Go, take him where 'such things' are done,-
For he sat in the seat of the scorner,-
To where they have room, for we have none,
To that little church round the corner."

So spake the holy man of God

Of another man, his brother,

Whose cold remains, ere they sought the sod,
Had only asked that a Christian rite

Might be read above them by one whose light
Was, "Brethren, love one another;"

Had only asked that a prayer be read
Ere his flesh went down to join the dead,
Whilst his spirit looked, with suppliant eyes,
Searching for God throughout the skies.

But the priest frowned "No," and his brow was bare
Of love in the sight of the mourner,

And they looked for Christ and found him-where?
In that little church round the corner!

Ah, well! God grant, when, with aching feet,

We tread life's last few paces,

That we may hear some accents sweet,

And kiss, to the end, fond faces!

God grant that this tired flesh may rest,

Mid many a musing mourner,

While the sermon is preached and the rites are read
In no church where the heart of love is dead,

And the pastor a pious prig at best,

But in some small nook where God's confessed,-
Some little church round the corner!

THE POOR PLAYER AT THE GATE.*
GEORGE VANDENHOFF.

Wisely, good Uncle Toby said,

"If here, below, the right we do,

"Twill ne'er be asked of us above

What coat we wore, red, black, or blue.”

At heaven's high chancery, gracious deeds
Shall count before professions,

And humble virtues, clad in weeds,
Shall rank o'er rich possessions.

*Written and spoken for the Holland Testimonial, at Wallack's, the Fifth Avenue, Niblo's, and the Academy of Music, New York.

So the poor player's motley garb,
If truth and worth adorn it,

May pass unchallenged through the gate,
Though churls and bigots scorn it.

The Lord of Love, the world's great Light, Made publicans his care;

And Pharisees alone demurred

That such His gifts should share.

But still He held his gracious way,
Soothing the humblest mourner,
Nor ever bade one sinner seek

For comfort "round the corner."

The woman that in sin was ta'en,
Bowed down with guilt and shame,
Found pity in that breast divine
That knew no taint of blame.

The Pharisees all gathered round
To taunt, revile, and stone her;
Christ bade her " Go and sin no more,"
His mercy would atone her;

He raised from death the widow's son,
Nor asked his trade, profession;
Enough for Him, a mother's faith
In His divine compassion.

He healed the palsied, halt, and blind,
Nor left one heart forlorner;
He never bade them go and find

A doctor-"round the corner."

Some modern saints too dainty are
To walk in paths like these;
They'd lock the gates of heaven on woe,
If they but held the keys.

The widow's friends ask prayers o'er him
From whom death's hand has torn her;

The saintly man refers him to

"The small church round the corner."

What is there in the player's art

Should close the fount of love?

He who on earth plays well his part
May hope a seat above.

4

The lessons he has wreathed with smiles,
The hearts his mirth made lighter
Shall plead like angels' tongues for grace,
And make his record brighter.

And though not nearest to the throne,
Yet sure the lowest born, or

The actor in the veriest bar,

May find in heaven a corner.

All honor to the little church,
And to its gracious pastor,
Who in his heart the lessons kept,
Taught by his heavenly Master!
And when this fleeting scene is past
To sinner, saint, and scorner,
Let's hope we all may find, at last,
A bright home round the corner.

MR. CAUDLE HAVING LENT FIVE POUNDS TO A FRIEND.-DOUGLAS JERROLD.

You ought to be very rich, Mr. Caudle. I wonder who'd lend you five pounds! But so it is: a wife may work and slave. Oh, dear! the many things that might have been done with five pounds! As if people picked up money in the streets! But you always were a fool, Mr. Caudle! I've wanted a black satin gown these three years, and that five pounds would have pretty well bought it. But it's no matter how I go,-not at all. Everybody says I don't dress as becomes your wife-and I don't; but what's that to you, Mr. Caudle? Nothing. Oh, no! you can have fine feelings for everybody but those that belong to you. I wish people knew you as I do-that's all. You like to be called liberal and your poor family pays for it.

And the girls want bonnets, and when they're to get 'em I can't tell. Half five pounds would have bought 'em, but now they must go without. Of course, they belong to you; and anybody but your own flesh and blood, Mr. Caudle.

The man called for the water-rate to-day; but I should like to know how people are to pay taxes who throw away five pounds to every fellow that asks them.

Perhaps you don't know that Jack, this morning, knocked the shuttlecock through his bedroom window. I was going to send for the glazier to mend it; but, after you lent that five pounds, I was sure we couldn't afford it. Oh, no; the window must go as it is; and pretty weather for a dear child to sleep with a broken window. He's got a cold already on his lungs, and I shouldn't at all wonder if that broken window settled him; if the dear boy dies, his death will be upon his father's head, for I'm sure we can't now pay to mend windows. We might, though, and do a good many more things, if people didn't throw away their five pounds.

Next Tuesday the fire insurance is due. I should like to know how it's to be paid. Why, it can't be paid at all. That five pounds would have just done it, and now insurance is out of the question. And there never were so many fires as there are now. I shall never close my eyes all night; but what's that to you, so people can call you liberal, Mr. Caudle? Your wife and children may all be burnt alive in their beds, as all of us to a certainty shall be, for the insurance must drop. After we've insured for so many years! But how, I should like to know, are people to insure who make ducks and drakes of their five pounds?

I did think we might go to Margate this summer. There's poor Caroline, I'm sure she wants the sea. But no, dear creature, she must stop at home; she'll go into a consumption, there's no doubt of that; yes, sweet little angel. I've made up my mind to lose her now. The child might have been saved; but people can't save their children and throw away five pounds too.

I wonder where little Cherub is? While you were lending that five pounds, the dog ran out of the shop. You know I never let it go into the street, for fear it should be bit by some mad dog and come home and bite

the children. It wouldn't at all astonish me if the animal was to come back with the hydrophobia and give it to all the family. However, what's your family to you, so you can play the liberal creature with five pounds?

Do you hear that shutter, how it's banging to and fro? Yes, I know what it wants as well as you: it wants a new fastening. I was going to send for the blacksmith to-day. But now it's out of the question: now it must bang of nights, since you have thrown away five pounds.

Well, things have come to a pretty pass! This is the first night I ever made my supper of roast beef without pickles. But who is to afford pickles when folks are always lending five pounds?

Do you hear the mice running about the room? I hear them. If they were only to drag you out of bed, it would be no matter. Set a trap for 'em? But how are people to afford the cheese, when every day they lose five pounds?

Hark! I'm sure there's a noise down stairs. It wouldn't surprise me if there were thieves in the house. Well, it may be the cat; but thieves are pretty sure to come some night. There's a wretched fastening to the back door; but these are not times to afford bolts and bars, when fools wont take care of their five pounds.

Mary Anne ought to have gone to the dentist's to-mor

row.

She wants three teeth pulled out. Now it can't be done. Three teeth, that quite disfigure the child's mouth. But there they must stop, and spoil the sweetest face that was ever made. Otherwise she'd have been the wife for a lord. Now, when she grows up, who'll have her? Nobody. We shall die, and leave her alone and unprotected in the world. But what do you care for that? Nothing; so you can squander away five pounds.

And now, Mr. Caudle, see what misery you've brought on your wretched family! I can't have a satin gown— the girls can't have new bonnets-the water-rate must stand over―Jack must get his death through a broken window-our fire insurance can't be paid, so we shall all