THE LABORER.-W. D. Gallagher.

Stand up-erect! Thou hast the form
And likeness of thy God!—who more?
A soul as dauntless 'mid the storm
Of daily life, a heart as warm

And pure, as breast e'er wore.

What then?-Thou art as true a man
As moves the human mass among;
As much a part of the great plan
That with Creation's dawn began,
As any of the throng.

Who is thine enemy? the high

In station, or in wealth the chief? The great, who coldly pass thee by, With proud step and averted eye? Nay! Nurse not such belief.

If true unto thyself thou wast,

What were the proud one's scorn to thee? A feather, which thou mightest cast Aside, as lightly as the blast

The light leaf from the tree.

No;-uncurbed passions, low desires,
Absence of noble self-respect,—
Death, in the breast's consuming fires,
To that high nature which aspires
Forever, till thus checked,-

These are thine enemies,-thy worst;
They chain thee to thy lowly lot,

Thy labor and thy life accursed:

Oh, stand erect! and from them burst,
And longer suffer not!

Thou art thyself thine enemy!

The great!-what better they than thou? As theirs is not thy will as free?

Has God with equal favors thee

Neglected to endow?

True, wealth thou hast not,-'tis but dust!
Nor place, uncertain as the wind!
But that thou hast which, with thy crust
And water, may despise the lust

Of both,-
-a noble mind.

With this, and passions under ban,
True faith, and holy trust in God,
Thou art the peer of any man.
Look up, then; that thy little span
Of life may well be trod.

THE DIGNITY OF LABOR.-NEWMAN HALL.

There is dignity in toil-in toil of the hand as well as toil of the head-in toil to provide for the bodily wants of an individual life, as well as in toil to promote some enterprise of world-wide fame. All labor that tends to supply man's wants, to increase man's happiness, to elevate man's nature -in a word, all labor that is honest-is honorable too. Labor clears the forest, and drains the morass, and makes "the wil. derness rejoice and blossom as the rose." Labor drives the plow, and scatters the seeds, and reaps the harvest, and grinds the corn, and converts it into bread, the staff of life. Labor, tending the pastures and sweeping the waters as well as cultivating the soil, provides with daily sustenance the nine hundred millions of the family of man. Labor gathers the gossamer web of the caterpillar, the cotton from the field and the fleece from the flock, and weaves it into raiment soft and warm and beautiful, the purple robe of the prince and the gray gown of the peasant being alike its handiwork. Labor moulds the brick, and splits the slate, and quarries the stone, and shapes the column, and rears not only the hum ble cottage, but the gorgeous palace, and the tapering spire, and the stately dome. Labor, diving deep into the solid earth, brings up its long-hidden stores of coal to feed ten thousand furnaces, and in millions of homes to defy the winter's cold.

Labor explores the rich veins of deeply-buried rocks, extracting the gold and silver, the copper and tin. Labor smelts the iron, and moulds it into a thousand shapes for use and ornament, from the massive pillar to the tiniest needle, from the ponderous anchor to the wire gauze, from the mighty fly-wheel of the steam-engine to the polished purse

ring or the glittering bead.

Labor hews down the gnarled oak, and shapes the timber, and builds the ship, and guides it over the deep, plunging through the billows, and wrestling with the tempest, to bear to our shores the produce of every clime.

Labor, laughing at difficulties, spans majestic rivers, carries viaducts over marshy swamps, suspends bridges over deep ravines, pierces the solid mountain with its dark tunnel, blasting rocks and filling hollows, and while linking together with its iron but loving grasp all nations of the earth, verifying, in a literal sense, the ancient prophecy," Every valley shall be exalted, and every mountain and hill shall be brought low;" labor draws forth its delicate iron thread, and stretching it from city to city, from province to province, through mountains and beneath the sea, realizes more than fancy ever fabled, while it constructs a chariot on which speech may outstrip the wind, and compete with the lightning, for the telegraph flies as rapidly as thought itself.

Labor, a mighty magician, walks forth into a region uninhabited and waste; he looks earnestly at the scene, so quiet in its desolation; then waving his wonder-working wand, those dreary valleys smile with golden harvests; those barren mountain-slopes are clothed with foliage; the furnace blazes; the anvil rings; the busy wheel whirls round; the town appears; the mart of commerce, the hall of science, the temple of religion, rear high their lofty fronts; a forest of masts, gay with varied pennons, rises from the harbor; representatives of far-off regions make it their resort; Science enlists the elements of earth and heaven in its service; Art, awakening, clothes its strength with beauty; Civiliza tion smiles; Liberty is glad; Humanity rejoices; Piety ex. ults; for the voice of industry and gladness is heard on every side.

Working men, walk worthy of your vocation! You have a noble escutcheon; disgrace it not. There is nothing really mean and low but sin. Stoop not from your lofty throne to defile yourselves by contamination with intemperance, licentiousness, or any form of evil. Labor, allied with virtue, may look up to Heaven and not blush, while all worldly dignities, prostituted to vice, will leave their owner without a

You

corner of the universe in which to hide his shame. will most successfully prove the honor of toil by illustrating in your own persons its alliance with a sober, righteous, and godly life. Be ye sure of this, that the man of toil, who works in a spirit of obedient, loving homage to God, does no less than cherubim and seraphim in their loftiest flights and holiest songs.

THE SHADOW ON THE BLIND.

Alas! what errors are sometimes committed,
What blunders are made, what duties omitted,
What scandals arise, what mischief is wrought,
Through want of a moment's reflection and thought!
How many a fair reputation has flown

Through a stab in the dark from some person unknown;
Or some tale spread abroad with assiduous care,
When the story the strictest inspection would bear!
How often rage, malice, and envy are found;

How often contention and hatred abound

Where true love should exist, and harmony dwell,
Through a misunderstanding, alas! who can tell?

Mr. Ferdinand Plum was a grocer by trade;
By attention and tact he a fortune had made;
No tattler, nor maker of mischief was he,
But as honest a man as you'd e'er wish to see.
Of a chapel, close by, he was deacon, they say,
And his minister lived just over the way.

Mr. Plum was retiring to rest one night,
He had just undressed and put out the light,
And pulled back the blind

As he peeped from behind

('Tis a custom with many to do so, you'll find), When, glancing his eye,

He happened to spy

On the blinds on the opposite side-oh, fie!

Two shadows; each movement of course he could see, And the people were quarreling evidently.

"Well I never," said Plum, as he witnessed the strife, "I declare 'tis the minister beating his wife!"

The minister held a thick stick in his hand,

And his wife ran away as he shook the brand,

Whilst her shrieks and cries were quite shocking to hear, And the sounds came across most remarkably clear.

"Well, things are deceiving,

But seeing's believing,'

Said Plum to himself, as he turned into bed;
Now, who would have thought

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That man would have fought

And beaten his wife on her shoulders and head
With a great big stick,

At least three inches thick?

I am sure her shrieks quite filled me with dread.
I've a great mind to bring

The whole of the thing

Before the church members, but no, I have read
A proverb which says Least said soonest mended.'"
And thus Mr. Plum's mild soliloquy ended.

But, alas! Mr. Plum's eldest daughter, Miss Jane,
Saw the whole of the scene, and could not refrain
From telling Miss Spot, and Miss Spot told again
(Though of course in strict confidence) every one
Whom she happened to know, what the parson had done
So the news spread abroad, and soon reached the ear
Of the parson himself, and he traced it, I hear,

To the author, Miss Jane. Jane could not deny,
But at the same time she begged leave to defy
The parson to prove she had uttered a lie.

A church meeting was called: Mr. Plum made a speech.
He said, "Friends, pray listen awhile, I beseech.
What my daughter has said is most certainly true,
For I saw the whole scene on the same evening, too;
But, not wishing to make an unpleasantness rife,
I did not tell either my daughter or wife.

But of course as Miss Jane saw the whole of the act,
I think it but right to attest to the fact.

'Tis remarkably strange!" the parson replied:
"It is plain Mr. Plum must something have spied;
Though the wife-beating story of course is denied;
And in that I can say I am grossly belied."
While he ransacks his brain, and ponders, and trie
To recall any scene that could ever give rise
To so monstrous a charge,-just then his wife cries,
"I have it, my love: you remember that night
When I had such a horrible, terrible fright.
We both were retiring that evening to rest,-
I was seated, my dear, and but partly undressed,
When a nasty large rat jumped close to my feet;
My shrieking was heard, I suppose, in the street;