BEGINNING OF EVIL.

T was such a little thing—

IT

One slight twist of crimson string;
But 'twas stealing all the same!
And the child that took it knew
That she told what was not true
Just to screen herself from blame;
First a theft and then a lie-
Both recorded up on high.

It was but a little sip,
Just a taste upon the lip;

But it left a longing there;
Then the measure larger grew,
And the habit strengthened too,

Till it would no curbing bear.
So the demon Drink decoys;
Soul and body both destroys.

It was but one little word,
Softly spoken, scarcely heard,
Uttered by a single breath;
But it dared to take in vain
God's most high and holy name,

So provoking wrath and death.
Soon the lips, once fresh and fair,
Opened but to curse and swear.

It was but one little blow,
Passion's sudden overflow,
Scarcely heeded in its fall;
But, once loosed, the fiery soul
Would no longer brook control;

Laws it spurned, defied them all;
Till the hands love clasped in vain
Wore the murderer's crimson stain.

Ah! it is the foxes small,

Slyly climbing o'er the wall,

That destroy the tender vines; And it is the spark of fire,

Brightening, growing, curling higher,

That across the forest shines.
Just so, step by step, does sin,
If unchecked, a triumph win.

WH

Patient Mercy Jones.

PUT OUT THAT FIRE !

WM. M. TAYLOR, D.D.

177

HAT an enormous interest the drink-traffic has built up. The power of it is tremendous. I am afraid to put an estimate upon how much money is sunk in it. And yet see how the law deals with it. You know that scene in "The Pilgrim's Progress"; it has a very beautiful spiritual meaning, and I am almost ashamed to take it out of its connection for the purpose for which I mean to employ it. You remember when Christian is in the house of Interpreter, and he sees a great blazing fire, and there are men trying all they can to put it out, but it blazes on in spite of all their efforts. He can not understand it; but interpreter takes him round to the other side of the wall, where men are pouring in the oil, and then the whole thing is plain. That has a wonderful significance in the spiritual life; but do you not see the application of it here? Here are the licences issued continually year by year for men to keep the fire up. Is it any wonder, therefore, that policemen, city missionaries, Bible-women, Scripture-readers, and temperance societies should all be frustrated in their attempts to put it out? Here we are all labouring to put out the fire, and the licensing principle is doing everything it can to pour in oil upon it and keep it up. How long is this anomaly and inconsistency to continue in the midst of us? As long as the people permit it, and no longer. The responsibility is yours.

PATIENT MERCY JONES.

JAMES T. FIELDS.

Let us venerate the bones

Of patient Merey Jones,

Who lies underneath these stones.

HIS is her story as once told to me

THI

By him who loved her, as all men might see,—
Darius, her husband, his age seventy years,
A man of few words, but for her many tears.

Darius and Mercy were born in Vermont;
Both children were christened at baptismal font
In the very same place, on the very same day
(Not much acquainted just then, I dare say).
The minister sprinkled the babies, and said,
"Who knows but this couple some time may be wed,

And I be the parson to join them together,
For weal or for woe, through all sorts of weather!"
Well, they were married, and happier folk

Never put both their heads in the same loving yoke.
They were poor, they worked hard, but nothing could try
The patience of Mercy, or cloud her bright eye.
She was clothed with content as a beautiful robe;
She had griefs,-who has not on this changeable globe ?—
But at such times she seemed like the sister of Job.
She was patient with dogmas where light never dawns,
She was patient with people who trod on her lawns,
She was patient with folks who said blue skies were gray,
And dentists and oxen that pulled the wrong way;
She was patient with phrases no husband should utter,
She was patient with cream that declined to be butter;
She was patient with buyers with nothing to pay,
She was patient with talkers with nothing to say;
She was patient with millers whose trade was to cozen,
And grocers who counted out ten to the dozen;
She was patient with bunglers and fault-finding churls,
And tall, awkward lads who came courting her girls;
She was patient with crockery which no art could mend,
And chimneys that smoked every day the wrong end;
She was patient with reapers who never would sow,
And long-winded callers who never would go ;
She was patient with relatives, when uninvited

They came and devoured, then complained they were slighted;
She was patient with crows that got into the corn,

And other dark deeds out of wantonness born;

She was patient with lightning that burned up the hay,
She was patient with poultry unwilling to lay;

She was patient with rogues who drank cider too strong,
She was patient with sermons that lasted too long;

She was patient with boots that tracked up her clean floors,
She was patient with pedlars and other smooth bores;
She was patient with children who disobeyed rules,
And, to crown all the rest, she was patient with fools.
The neighbouring husbands all envied the lot
Of Darius, and wickedly got up a plot

To bring o'er his sunshine an unpleasant spot.

You think your wife's temper is proof against fate,
But we know of something her smiles will abate :
When she gets out of wood, and for more is inclined,
Just send home the crookedest lot you can find;
Let us pick it out, let us go and choose it,

And we'll bet you a farm, when she comes for to use it,

Patient Mercy Jones.

Her temper will crack like Nathan Dow's cornet,
And she'll be as mad as an elderly hornet."

Darius was piqued, and he said, with a vum,

'I'll pay for the wood, if you'll send it hum;

But depend on it, neighbours, no danger will come."

Home came the gnarled roots, and a crookeder load
Never entered the gate of a Christian abode.

A ram's horn was straighter than any stick in it;
It seemed to be wriggling about every minute;
It would not stand up, and it wonld not lie down ;
It twisted the vision of one-half the town.
To look at such fuel was really a sin,

For the chance was strabismus would surely set in.

Darius said nothing to Mercy about it:

It was crooked wood, even she could not doubt it;

But never a harsh word escaped her sweet lips,

Any more than if the old snags were smooth chips.

179

She boiled with them, baked with them, washed with them, through

The long winter months, and none ever knew

But the wood was as straight as Mehetabel Drew,

Who was straight as a die, or a gun, or an arrow,

And who made it her business all male hearts to harrow.

When the pile was burned up, and they needed more wood,

Sure, now," mused Darius, "I shall catch it good;

She has kept her remarks all condensed for the spring,
And my ears, for the trick, now deserve well to sting.
She never did scold me, but now she will pout,
And say with such wood she is nearly worn out."

But Mercy, unruffled, was calm, like the stream
That reflects back at evening the sun's perfect beam;
And she looked at Darius, and lovingly smiled,
As she made this request with a temper unriled:
"We are wanting more fuel, I'm sorry to say;
I burn a great deal too much every day,
And I mean to use less than I have in the past;
But get, if you can, dear, a load like the last;
I never had wood that I liked half so well-

Do see who has nice crooked fuel to sell;

There's nothing that's better than wood full of knots,
It lies so complete round kettles and pots,

And washing and cooking are really like play
When the sticks nestle close in so charming a way."

EMILY
MARY

ESTHER

A Non-abstainer.

Friends of Emily-fellow Sabbath scholars and Teetotalers.

(All seated at table, sewing or knitting.)

"ARY. Esther, have you thought about the text we were

Mto learn?
MA

ESTHER. Yes, and learned it. Have you?

MARY. I have done more than that. I have talked with father about it, and found a good many other texts about wine. EMILY. What is the text.

ESTHER. It is one of Solomon's proverbs: "Wine is a mocker; strong drink is raging; and whosoever is deceived thereby is not wise."

EMILY. I don't see how wine can be a mocker. Of course it is, or the Bible would'nt say so, but I don't understand it.

MARY. Father explained it to me. He said wine is a very attractive drink. It foams and sparkles and is pleasant to the taste, and when first drunk it exhilarates a person and makes him feel jolly. But afterwards he has a headache, and feels stupid and miserable. So it mocks the drinker by seeming to be good, and then proving to be evil.

ESTHER. Yes, I talked with my father about it, and he said the worst of it was what comes after drinking a good many times. The more a man drinks, the more he wants, so he is likely to keep on till he becomes a real drunkard.

EMILY. I didn't suppose drinking wine would make anybody a drunkard.

ESTHER. It does. It tells about it in the Bible. The first man whose drunkenness is recorded, drank of wine and was drunk.

EMILY. Who was he?

ESTHER. Noah. There is a great deal in the Bible about drinking wine. It says that wine maketh the heart glad; and so it does at first, but at last it biteth like a serpent and stingeth like an adder. The Bible says so.

MARY. Yes, and in Proverbs, after asking, "Who hath woe? who hath sorrow? who hath contentions? who hath babbling? who hath wounds without cause? who hath redness of eyes?" it answers, 'they that tarry long at the wine; they that go to seek mixed wine."