qtiiiued, 
 
 ; charge 
 
 as this. 
 
 ], as she 
 •ied con- 
 ly cross- 
 d ingen- 
 ;atement 
 hild was 
 er testi- 
 ies, until 
 falsitied 
 or him a 
 ood was 
 mother 
 he truth 
 imnttir^d — 
 Igth that 
 ime and 
 ner and 
 s like a 
 
 [arniers, 
 Ir other, 
 lessened 
 I'd each 
 liced of 
 to the 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 177 
 
 
 influences of the Gospel, he became desirous of reconcilia- 
 tion and friendship with his neiglilmr. With a trembling 
 heart he knocked at the door of the man whom he had 
 offended, which he liad not before entered for six years. 
 Not suspecting who it was, his neighbor invited him 
 in. He went in, took liis seat, acknowledged that he 
 had in the affair been mucli to bhime, and entreated for- 
 giveness. The other was much astonished, but maintained 
 his high ground, "I always knew you were to blame, and 
 I never shall forgive you," with mucli more to the same 
 purpose, was tlie reply given to him. He again confessed 
 his wrong, asked tlie pardon of his neighbor, expressed the 
 hope that the Divine J!*»eing would forgive him, and added — 
 "We have been actuated by a wrong spirit, and wo shall 
 be afraid to meet each other at the bar of God, where we 
 must soon appear." The other became a little softened, 
 and they parted. 
 
 Tiie fainii ■ vhen left to themselves,- were filled with 
 astonishment. iJut the mystery was solved, when they 
 learned that their neighbor had become a follower of ChrisfJ 
 " "What!" said the farmer, " has S become a Chris- 
 tian] Why should he come and ask my forgiveness? If 
 religion will humble such a man, it is surely a great thing. 
 Jle saidT^^^^e^hall be^fraid Jto meet each other at the bar 
 of God.'" Such reflections as these, wFtli a consciousnass_____ 
 of his own ill-conduct, occasioned him great disti-ess for 
 several days. At length he could smother his feelings no 
 longer — he took his hat, and went to see his once hated 
 neighbor. As he entered the door, he received a cordial 
 welcome ; they took each other by the hand, and burst 
 into tears. He said, "You came to ask my forgiveness 
 the other day, but I And that I liave been a thousand times 
 worse than you." They retired and prayed together. They 
 became members of the same church, and lived many years 
 in uninterrupted harmony. Such are the triumphs of 
 Christianity. 
 
I-'^ I 
 
 m 
 
 
 178 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 ; , 
 
 Re-Married. 
 
 At a crowded meeting, where reformed drunkards were 
 relating tlieir experience, a man arose and said: "I could 
 wish that tlie memory of ten years of my life were blotted 
 out. I once stood among the respected members of the 
 bar. Nay, more than that, I occupied a seat in Congress 
 for two congressional periods. And more than that," he 
 continued, his voice sinking into a tone expressive of deep 
 emotion, "I once had a tenderly loved wife and two 
 sweet children. But all these honors, all these blessings, 
 have departed from me. And more than all, she who had 
 loved me devotedly, the mother of my two children, was 
 forced to abandon me and seek an asylum in her father's 
 house. And why 1 How could I become so changed in a 
 few short years ? What power was there to so debase me 
 that my fellow-beings spurned me, and even the wife of my 
 bosom turned away heart-stricken from me 1 Alas ! my 
 friends, it was a mad indulgence in intoxicating drink. 
 But for this, I was an honorable and useful representative 
 in the halls of legislation, and blessed with home and wife 
 and children. 
 
 " After my wife was separated from me I sank rapidly. 
 A state of sobriety brought too many terrible thoughts. I 
 drank more freely, and was rarely, if ever, free from the 
 effects of partial intoxication. 
 
 " When I heard of this new movement, the great tem- 
 perance cause, at iirst I sneered, then wondered, listened, 
 and, at last, threw myself on the great wave that was rol'iug 
 onward, in the hope that I too might be lifted out of my 
 terrible ruin. I did not hope in vain. It did for me all, 
 and more than I could have desired. It set me once more 
 on my feet — once more made a man of me. 
 
 " A year of sobriety, earnest devotion to my profession, 
 and fervent prayer to Him who alone gives strength to 
 every good resolution, has restored to me much that I have 
 lost; but not all -not the richest treasure that I have 
 proved myself unworthy to retain — not my wife and chil- 
 dren. I have no longer a wife —no longer ciiildren — though 
 my heart goes toward the loved ones with the tenderest 
 
Headings and Recitations. 
 
 179 
 
 Is were 
 [ could 
 blotted 
 of the 
 ongress 
 at," he 
 of deep 
 id two 
 essirigs, 
 iho had 
 en, was 
 father's 
 ed in a 
 jase me 
 e of my 
 las! my 
 ■ drink, 
 intative 
 ,nd wife 
 
 rapidly, 
 hts. I 
 om the 
 
 iat tem- 
 istened, 
 roViug 
 of my 
 me all, 
 e more 
 
 Ifession, 
 
 tigth to 
 
 1 have 
 
 1 have 
 
 lid chil- 
 
 -though 
 
 Inderest 
 
 yearning. Pictures of our early days of wedded love are 
 ever lingering in my imagination. I dream of the sweet 
 fireside circle. I see ever before me the placid face of my 
 Alice, as her eyes looked in mine witli intelligent confidence. 
 The music of her voice is ever sounding in my ears." 
 
 Here the speaker's emotion overcame him ; his utterance 
 became choked and he stood silent, with bowed head and 
 trembling limb. Tiie dense mass of people were hushed 
 into an intense silence that was broken liere and there by 
 half- stifled sobs. 
 
 At this moment there was a movement in the crowd. A 
 single figure, before whom every one appeared instinctively 
 to give way, was seen passing up the aisle. This was not 
 observed by the speaker, until she had come nearly in front 
 of the platform on which he stood, then the movement 
 caught his ear, and his eyes that instant fell on Alice, who, 
 by the kindness of those near her, wa.> conducted to his 
 side. 
 
 The whole audience, thrilled with the scene, were upon 
 their feet, bending forward when the speaker- extended his 
 arms, and Alice threw herself upon his Ijosom. 
 
 A minister — an aged man with white locks — came for- 
 ward. Before that large assembly, all standing, and with 
 few dry eyes, the marriage ceremony was again performed 
 that gave the speaker and Alice to each other. 
 
 As the minister completed the marriage rite, he laid a 
 hand on the head of each, and, lifting his streaming eyes, 
 said in a solemn voice : " What God hath joined together, 
 let not Rum put asundei-." 
 
 Amen ! repeated the whole assem 
 
 nbly 
 
 igle 
 
 voice. 
 
 Told at a Tunnel's Mouth. 
 
 A GROUP of navvies waited for the rslief party at the 
 mouth of a tunnel. 
 
 " Sing us a song, Sam," said one. 
 
 " Got a cold, Bill ; try the new hand." 
 
 A loud laugh followed this remark, and that for two 
 reasons ; one was, Sam's cold was not strange, seeing that 
 
liy., 
 
 I'm 
 
 
 \i: 
 
 180 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 for fourteen hours they had worked in that long tunnel, at 
 times half choked with smoke and steam, and then half 
 frozen with the bitter winter wind ; the other reason was 
 his suggestion for the fresh hand to sing, whose strange, 
 silent manner had not made him a favorite in the rough but 
 hearty gang of navvies. 
 
 Once Sam had seen him reach over a part of his dinner 
 to a mate whose own hard fare he could .scarcely swallow, 
 and Sam had ever after been " kinder curus" to know more 
 about him, so he said to liira : 
 
 " Per'aps you'll oblige V 
 
 " How long have we got, mate?" 
 
 "Matter of half an hour before the relief comes." 
 
 "I'll sing you a song at last, if you'll hear a story first." 
 
 " Hear, hear," said Sam, and the rest agreed. So the 
 new hand placed himself a little nearer the middle of the 
 group, and, leaning on his pick, began : 
 
 " A bargain is a bargain, mates, and I shall keep you to 
 your word ; if you don t. hear me out — no song. I'm going 
 to talk about my little Meg ; and if you don't know why I 
 am quiet like now, you will before I have done. Once I 
 had as nice a home as any man need wish for, and the girl I 
 brought to it was the right sort, I can tell you ; none of your 
 flashy, drobsy, empty-headed ones, but a right-down, decent, 
 hardworking maid she was. But she was religious ; always 
 wantea to go to church or chapel or what not, on Sunday, 
 and I didn't care for that. So I told her, 'Sarah,' says I, 
 'you've married me and you'll have to stick to me, or else 
 there'll be a row.' Well, she begged to go, but I would not 
 hear a word of it; so she gave in. 
 
 " So we went on for more than a year. I was middlin' 
 steady, and she kept the liome up well, only I noticed that 
 she seemed less happy like ; and if I stopped her going to 
 church on Sunday, 1 couldn't get her to go out for pleasure 
 with me ; for she said, ' Fair s fair : I keep away from one 
 place to please you, I keep away from othei-s to please my- 
 self.' And I tlioiight there was something in that, don't 
 you ?" 
 
 The men made a murmur, half yes, half no, and seemed 
 
 to grow more attentive. 
 
 He went on: 
 
mel, at 
 Bn half 
 ;on was 
 strange, 
 ugh but 
 
 ; dinner 
 wallow, 
 >w more 
 
 ' first." 
 
 So the 
 e of the 
 
 3 you to 
 
 in going 
 
 V why I 
 
 Once I 
 
 le girl I 
 
 of your 
 
 decent, 
 
 always 
 
 Sunday, 
 
 says I, 
 
 or else 
 
 uld not 
 
 niddlin' 
 ed that 
 oing to 
 tleasure 
 om one 
 ise my- 
 don't 
 
 Iseemed 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 181 
 
 " Soon after that, Meg was l)orn, and how glad Sarah was, 
 to be sure ; why, that child, I believe she would liave worked 
 her fingers to the bone for it. Some folks talk as if our 
 little ones were a curse to us; why, mates, them as says so 
 are worse then a jackdaw, and as empty as a l)ag of wind ; 
 they ain't got no heart themselves." 
 
 " No, they're all jaw," said Sam. 
 
 " Well, anyway, we didn't call Meg a curse, by a long 
 stretch. She crowed and grew, and every year bound us 
 more together ; for whatever little differences we had in 
 other things, we were one on the babe. Siie was the best 
 
 in the world. But while MeL' irrev 
 
 strong 
 
 the motiier 
 
 grew weak, until she was as thin as a shadow ; then I 
 asked the doctor, who said she wanted change of air. I 
 asked her if she would like to go and see her mother, and 
 take Meg. How pleased she was ! So she went, and I 
 saw her off. 
 
 "How I got on without her I don't -know ; badly enough 
 it was. When she came back, little ^leg was four years 
 old. Mates, I hardly knew the wife, so white and ill she 
 was ; but the child was brighter than ever — tlie sunshine 
 of our lives. To make the story short, while I lioped and 
 hoped Sarah would mend, she didn't ; and the sight of lier 
 face, so ghostlike, kind of haunted me — she was queer and 
 lonely like, and — well, lads, I took to drink I" 
 
 His voice quivered a little, but he grasped the pick firmer 
 and continued : 
 
 " Most every night I kept away from home, not because 
 I hated it, boys, for my heart was there, but 1 just could not 
 bear to see Sarah ; somehow death appeared written in her 
 face, and I wanted to give him plenty of room- -I was not 
 ready for him. The neighbors kept tiie place and Meg 
 tidy, and I took home what was left, after paying score at 
 the 'Lion.'" 
 
 Bill gave Sam a good nudge to look at the speaker, for 
 the tears had gathered in his eyes, and were rolling in little 
 channels down his cheeks. 
 
 "One night there was a noise in the bar at the 'Lion.' 
 Somebody sung out, 'Mind the little 'un ;' then there was 
 
 a fall and a cry- 
 
 Meg's cry- 
 
 -and I ran out to see the land- 
 
.r*wi 
 
 rv!. 
 
 HP 
 
 ]82 
 
 Readings 4nd Recitations. 
 
 ■■\ 
 
 lady catch her up, and tlie blood flowing from a great gash 
 in the foreliead. ' Pure accident,' someone said ; but I 
 caught hold of Meg and rushed home with her — home to 
 her mother — and the sight of the child seemed to put life 
 into 8arah. She fondled and sang to the little one in a 
 way that almost broke my heart. The doctor came and 
 bound the head up, but the little eyes were fast closed, and 
 he gave no hope. Once she opened the little eyes, gave 
 one staro wild enough to shudder at, and then closed them ; 
 so we sat, Sarah with her on her breast in bed, and I on 
 a chair by the side. 
 
 " 'John,' said Sarah, ' I don't think I shall be here long, 
 and I want to talk to you a bit ; will you listen ? ' 
 
 " I nodded, for I could not speak. 
 
 " ' Before I knew you, John, I used to read my Bible 
 and pray to God. Since then I have given it up ; you did 
 not like it, John ; l)ut I have got to die, and it's all dark 
 now, husband. What am I to dol' 
 
 " I kept quite still ; what could I say '( 
 
 " ' John, I'm too weak to read now ; won't you read a bit 
 to me, and give me a little comfort before I die — if there is 
 any for me T 
 
 " Not for years had I touched the book she spoke of, and 
 where to tind it now, I did not know ; but I hunted round, 
 for I thought, if this will give her ease I'm bound to try ; — 
 and at last I found it behind the tea-tray, I asked her 
 where to read ; she said anywhere. So I opened and read 
 where Jesus went into a house in which a little child lay 
 dead. How the people mocked and jeered at Him when 
 He said she slept. (And I looked at our poor Meg, so 
 white and pained, wondering if He would have come to her.) 
 How Jesus took that little girl's hand, her cold dead hand, 
 and said, ' Arise ! ' 
 
 " ' O John, if He was only here to speak to Meg and make 
 her well ! ' said Sarah. 
 
 " ' Perhaps it's only a tale,' I said, and stopped. ' No 
 John,' said Sarah, ' When I was well I could live and not 
 think much of Him ; but since I've been ill, He seems very 
 real to me sometimes ; even now, John, I believe He is here.' 
 
 " Mates, that was a cold, dark night, and the wind howled 
 
it gash 
 but I 
 onie to 
 put life 
 le in a 
 ne and 
 ed, and 
 s, gave 
 I thorn ; 
 id I on 
 
 re long, 
 
 y Bible 
 you did 
 ill dark 
 
 a bit 
 there is 
 
 of, and 
 round, 
 
 try ;— 
 
 ed her 
 
 id read 
 
 [lild lay 
 
 i\ when 
 
 so 
 
 her.) 
 
 hand, 
 
 Vleo" 
 
 Id make 
 
 'No 
 
 Ind not 
 
 lis very 
 
 Is here.' 
 
 howled 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 183 
 
 outside ; tlie fire was all but out, and the candle flickered 
 about with the draught. I tell you I felt bad, for her 
 words did seem so full of meaning, lier eyes uhnost looked 
 me through. 
 
 " 'John, if He's hei-e He can sav(^ our Meg, — John, dear, 
 won't you ask Him 1 Won't you pj'ay 1 ' 
 
 "'Sarah, I can't; I don't know how.' 
 
 " ' Husband, look at the darling ; think of her — of her. 
 John, try ; O John, try.' " 
 
 The whole grouj) of navvies gathered round him here 
 with opened eyes and strained ears, watching eagerly for 
 what was coming. 
 
 " I don't know what voice whispered back her words like 
 an echo. But I heard, and fell upon my knees, crying to 
 the Lord — if He was there — ^^o have mercy on my sinful 
 soul, and to heal our little lamb. O mates, how I did cry, 
 to be sure ! And how I did hope it might be true that He 
 was there ; for I felt sui*e if He was He would help us. 
 
 " The old story I had learned years befoi'e, and forgotten 
 so long — the story of His cruel death — seemed to rise like a 
 strange bright picture in the awful stillness of that room ; 
 how He died for sinners, that such might be brought back 
 to God. This broke down my hardened heart. 
 
 "Just then, while I was on my knees, and the tears of 
 penitence were on my cheeks, Meg, dear little Meg, opened 
 her eyes once more. ' O father, I have had such a beautiful 
 dream,' she said, 'The Lord whom Mammy loves has come, 
 and called to such a lovely home, your poor tired Meg. 
 Father, take care of dear Manmiy.' 
 
 " The little eyes grew more weary, closed at last ; and 
 with one long sigh, Meg was gone to the lovely home." 
 
 The rough men were deeply moved, as he stopped to gasp 
 down his emotion. 
 
 " Lads, the mother went before long, clinghig to the Lord 
 whom Meg saw, resting on His woi-d as she passed through 
 the valley of the shadow of death into the light beyond. 
 The old place was too full of sorrow for me ; so I wandered 
 on till I got to thif. place ; and if I'm quiet it is because I 
 think of them. Even as I work the sense of His presence 
 is with me ; their dying words are in my ears. O ! mates, 
 

 184 
 
 Readings and Recitations. 
 
 take my story l»onie to your hearts — home to your wives and 
 little oiujs, and witli tliem seek the Saviour whose love so 
 strangely made me turn from evil to God."' 
 
 Not a word had interrupted him all through ; but now 
 Sam's voice was lieard, but little above a whisper : 
 
 " Mate, we want the song." 
 
 John cleared his voice a little, and as the men hushed 
 down again, sang : — 
 
 " I stay a littlu while below, 
 
 The changing seasons eonie and go ; 
 But Clirist, my joy, heals every woe, 
 In Him I live and fear no foe. 
 
 The night is dark and sad to me. 
 But even in the gloom I see 
 My Saviour bright, who died to free 
 My soul from misery. 
 
 Though He has taken those above 
 Who once have cheered me with their love, 
 Clad in the robe His hands have wove 
 They safely rest, where'er I rove. 
 
 So, still to Him my steps do tend ; 
 His power is present to tlefend ; 
 On His sweet mercy I depend ; 
 His love to me Mill never end. 
 
 Friends, come to Him just as you are ; 
 
 His arms of mercy reach as far 
 
 As ever son of man can need ; 
 
 His blood can pardon, and His love can feed." 
 
 Our Noble Queen. 
 
 God save our gracious Queen, 
 Long live our noble Queen, 
 
 God save the Queen ; 
 Send her victorious, 
 Happy and glorious, 
 Long to reign over us, 
 
 God save the Queen. 
 
vives and 
 3 love so 
 
 but now 
 I hushed 
 
 Readinos an'd Recitatioxs. 
 
 Lord, Thy best blessings shed, 
 On our loved monarch's head,' 
 
 Round her al)ide ; 
 Teach her Thy holy will, 
 Shield her from every ill, 
 Guard, guide and speed her still, 
 
 Safe to Thy side. 
 
 Through every changing scene, 
 O Lord, preserve our Queen, 
 
 Long may she reign ! 
 Her heart inspire, and move 
 With wisdom from above. 
 And in the nation's love 
 
 Her throne maintain ! 
 
 Under Thy mighty wings. 
 Keep her, O King of kings ; 
 
 Answer her prayer ; 
 Till she shall hence remove 
 Up to Thy courts above. 
 To dwell in light and love, 
 
 Evermore there. 
 
 ]8o 
 
 13 
 
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 l^VORKSBY THE REV. /. C SEYMOUR. 
 
 The Temperance Battle-Field; 
 
 AND HOW TO GAIN THE DAY. 
 
 Illustrated. 12mo, Cloth, 188 pp. Price 65 Cents. 
 
 "A book of rare interest; full of sound, sensible discourse; 
 illustrated with tact and power. Every boy should read it. " 
 
 — Rtv. Otorge Cochran, D.D. 
 
 Humor, Pith and Pathos, 
 
 A BOOK OF 
 
 READINGS AND RECITATIONS, 
 
 For Sabbath-School Entertainments, Temperance Meetings, &*c. 
 
 I 5 
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 ■'1/::, 
 
 
 Also, author of the following books now out of print ; 
 
 VOICES FROM THE THRONE ; or, God's Calls to Faith 
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 THE RIVER OF LIFE. An Exposition of Ezekiel 47, 1-12. 
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 47, 1-12.