as carpenters makes things-putting on 'em together and a-fitting of 'em. God says, ' Let there be flies,' and then there is flies." Call that " haphazard?" No! That boy had heard or read the sublime passage, "God said, Let there be light, and there was light." And thence he reasoned out the creative power of the Almighty.

CLERICAL WIT.

APARSON, who a missionary had been,

And hardships and privations oft had seen
While wandering far on lone and desert strands,
A weary traveller in benighted lands,
Would often picture to his little flock
The terrors of the gibbet and the block:
How martyrs suffered in the ancient times,
And what men suffer now in other climes.
And though his words were eloquent and deep,
His hearers oft indulged themselves in sleep.
He marked with sorrow each unconscious nod
Within the portals of the house of God;
And once this new expedient thought he'd take
In his discourse to keep the rogues awake.

Said he, "Whilst travelling in a distant state
I witnessed scenes which I will here relate.
'Twas in a deep, uncultivated wild,

Where noontide glory scarcely ever smiled;

Where wolves in hours of midnight darkness howl'd;
Where bears frequented, and where panthers prowl'd;
And on my word mosquitoes there were found,
Many of which, I think, would weigh a pound!
More fierce and ravenous than any shark—

They oft were known to climb the trees and bark'! "

The audience seem'd taken by surprise-
All started up and rubbed their wondering eyes.
At such a tale they all were much amazed;
Each drooping lid was in an instant raised;
And we must say, in keeping heads erect,
It had its destined and desired effect.
But tales like this credulity appalled.
Next day, the deacons on the pastor called,
And begged to know how he could ever tell
The foolish falsehoods from his lips that fell.

"Why, sir," said one, "think what a monstrous weight,
Were they as large as you were pleased to state!
You said they'd weigh a pound! It can't be true.
We'll not believe it, though 'tis told by you!"

"Ah, but it is!" the parson quick replied,
"In what I stated you may well confide:
Many, I said, sir; and the story's good-
Indeed, I think that many of them would!"
The deacon saw at once that he was caught,
Yet deemed himself relieved, on second thought:
"But then the barking-think of that, good man!
Such monstrous lies! Explain it if you can! "
"Why that, my friend, I can explain with ease-
They climbed the bark, sir, when they climbed the trees! "

"A BIT OF BLUE."

BY W. A. EATON, Author of "The Fireman's Wedding," &c. HEN I was but a little child,

Wis true, this tale I tell),

My dear, good mother, with those mild
Soft eyes I loved so well,

Would point above when clouds were black,
Just where the sun peeped through;

And say,

"Behind the darkest cloud

There is a bit of blue."

I've kept the counsel in my heart,
And hoped through hopeless years,
And tried to look beyond the clouds
Through floods of blinding tears.
And still I struggle on, but now
My life begins anew,

The clouds have vanished from my sight
Thanks to a "bit of blue."

My husband, when I married him,
Was blest with robust health,
And industry and skill, which form
The poor man's only wealth.
But, ere a year had passed away,
He found some friends who tried,
And not in vain, to wean him from
His wife and home fireside.

"A Bit of Blue."

And soon he went from bad to worse,

In spite of all my prayers,

Until I trembled when I heard
His step upon the stairs.

Our home, once bright as home could be,
Became a dreary place;

A haunt of want and misery,

Of ruin and disgrace.

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What groups of idle bodies stand
To gossip I declare.

Some tittle tattle soon they find,
There's something wrong each day;
But would you keep a quiet mind
Why, let them talk away.

The road of life is broad enough
For all to jog along;

And if betimes you find it rough,
Why, sing a cheerful song.
Though idle gossip for the while
With pain may fill the breast,
Just meet it with a cheerful smile,
And bravely leave the rest.
There is enough of toil and care,
Enough of mortal strife;

Why larger make your daily share
When you may sweeten life?

The days and hours are short and few,
Our duty to fulfil;

Then keep a noble end in view,

And let them talk who will.

Put on your armour for the strife,
And bear a manly part;
There's nothing like a noble life

To make a cheerful heart.
With purpose high then persevere
Whate'er the world may say;

While you can keep a conscience clear,
Why, let them talk away.

And before them are fruits, and wine, and ice,

And they jest as they drink, and smoke, and spit

As they rattle and throw the dice.

The game is done,

And the last of a thousand chances lost!

The other has won,

Results.

And he knows to-day what his folly has cost. He is white as a sheet, and thin as a ghost; For at last he feels,

And his brain it reels

As he says to himself, "I am mad almost!

Tumbled and tost,

From high to low,
Certain, if slow-

Since the day that he fell

The curse of the world has been hotter than hell!

That his wife and child should be left to die

On the wretched, rotten, cellar floor!

Are we right in making the innocent feel

Our hearts are steel,

And there is a double-barred lock on our store?

Shall their mute appeal

Be all in vain?

Is there nothing in pain

That burns like a red-hot coal in the brain

To soften us down,

And take some of the lightning out of our frown?

Is it Christian-like to sit in a room

And enjoy the sweets

Of a thousand meats

Our rich and pamper'd England eats,
Beside this horrible house of doom?

God help them! for there

Is no love in man

They have dropt a little below our care.

We have quite forgot

In our wrath so hot,

What decent people they were!

When he had a 66

span

And his wife a phaeton in which to drive,

Their house was alive

With the happiest faces

From the happiest places:

But now, since he fell,

To their sorrow they find

There is nobody kind,

And the curse of the world is hotter than hell!

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