But at his feet his child lay bound,
And every hope of help was vain.
He let deliverance pass him by;

He stooped and kissed the little face; "I will not leave thee by thysel',

Ah, lad; this is thy father's place."

So Self before sweet Love lay slain.
In the deep mine again was told
The story of a father's love.

Older than mortal man is old

For though they urged him o'er and o'er,
To every prayer he only had
The answer he had found at first,
"Nay; I'll stay with the lad!"

And when some weary days had passed,
And men durst venture near the place,
They lay where Death had found them both,
But hand in hand, and face to face.
And men were better for that sight,
And told the tale with tearful breath;
There was not one but inly felt,

The man had touched a noble death,
And left this thought for all to keep-
If earthly fathers can so love,
Ah, surely, we may safely lean
Upon the Fatherhood above!

LILLIE E. BARR

I

LITTLE DORA'S SOLILOQUY.

TAN'T see what our baby boy is dood for anyway:

He don't know how to walk or talk, he don't know how to play;

He tears up ev'ry single zing he posser-bil-ly tan,

An' even tried to break, one day, my mamma's bestest fan.

He's al'ays tumblin' 'bout ze floor, an' gives us awful

scares,

An' when he goes to bed at night, he never says his

prayers.

On Sunday, too, he musses up my go-to-meetin' clothes, An' once I foun' him hard at work a-pinc'in' Dolly's

nose;

An' ze uzzer day zat naughty boy (now what you s'pose you zink?)

Upset a dreat big bottle of my papa's writin' ink;

An', 'stead of kyin' dood an' hard, as course he ought to

done,

He laughed, and kicked his head 'most off, as zough he zought 'twas fun.

He even tries to reach up high, an' pull zings off ze shelf, An' he's al'ays wantin' you, of course, jus' when you wants you'self.

I rather dess, I really do, from how he pulls my turls,
Zey all was made a-purpose for to 'noy us little dirls;
An' I wish zere wasn't no such zing as naughty baby
boys-

Why-why, zat's him a-kyin' now; he makes a drefful noise,

I dess I better run and see, for if he has-boo-hoo!— Felled down ze stairs and killed his-self, whatever From St. Nicholas.

s-s-s'all I do!

So speaks the heart,

When each to each repeats the words of doom;
Through blessing and through curse,

For better and for worse,

We will be one till that dread hour shall come.

Life, with its myriad grasp,
Our yearning souls shall clasp,

By ceaseless love, and still expectant wonder;
In bonds that shall endure,
Indissolubly sure,

Till God in death shall part our paths asunder.

Till Death us join.
O voice yet more divine!

That to the broken heart breathes hope sublime
Through lonely hours

And shattered powers

We still are one, despite of change and time.

Death, with his healing hand,

Shall once more knit the band

Which needs but that one link which none may sever; Till, through the Only Good,

Heard, felt, and understood,

Our life in God shall make us one forever.

DEAN STANLEY.

SYMPATHY.

A KNIGHT and a lady once met in a grove,

While each was in quest of a fugitive love;

A river ran mournfully murmuring by,
And they wept in its waters for sympathy.

“Oh, never was knight such a sorrow that bore!"

Oh, never was maid so deserted before!"

"From life and its woes let us instantly fly, And jump in together for company.”

They searched for an eddy that suited the deed,
But here was a bramble, and there was a weed;
"How tiresome it is!" said the fair, with a sigh;
So they sat down to rest them in company."

They gazed at each other, the maid and the knight. How fair was her form, and how goodly his height! "One mournful embrace," sobb'd the youth, "ere we die!"

So kissing and crying kept company.

"Oh, had I but loved such an angel as you!"

Oh, had but my swain been a quarter as true!"

"To miss such perfection how blinded was I!"

Sure now they were excellent company.

At length spoke the lass, 'twixt a smile and a tear, "The weather is cold for a watery bier;

When summer returns we may easily die,

Till then let us sorrow in company."

REGINALD HEBER.

γου

REV. GABE TUCKER'S REMARKS.

OU may notch it on de palin's as a mighty resky plan

To make your judgment by de clo'es dat kivers up a

man;

For I hardly needs to tell you how you often come

across

A fifty-dollar saddle on a twenty-dollar hoss;

An', wukin' in de low-groun's, you diskiver, as you go, Dat de fines' shuck may hide de meanes' nubbin in a

row.

I think a man has got a mighty slender chance for heben
Dat holds on to his piety but one day out o' seben;
Dat talks about de sinners wid a heap o' solemn chat.
And nebber draps a nickle in de missionary hat;
Dat's foremost in de meetin'-house for raisin' all de
chunes,

But lays aside his 'ligion wid his Sunday pantaloons.

I nebber judge o' people dat I meets along de way
By de places whar dey come fum an' de houses whar dey

stay;

For de bantam chicken's awful fond o' roostin' pretty

high,

An' de turkey-buzzard sails above de eagle in de sky; Dey ketches little minners in de middle of de sea,

An' you finds de smalles' possum up de biggest kind o'

tree!

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