DER DEUTSCHER'S MAXIM.*-CHARLES FOLLEN ADAMS.

Dhere vas vat you call a maxim

Dot I hear der oder day,
Und I wride id in mine album,
So id don'd could got avay;
Und I dells mine leedle Yawcob
He moost mind vot he's aboudt:
""Tis too late to lock der shtable
Vhen der horse he vas gone oudt."
Vhen I see ubon der corners

Off der shtreets, most efry night,
Der loafers und der hoodlums,
Who do nix but shvear und fight,
I says to mine Katrina:

"Let us make home bright und gay.
Ve had petter lock der shtable,

So our colts don'd got avay."

Vhen you see dhose leedle urchins,
Not mooch ofer knee-high tall,
Shump righdt indo der melon patch,
Shust owf der garden vall,
Und vatch each leedle rascall

Vhen he cooms back mit hees "boodle,"

Look oudt und lock your shtable,

So your own nag don'd shkydoodle!

When der young man at der counter
Vants to shpecgulate in shtocks,
Und buys hees girls some timond rings,
Und piles righdt oup der rocks,
Look oudt for dot young feller;
Id vas safe enuff to say
Dot der shtable id vas empty,

Und der horse vas gone avay.

Dhen dake time by der fetlock;
Don'd hurry droo life's courses;
Rememper vot der poet says,
"Life's but a shpan"-off horses;
Der poy he vas der comin' man;
Be careful vhile you may;
Shust keep der shtable bolted,
Und der horse don'd got avay.

From "Harpers' Magazine," by permission of the Author.

THE TEMPLE OF LIVING MASONS.

LAWRENCE M. GREENLEAF.

The temple made of wood and stone will crumble and decay, But there's a viewless fabric which shall never fade away; Age after age the Masons strive to consummate the plan, But still the work's unfinished which th' immortal three began;

None but immortal eyes may view, complete in all its parts, The temple formed of living stones,—the structure made of hearts.

'Neath every form of government, in every age and clime; Amid the world's convulsions and the ghastly wrecks of time;

While empires rise in splendor, and are conquered and o'erthrown,

And cities crumble into dust, their very sites unknown; Beneath the sunny smiles of peace, the threatening frown of strife,

Freemasonry has stood unmoved, with age renewed her life.

She claims her votaries in all climes, for none are under ban Who place implicit trust in God, and love their fellow man; The heart that shares another's woe beats just as warm and true

Within the breast of Christian, Mohammedan, or Jew; She levels all distinctions from the highest to the least,The king must yield obedience to the peasant in the East.

What honored names on history's page, o'er whose brave deeds we pore,

Have knelt before our sacred shrine and trod our checkered floor!

Kings, princes, statesmen, heroes, bards who squared their actions true,

Between the pillars of the porch now pass in long review; Oh, brothers, what a glorious thought for us to dwell upon,— The mystic tie that binds our hearts bound that of Washing

ton!

Although our past achievements we with honest pride review, As long as there's rough ashlars there is work for us to do; We still must shape the living stones with instruments of love

For that eternal mansion in the paradise above;

Toil as we've toiled in ages past to carry out the plan,

'Tis this, the Fatherhood of God, the Brotherhood of man!

PARSON POLICY.-MRS. ALEX. MC VEIGH MILLER. By permission of the Author.

"My dear," said Mrs. Policy,

It seems the strangest thing to me,
You cannot see how evil grows
Beneath your very eyes and nose.
The curse of rum is all abroad,
And men forget the law of God.
This thought my mind has long perplext,
Why don't you take a temperance text?

Why don't you come out fair and square
With Bible truth, and cease to spare
The men who drink, the men who sell
That fearful beverage of hell?

Why don't you tell them God has curst
With endless death the drunkard's thirst?
Why don't you try to win them back
From staggering on the downward track?"

"My dear," said Parson Policy,
We must agree to disagree.

"There's A who rents our highest pew,
A wholesale liquor dealer, too.
There's B who keeps a bar in town,
He puts his money freely down
To help our church's smallest need.
There's C, and D, and more indeed,—

"They each are in the liquor line,-
There's many more who take their wine.
My membership would dwindle fast
Did we exclude this generous class,
And should I join this wild crusade
I tell you frankly I'm afraid
They would not stay to hear abuse,
And I should preach to empty pews."

"Not quite so bad, I hope," said she,
"But even then I fail to see
How you can shirk a duty plain
For men's applause and worldly gain.
Such piety seems half and half,
As if you made a golden calf
And set it up among your pews
Too valuable to be abused.

"It seems unjust to me, I own,
To let the liquor curse alone-
You rail at all the other sins.
Almost before the spring begins
You rail at fashion's wild excess,
And sermonize the women's dress.
Such eloquence on rum bestowed
Might save some sinking souls to God."

"My dear," said Parson Policy,

66

The course proposed appears to me

A meddlesome excess of zeal;

And business men, no doubt, must feel

That ministerial eloquence

Can have no sanction or pretence

Of justice when its war is made

On licensed, legitimate trade."

"Well, well," she said. "Why cannot you
Try moral suasion? That might do
Much good." He answered, "No, my dear,
I must decline to interfere.

The state has done the best it can
By taxing liquor to a man."

Oh, yes," she cried. "They license evil,
And 'furnish rope to lead the devil."

"Why, wife," the Parson, shocked, arose,
Reproachful, eyeglass on his nose,—
"What freak possesses you of late

That you arraign the church and state?
How should a little woman see

The duty of a man like me?
Or rail at legislative laws

Designed to aid the temperance cause?"

"Nay, dear, we need not be at strife,
Let pity move you," said the wife.
"Oh, help each weak and sinning soul
To shun the wine-cup's base control.
Beneath the Everlasting Rock

God's faithful shepherd feeds his flock;
He bears the young lambs in his arms,
He shields the straying flock from harm.

"Can you, oh, shepherd of the Lord,
Do less than teach his faithful word?

Do less than preach his whole stern truth
To all your flock in age or youth?"

66

My dear," said Parson Policy,

Why argue when we can't agree?
I've had a long and tiresome day,
I'm tired and sleepy-let us pray."

"Oh, God," prayed Mrs. Policy,
With lifted eye and bended knee,
"Our land o'erflows with whisky waves,
Our men go down to drunkard's graves.
Look thou upon our grief in kindness;
Have pity on the clergy's blindness;
And teach them all to give their aid
To check this fearful liquor trade!"

NICKNAMES OF THE STATES.-H. U. JOHNSON. Dear Uncle Sam has many girls,

All precious in his eyes,

Though varying much in many things,

As age, and wealth, and size.

As sentiment they vary, too,

In beauty, spirit, grace;

The wealth of some is in the breast,

Of others on the face.

He early gave them single names,
Though double just a few;

Then father-like he nicknamed them,
As older girls they grew.

Miss Arkansas he called his "Bear,"

66

New York the "Empire State;"

Excelsior," he sometimes says

When he would her elate.

Rhode Island is his "Rhody" pet,

Or" Little Rhoda," dear.

When Texas, the "Lone Star," looks down

Upon her midget peer.

North Carolina, "Old North State,"

She is his "Turpentine;"

"Mother of Presidents," V-a,

Doth "Old Dominion " shine.