Then the street lamps-what a scandalous sight!
None of them soberly standing upright;
Rocking and staggering-why, on my word,
Each of those lamps is as drunk as a lord.

All is confusion! now isn't it odd?
Nothing is sober that I see abroad.
Sure it were rash with this crew to remain;
Better go into the tavern again.

THE DRUMMER BOY.

A touching incident of the Crimean war.

Captain Graham, the men were sayin'
Ye would want a drummer lad,

So I've brought ye my boy Sandie,
Tho' my heart is woful sad;
But nae bread is left to feed us,
And nae siller to buy more,
For the gudeman sleeps forever,

Where the heather blossoms o'er.

“Sandie, make your manners quickly,
Play your blithest measure true,
Give us Flowers of Edinboro','
While yon fifer plays it, too.
Captain, heard ye e'er a player
Strike in truer time than he?"
"Nay, in truth, brave Sandie Murray
Drummer of our corps shall be."

"I give ye thanks -but, Captain, maybe
Ye will hae a kindly care

For the friendless, lonely laddie,
When the battle wark is sair.

For Sandie's aye been good and gentle,
And I've nothing else to love,
Nothing but the grave off yonder,
And the Father up above."

Then, her rough hand gently laying

On the curl-encircled head,

She blessed her boy. The tent was silent;
Not another word was said;

For Captain Graham was reminded

Of a benison, long ago,

Breathed above his head, then golden, Bending now, and touched with snow. Good-bye, Sandie." Good-bye, mother, I'll come back some summer day;

Don't you fear-they don't shoot drummers
Ever. Do they, Captain Gra —?
One more kiss-watch for me, mother,
You will know 'tis surely me
Coming home,-for you will hear me
Playing soft the reveille."

After battle. Moonbeams ghastly
Seemed to link in strange affright,
As the scudding clouds before them
Shadowed faces dead and white;
And the night-wind softly whispered,
When low moans its light wing bore,-
Moans that ferried spirits over

Death's dark wave to yonder shore.

Wandering where a footstep careless
Might go splashing down in blood,
Or a helpless hand lie grasping
Death and daisies from the sod,
Captain Graham walked swift onward,
While a faintly-beaten drum
Quickened heart and step together:
"Sandie Murray! See, I come!

"Is it thus I find you, laddie?
Wounded, lonely, lying here,
Playing thus the reveille?

See the morning is not near."
A moment paused the drummer boy,
And lifted up his drooping head:

"Oh, Captain Graham, the light is coming,
"Tis morning, and my prayers are said.
"Morning! See, the plains grow brighter!
Morning-and I'm going home;
That is why I play the measure,
Mother will not see me come;
But you'll tell her, won't you, Captain-"
Hush, the boy has spoken true;
To him the day has dawned forever,
Unbroken by the night's tattoo.

SOFTLY WOO AWAY HER BREATH.-BARRY CORNWALL

Softly woo away her breath,

Gentle death!

Let her leave thee with no strife,

Tender, mournful, murmuring life!
She hath seen her happy day,

She hath had her bud and blossom;
Now she pales and shrinks away,
Earth, into thy gentle bosom!
She hath done her bidding here,
Angels dear!

Bear her perfect soul above,

Seraph of the skies,-sweet love!
Good she was, and fair in youth;
And her mind was seen to soar,
And her heart was wed to truth.
Take her, then, forevermore,
Forever-evermore!

A VISION OF FUTURE BLISS.
RICHARD BAXTER.

Rest! how sweet the sound! It is melody to my ears. It lies as a reviving cordial at my heart, and thence sends forth lively spirits which beat through all the pulses of my soul. Rest, not as the stone that rests on the earth, nor as this flesh shall rest in the grave, nor such a rest as the carnal world desires. Oh, blessed rest! when we rest not day and night, saying, "Holy, holy, holy, Lord God Almighty;" when we shall rest from sin, but not from worship; from suffering and sorrow, but not from joy. Oh, blessed day! when I shall rest with God; when I shall rest in the bosom of my Lord; when my perfect soul and body shall together perfectly enjoy the most perfect God!

This is that joy which was procured by sorrow; that crown which was procured by the cross. My Lord wept, that now my tears might be wiped away; he bled, that I might now rejoice; he was forsaken that I might not be; he died that I might live. Oh, free mercy, that can exalt so vile a wretch! Free to me, though dear to

Christ; free grace that hath chosen me, when thousands were forsaken.

Oh, sweet reconciliation! happy union! Now the gospel shall no more be dishonored through our folly. No more, my soul, shalt thou lament the sufferings of the saints, or the Church's ruins, or mourn thy suffering friends, or weep over their dying beds or their graves. Thou shalt never suffer thy old temptations from Satan, the world, or thy own flesh. Thy pains and sickness are all cured; thy body shall no more burden thee with weakness and weariness; thy aching head and heart, thy hunger and thirst, thy sleep and labor,—are all gone.

Oh, what a mighty change is this! From persecuting sinners, to praising saints; from a vile body, to this which shines as the brightness of the firmament; from a sense of God's displeasure, to the perfect enjoyment of him in love; from all my fearful thoughts of death, to this joyful life. Blessed change! Farewell sin and sorrow forever; farewell my rocky, proud, unbelieving heart, my worldly, sensual, carnal heart,—and welcome my most holy, heavenly nature! Farewell repentance, faith, and hope, and welcome love, and joy, and praise!

I shall now have my harvest without plowing or sowing; my joy without a preacher or promise; even all from the face of God himself. Whatever mixture is in the streams, there is nothing but pure joy in the fountain. Here shall I be encircled with eternity, and ever live, and ever, ever praise the Lord. My face will not wrinkle, nor my hair be gray; for this corruptible shall have put on incorruption, and this mortal, immortality; death shall be swallowed up in victory. O death! where is now thy sting? O grave! where is thy victory?

The date of my lease will no more expire, nor shall I trouble myself with thoughts of death, nor lose my joys through fear of losing them. When millions of ages are past, my glory is but beginning; and when millions more are past, it is no nearer ending. Every day is all noon, every month is harvest, every year is a jubilee, every age is a full manhood, and all this is one eternity. Oh, blessed eternity! the glory of my glory, the perfection of my perfection.

THE BLIND MEN AND THE ELEPHANT.-J. G. SAXE

It was six men of Indostan

To learning much inclined,
Who went to see the elephant
(Though all of them were blind),
That each by observation

Might satisfy his mind.

The First approached the elephant,
And, happening to fall

Against his broad and sturdy side,
At once began to bawl:

"God bless me! but the elephant
Is very like a wall!"

The Second, feeling of the tusk,

Cried: "Ho! what have we here
So very round and smooth and sharp?
To me 'tis mighty clear

This wonder of an elephant

Is very like a spear!"

The Third approached the animal,

And, happening to take

The squirming trunk within his hands,

Thus boldly up and spake:

"I see," quoth he, "the elephant
Is very like a snake!"

The Fourth reached out his eager hand,
And felt about the knee:

"What most this wondrous beast is like
Is mighty plain," quoth he;
""Tis clear enough the elephant
Is very like a tree."

The Fifth, who chanced to touch the ear,

Said: "E'en the blindest man

Can tell what this resembles most;

Deny the fact who can,

This marvel of an elephant

Is very like a fan!"

The Sixth no sooner had begun

About the beast to grope,

Than, seizing on the swinging tail

That fell within his scope,