With what a thundering noise the train goes past.
It's grand, and better than a game of ball."
"No, Harry darling, I would rather not,"

The mother's anxious fears made quick reply.

But still the lad's appealing, wistful face

With mother's love calmed down a mother's fears. "Well, I suppose I am a coward born,

But yet you know he is our only one;

I think I'd die if he should come to harm!"
"Oh! mother, let him go, I will take care
That nothing happens, and full well I may,
For I do think that never father yet

So loved his son as I my little lad."

"Well, Albert, take him, bring him safely back,
And we'll be thankful in our prayers to-night."
The mother's eye gazed after as they walked.
"With what a springing step our Harry goes!
How like his father in his manly ways;
God grant he make another such a man!"
Then turned within the house.

He reached the bridge,
And bidding Harry safely stand aside,

He placed the crank and moved the fastened draw.
Slowly it rolled aside, and slowly through
The swelling sail and loaded vessel passed.
Just then the noise of the fast-coming train
Struck loud his listening ear. He bent his form,
With both arms grasping the strong iron crank,
To make his work all safe for human lives.
But, hark! a cry and splash, and looking up,
He saw his boy, in whom his life was bound,
Had fallen in the dark and rapid stream.

He dropped the crank, threw off his loosened coat-
But then there came upon his quickened brain,

As the sun paints upon the polished plate,

As meteor flashes on among the stars,

Or as the lightning, on the startled eye,
Paints its clear pictures of the scene around,
Two visions full of grief and human woe.

One was the thundering train freighted with life,
The strong men trusting to his watchful care,
The women, helpless, trusting to his strength,
And little children in their happiest moods.
He saw them coming on their rapid course.

And in a moment through the gaping bridge,
Crushing and breaking down, and lower still
Into the whelming waters. Then the cry
For help, all unavailing, seemed to smite
Upon his listening ear. Faces upturned
Of women and of children, as their forms
Floated a moment e'er they sank beneath
The turbid waters; while the wailing cry
From many homes made desolate struck in
Upon his dark and sorely troubled soul.

Such was one picture;-quicker then than thought
Came still the other, and--the agony!
He saw his darling lad, stiffened and pale,
The light all vanished from his loving eye,
The grace all taken from his graceful form,
No answering look to many a look of love,
Stretched on his cottage bed, and at his side
That loving mother crushed and broken down,
Her face all full of tearless agony,

The light all taken from her earthly life;
While from her silence he could feel the words:
"Oh! Albert dear, how could we let him go?"
Never, I think, in the world's history,

Was such a choice on loving father thrown.

Five seconds scarce had passed, but on his soul,
Amid the agony which no words can tell,

God's strength was cast,-he seized the crank again; "My place is here, I cannot leave it now,

Oh! oh! God help me, save my little lad!"

With both arms on the crank and eyes on stream,

He strained his muscles,-never was the need

Of muscle greater,-swings the draw around.

Keep quiet, Harry, let your arms fall down,

Throw your head back, I will be with you soon."

But to his ear came back the answering cry:
"Oh! help me, father! I am going down."

Swelled hard the muscles, still the draw came slow,
And groaned the father in his agony.
“Father, I cannot, all my breath is gone.”
A fainter struggle, then a plaintive voice
Said, "Father, good-bye! tell mother, moth-"
And the last tones were smothered by the waves.
The father with his eye and mouth firm fixed,

And pale as death can make the ruddiest cheek,
With his hair turned as white as driven snow,
Saw the sweet face sink slowly, slowly down,
Saw the rich clustering curls a moment float,
Then sink beneath, and saw the bubbles come
From the life-breath and swim upon the wave,
Then vanish into air.

Now on the bridge
The draw came strong, and shoving fast the bolt,
The father gave a leap into the air

And plunged into the water, while the train,
Unconscious, hurried by. With rapid arm
He cleaved the water, reached the fatal spot;
He saw a mass upon the river's floor; to dive
Was but a moment's work, and in his arms
To raise the precious burden took small time.

The shore was gained, and from the slackened train
Poured hundreds out to aid him, who had seen
The leap, and knew their peril now, and debt
To him who saved them; and around the child
Came skilful surgeons, all whose anxious thought
Was to restore his life; but yet vain hope;
No human skill could bring the rifted breath;
The light was taken from the sparkling eye,
And nothing but the clay-cold form could meet
That mother's eye, who of the coming grief
Was all unconscious, singing at her work.

And who can paint that grief, and who can know,
Save Him who made her loving mother's heart,
How the stern agony will smite her down,
When cradled in his stricken father's arms,
The darling of her life is carried home?

We'll draw the veil; too sacred is such grief
For human word or vision. God alone
Can pour the balm into her bleeding heart,
Can send the Comforter, and shed His peace,
Which eye hath never seen nor ear hath heard,
Into her stricken soul, and give her joy.
For He can show the lad she loved so well
Under the Tree of Life, beside the crystal stream,
And happy in the love of one whose love
Is mightier than all grief; grief cannot live
In His all-blessed presence. But for us

The lesson still remains-that sacrifice

Is glorious beyond anything on earth.
Fathers may tell to children's listening ears,
While time shall last, the story of this age,
And the bridge-tender of the fair Passaic
Shall be remembered for all coming time.

THE CHINAMAN'S PRODIGAL.

At the Chinese Mission school a young Chinaman, Wong Lee, read the Testament in English and then from memory gave the sense of what he had read. This is what he made of the parable of the Prodigal Son :

66

A man, he two sons. Son speakee he to fathel; fathel got heap o' money; give some he. He takee half; he go iong way-like me come China to Philadelp. No be careful of money, spend too much; money all gone; he velly hungry. He go to boss. He want job, he say; all light; he tell him feed pigs. He give pigs beans; he eat with pigs, self. He just now talk: My fathel he velly lich-too muchee money. What for me stay here hungly? Me wantee go back and see my fathel." He go back; long way fathel see him. He takee him on the neck. The son say: I velly bad. Me no be your son; me be coolie," His fathel say: "Get handsome coat; give he ling; bling fat cow-kill cow; give he plenty eat."

he no go inside. be mad." Othel

They velly glad. He allee same dead; just now come back alive; he lost; he get back. Othel son come. He listen music. He ask servant: "What fol they makee music?" He say: "You blothel come back; fathel velly glad he no sick; he kill fat cow." Othel son velly mad; Fathel he come out; he say: "No, no son he say: "I stay allee time by my fathel; never makee him mad. My fathel no kill fat cow fol me. Blothel he velly bad; he spend money too much; he have fat cow and music.' Fathel say: "You no undelstand; he just dead; he now come to life; he lost; be now come back."

They all makee music.

OUR CHURCH SOCIABLE.*-LOUIS EISENBEIS.

What's got the matter in the church, have Christians quit aspeakin'?

Because the preacher said to-day, "We'll have a social meetin'."

He wanted all to come, he said, and speak and git acquainted

It sounded so outlandish queer, I purty nearly fainted.

Somehow, I got the notion that the members of a meetin'
Don't have to first git introduced, to give a friendly greetin'.
Them kind of people,'pears to me, have souls as tuff as leather,
They ought to have religion 'nuff to bind 'em all together.
I never knowed until to-day, the Church was so unsainted
That when you once got in, 'twas hard to speak and git ac-
quainted;

Does jinin' meetin' change the face of sister and of brother
So dreadful much that when they meet, they hardly know
each other?

I hardly think it, for last washday—the children were ascreamin'

They come to git the pew rent. I was washin', scrubbin',

cleanin',

And though I hardly knowed myself, I looked so out of sea

son,

They really called me by my name, and smiled so sweet an

pleasin'.

They knowed me, but I think there's some, who seem to've lost their reason,

Who 'pear to bring in loads of ice, to give the church a freezin':

They'll give you chills in summer-time; they're cold as blocks of granite,

And strut about with heads so high, you'd think they'd
bump a planet.

Why, only last communion day, I saw a deacon brother,
Just after Parson Brown had preached on, "Lovin' one an-

other,"

Pull out his pocket handkercher, an wipe his weepin' eye,
And when I turned to speak to him, he coolly passed me by.

Another time, I mind it well, I often think upon it,
I wore my yaller weddin'-dress and green Parisian bonnet;
*By permission. Mr. Eisenbeis has contributed to this Series: "The Church
Fair," "The Parson's Vacation," "The Deacon, Me and Him," and other popu
lar recitations in the same vein.

MICHIGAN

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