broke down the bridge of my nose, cut my upper lip, and knocked out three of my front teeth. I suffered dreadfully on account of it, as you may suppose, and my face ain't well enough yet to make me fit to be seen, 'spccially by the women folks. (Coughs.) Oh, dear! but that ain't all, Doctor; I've got fifteen corns on my toesand I'm afeard I'm a going to have the " yaller janders." (Coughs.)-DR. VALENTINE.

ΜΥ

LOST AND FOUND.

MY Which my rich neighbor makes his daily care.

daily walk was through a garden fair,

The flowers are his, and yet I called my own
One little rose, its petals partly blown.
It grew so near my pathway; it possessed
The very tints and colors I loved best;

And when I touched its leaves with tender care
A sweet perfume, my favorite, filled the air.
So, day by day, I watched it as it grew,
And day by day increased that feeling, too,
That it was mine. I loved it, and it seemed
That bud and blossom with new beauty beamed
To know my love. 'T would bend its graceful head
Toward me lovingly, and always shed
Its sweetest odors when I came that way.
But going to my task, one autumn day,
I missed its fragrance, and, alas, I found
A withered leaf alone upon the ground,
To tell me that some cruel, wanton hand
Had robbed me of my joy. Dismayed I stand
And weep, and as I weep recall each tint
And shade, and every line and curve imprint

With beauty on its leaves, and to my sense
Its odors come again, as when with recompense
For toil and care they cheered and stayed my life
My stricken heart rebels in bitter strife.

I questioned not who planted it, nor where
It gained those beauties that I deemed so fair,
Nor whose the care that sheltered it, and kept
It sweet and safe when I had worked or slept.
I only know I loved it and 't is gone-
My life's a burden and my heart a stone.
So, to and fro, I walk my path along

And brood upon my loss, and nurse my wrong.
All other joys I scorn. I will not see
That, all along my pathway, there may be
Marvels of beauty to relieve my woes;
Colors as bright and odors sweet as those
I loved. Until there came, one eventide,
When worn and weary I could scarce abide
My bitter thoughts, a summons from the home
Of my rich neighbor, bidding me to come,
And in his palace and society

Enjoy a feast and rest prepared for me.
Charmed by his tender care I go and feast,
And oh, what words can tell the rich repast!
My gracious friend now seats me by his side,
And in his willing ear I pour the tide
Of all my sorrows, tell him of my grief,
And in his sympathy find sweet relief.
At last, the banquet o'er, he bids me share
His palace and its honors. No more care
Or toil or grief or tears shall be my lot,
But all my woes in this great joy forgot.
Then, token of his love, upon my brow
He puts a crown-far brighter than the bow

Which throws across the sky its glittering span,
Perpetual prophecy of hope to man—

A crown of rarest jewels, and of flowers
Unfading and immortal. As I gaze

Upon the wreath and scan the glowing maze
Of bud and blossom, crimson, purple, gold,
One tint, one lovely flower, I behold-
The crowning central glory of the crown-
It is the little rose I called my own!

Oh, gracious friend, I see the lesson now!
That lovely blossom was not mine, but thou
Didst plant and nurture it beside my way,
That I might learn to love it day by day.
And thou didst pluck it, ere the chilling frost
Had marred one beauty that I loved the most,
That, when I came to share thy home and rest,
Thy love might seal my joy with this bequest:
Thy hand might place it on my brow, and I
Might know it mine for all eternity.

THOMAS B. APPLEGET.

DESPAIR IS NEVER QUITE DESPAIR

HE gloomiest day hath gleams of light,

THE

The darkest wave hath bright foam near it;

And twinkles through the cloudiest night

Some solitary star to cheer it.

The gloomiest soul is not all gloom,

The saddest hour is not all sadness;

And sweetly o'er the darkest doom

There shines some lingering beam of gladness.

Despair is never quite despair,
Nor life nor death the future closes ;
And round the shadowy brow of care
Will hope and fancy twine their roses.

MRS. HEMANS.

BLINDNESS.

T would be a dreadful thing to me to lose my sight;

to see no more the faces of those I love, nor the sweet blue of heaven, nor the myriad stars that gem the sky, nor the dissolving clouds that pass over it, nor the bat tling ships upon the sea, nor the mountains with their changing lines of light and shade, nor the loveliness of flowers, nor the burnished mail of insects. But I should do as other blind men have done before me: I should take God's rod and staff for my guide and comfort, and wait patiently for death to bring better light to nobler eyes. O ye who are living in the darkness of sin! turn before it is too late to the light of holiness, else death will bring to you not recreation, but retribution. Earthly blindness can be borne, for it is but for a day; but who could bear to be blind through eternity? H. W. BEECHER.

NEGRO PRAYER.

LORD, bless de teacher who come so far to 'struct us in de way to heaven. Rock her in de cradle of love. Backen de word of power in her heart dat she may hab souls for her hire, and many stars in her crown in de great gitten up mornin', when de general roll is called; and when all de battles is over may she full

kivered wid victory, be buried wid de honors of war and rise to wear de long white robe in glory, and walk de shinin' streets in silvern slippers, down by de golden sunrise, close to de great white throne, and dere may she strike glad hands wid all her dear scholars, and praise you, O God, for ever and ever, for Jesus' sake. Amen.

H, with what pride I used

To walk these hills, and look up to my God, And bless him that the land was free! 'T was free From end to end, from cliff to lake, 't was free!