The cottage leaves the palace far behind; What is a lordling's pomp? A cumb'rous load, Disguising oft the wretch of human kind, Studied in arts of hell, in wickedness refined.

O Thou! who poured the patriotic tide,
That stream'd thro' Wallace's undaunted heart;
Who dared to nobly stem tyrannic pride,
Or nobly die, the second glorious part,
(The patriot's God, peculiarly Thou art,
His Friend, Inspirer, Guardian and Reward),
Oh never, never, Scotia's realm desert

But still the patriot, and the patriot's bard

In bright succession raise her ornament and guard!

Robert Burns.

AN OLD STORY.

I have heard of poor and sad congregations, but the saddest preacher I ever knew went from Posey County, Ind., to Pike County, Mo. (where John Hay discovered Little Breeches and Jim Bludsoe). He was starving to death on donations of catfish, 'possum, and a hundred-dollar salary. Finally he made up his mind to go away. With wet eyes he stood up in the prayer meeting to bid goodby to his weeping congregation.

"Brothers and sisters," he said, wiping his eyes on his red bandana handkerchief, "I've called you together tonight to say farewell. The Lord has called me to another place. I don't think the Lord loves this people much; for none of you seem to die. He doesn't seem to want you. And you don't seem to love each other; for I've never married any of you. And I don't think love me;

you

for you don't pay me my salary-and your donations are mouldy fruits and wormy apples. 'By their fruits, ye shall know them.'

"And now, brothers and sisters, I am going to a better place. I've been appointed chaplain to the penitentiary at Joliet. 'Where I go ye cannot come; but I go to prepare a place for you."

"FAREWELL."

Farewell! there is a pathos in that word
Which time alone can never satisfy;

A conscious parting from the things that were
The sunshine and the cloud of days gone by.

Farewell! when man's true heart hath spoke that word
And turned him to the onward outlook broad;
Naught can make up to him what he hath lost
Save heaven and home, eternity and God.

And inward faith that there is no farewell;
But just the semblance of a thing that's not;
The drawing o'er the past a time-made veil
Which the Almighty's hand had kindly wrought.

To keep men looking upward to the heights
Beyond whose cliffs eternal pleasures lie;
Bathed in the glory of a perfect light!
Kissed by the beauty of the bye and bye.

Farewell! 'tis but the hunger in the soul

For man's salvation, and for heaven above;

The craving for a ransomed universe,

The "Mind of Christ," the triumph, and the love.

Author not given.

M'HM.

Ye've Heerd Hoo the Deil as he wauchled thro' Beith, Wi' a wife in ilk oxter an' ane in his teeth,

When someone ca'd oot, "will ye tak mine the morn ?"

He waggled his tail, and he cocked his horn,
But he only said "m'hm,"

He grinned and said "m'hm,"

Wi' sic a big moothfu' he cudna say "aye."

When I was a callant lang syne at the skule,
The maister aye ca'd me a dunce and a fule,
But for a' that he said, I cud ne'er understan',
Save when he said, "Jamie, just haud oot yer han","
Then I gloomed and said "m'hm,"

I glowered and said "m'hm,"

I wasna that proud but ower dour to say "aye.”

Yin day a queer word as lang-nebbit's himsel',
He vowed he would thrash me if I wadna spell,
Quoth I, "Mr. Quill," wi' a kind o' a swither,
"I'll spell ye that word, gin ye spell me anither;"
Let's hear ye spell "m'hm,"

That auld Scotch word "m'hm,"

That auld farrant word-ye ken it means "aye."

An' when a bold wooer I coorted ma Jean,
O' Avon's braw lassies, the pride an' the queen,
When 'neath ma auld plaidie wi' heart beating fain,
I speired in a whisper if she'd be ma ain,
She blushed and said "m'hm,"

She smiled and said "m"hm,"

A thoosan' times sweeter and dearer than "Aye."

Anon.

"TO KNOW ALL IS TO FORGIVE ALL.”

If I knew you and you knew me
If both of us could clearly see,
And with an inner sight divine
The meaning of your heart and mine,
I'm sure that we would differ less
And clasp our hands in friendliness;
Our thoughts would pleasantly agree
If I knew you, and you knew me.

If I knew you and you knew me,
As each one knows his own self, we
Could look each other in the face
And see therein a truer grace.
Life has so many hidden woes,

So many thorns for every rose;

The "why" of things our hearts would see,
If I knew you and you knew me.

Nixon Waterman, in "In Merry Mood."

A NEW VERSION.

Suggested By Some Modern Methods of Church Support. "Make not my Father's house a house of merchandise."-St. John 11-16.

O Lord I come to Thee in prayer once more;
But pardon if I do not kneel before
Thy gracious presence for my knees are sore
With so much walking. In my chair instead
I'll sit at ease and humbly bow my head.
I've labored in Thy vinyard, Thou dost know;
I've sold ten tickets to the minstrel show;

I've called on fifteen strangers in our town,
Their contributions to our church put down;
I've baked a pot of beans for Saturday's spree,
An old-time supper it is going to be;

I've dressed three dolls, too, for our annual fair,
And made a cake which we must raffle there.
Now, with Thy boundless wisdom, so sublime,
Thou knowest that these duties all take time;
I have no time to fight my spirit's foes;

I have no time to mend my husband's clothes;
My children roam the streets from morn till night,
I have no time to teach them to do right;
But Thou, O Lord, considering all my cares,
Wilt count them righteous, also heed my prayers.
Bless the bean supper and the minstrel show,
And put it in the hearts of all to go.
Induce the visitors to patronize

The men who in our program advertise;
Because I've chased these merchants till they hid
When e'er they saw me coming, yes they did.
Increase the contributions to our fair,
And bless the people who assemble there;
Bless Thou the grab bag and the gypsy tent,
The flower table and the cake that's sent;
May our whist club be to our service blest,
The dancing party gayer than the rest;
And when thou has bestowed these blessings then
We pray that Thou wilt bless our souls. Amen.

CHURCH MUSIC.

Attending services recently, in a church where the worship is of a highly aesthetic kind, the choir began that scriptural poem that