An' now heze munkst hiz garden weeds; Thet's orful, aint it? Wall, jist wait; Great Seezer! Every step he takes A spellin' bee hiz hunny makes, An' landy Moses! Marcy me! Thar, thar, Marier! Ef it churns I'll stop; but 'fore the thing ajurns He wants us thar on Krismus day, Thet jist gives me a pinter; Ile Ile rite it "C-h-r-i-s T-o-p-h-e-r." "SHOUTIN'."-F. L. STANTON. There's lots an' lots of people (if you'll just believe my song), What says we shoutin' Methodists is got the business wrong. Well, they're welcome to their 'pinions, but of one thing I'm secure: If they ever git religion they will shout a hundred, sure! I was once into a love-feast, an' talk of shoutin'-why, An' the Presbyterian people-they were happy, not a few, An' the Baptist brother come along and joined the shoutin', too. I tell you, folks, religion is a curious kind o' thing; It gives a man a heart to pray, a powerful voice to sing! An' if you've only got it-though there aint no shoutin' heard The people's bound to see it, if you never say a word. In this little church at Smithville, that is dear to one and all, Where the footsteps of the Master in the mystic silence fall, As He walks among the people in this little church, if we Only had some old time shoutin' how much better it would be. We're sailin' in the same old ship, no matter where we roam; The Baptists and the Methodists, we're all a-goin' home; The paths we tread are sometimes rough, and flowerless is the sod; "This world is not a friend of grace to help us on to God." But the lights of Canaan shinin' o'er the river's crystal tide Seem to woo us to the city that is on the other side. Then let us sing together, for we're bound to get there soon; "On the other side of Jordan"-will some brother raise the tune? 66 "Where the tree of life is bloomin'," sheddin' blossoms o'er the foam, "There is rest for the weary," an' we're goin', goin' home! A NIGHT RIDE ON THE ENGINE.-EMMA SHAW. OVER THE CANADIAN ROCKIES. Beside the engine-driver grim Like flaming, never-sleeping eye Its radiance makes the gloom more dense, On! On, until we seem to fly, Huge shapes loom up on either side,- A transient gleam lights up the snow Which crowns each brow, and scarred seams show Where swept the fearful avalanche, Destroying trees both root and branch, And proving its all-potent sway By leaving chaos in its way. Now some lone lake reflects our light A lone night-watchman holds in sight We swiftly plunge, and with a thrill Emerging from this cavern dark Which broadens to the switchman's light, As fast we thunder to the town, Then sudden stop, -the brakes hard down, For laggards. Swift the lights recede, Where fire has swept across the land, On trestled bridge we slowly go, While thund'rous, deaf'ning dash and roar O'er jagged rocks, in foam-wreaths white, We look ahead, and with a thrill, When, suddenly, each flinty spire A halo wears of sunrise fire! Up comes the sun; the mists are curled Which lies about-behind-before! DOMESTIC MUTUAL IMPROVEMENT. It was Sabbath evening, and Bob and Mrs. Johnston were seated at either side of the fire, crackin' soberly as befitted the time and the occasion. They had been to church, and heard a sermon in which the preacher had denounced hypocrisy as the besetting sin of the age, and pictured what a beautiful world this would be if every body in it were to speak the simple truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, in all the affairs of life. "It wis a'thegither a noble piece o' oratory," Bob was saying, "an' it wid be a grand thing for humanity, Maggie, if we could a' jist act up to the advice we got the nicht. Hoo smoothly and sweetly the wheels o' life wid gang if ilka body was honest and truthfu'." "Weel, I dinna see ony use in preachin'," replied Mrs. Johnston, "if folk dinna try, at least, to act up to what they're tell't. I'm sure, Bob, it wid be guid for baith o' us to ha'e our bit fauts--for there's naebody free o' them-pointed oot and corrected by them wha ken maist about them." "Feth, these are guid, plain, sensible words o' yours, Maggie. I'm maybe jist as free frae fauts as maist folk, though I'll admit I'm no a'thegither perfec', an' I dinna ken wha should be sae able to point oot a body's fauts an' correct his failin's as a man's ain wife. It's a capital idea. Noo, supposin' we begin the nicht, Maggie, an', for oor ain edification an' improvement, tell ane anither o' a' the wee bit defec's we may see in ilk ither, so that we may mend oor ways an' improve oor characters, as guid kirkgaun folk ocht to dae." "But hoo div ye think the thing 'ill work, Bob?" "Nae fear o't workin'. We maun jist aye keep in min' that onything said is for oor guid, an', though we maybe dinna like it, still we maun jist thole, an' mak' the best o't. Like a laddie takin' castor ile, we may grue an' thraw oor mou' a bittie, but, at the same time, we maun tak' oor moral pheesic like sensible folk.” "An' will you begin?" "Weel, I dinna min', an', secin' it's for baith oor guids, I maun jist caution ye again to see an' tak' onything said in guid pairt. Will ye min' that, na?" There's nae fear o' me," replied Mrs. Johnston, firmly. "Ye're shorter i' the grain than me a guid bit, an' much likelier to lose your temper, sae ca' awa', an say yer warst aboot me, gin ye like. It'll no move me, no a bit. |