a telegraph crank; all the old Abolitionists were cranks; John Bunyan was a crank; any man who doesn't think as you do, my son, is a crank.

And by-and-by the crank you despise will have his name in every man's mouth, and a half-completed monument to his memory crumbling down in a dozen cities, while nobody outside of your native village will know that you ever lived. Deal gently with the crank, my boy. Of course, some cranks are crankier than others, but do you be very slow to sneer at a man because he knows only one thing and you can't understand him. A crank, Telemachus, is a thing that turns something, it makes the wheels go round, it ensures progress. True, it turns the same wheel all the time, and it can't do anything else, but that's what keeps the ship going ahead.

The thing that goes in for variety, versatility, that changes its position a hundred times a day, that is no crank; that is the weather-vane, my son. What? You nevertheless thank Heaven you are not a crank? Don't do that, my son. Maybe you couldn't be a crank if you would. Heaven is not very particular when it wants a weather-vane; almost any man will do for that. But when it wants a crank, my boy, it looks about very carefully for the best man in the community. Before you thank Heaven that you are not a crank, examine yourself carefully, and see what is the great deficiency that debars you from such an election.

-Burlington Hawkeye.

AWKWARD.-J. CHEEVER GOODWIN.

From "Scribner's Monthly," by permission.

And so she's engaged to be married
To one of our class! I'm afraid
That if very much longer she tarried

Her degree would be O. M.--Old Maid.
"I know her?" Oh, yes, or I thought so;
But I'm more than inclined to believe

I was wrong. I'm the fellow she sought so,
But couldn't deceive.

"You're surprised?" I imagined you would be; It's a thing I say little about;

"Twas as open a case as well could be

"Did she love me?" There wasn't a doubt.
Why, she just threw herself at my head, Bill!
But I knew she'd no heart and less brains;
And though money will settle a bread bill,
It won't wash off stains.

"You're astonished at this?" My dear fellow,
What the deuce did I care for her age!
I like women like apples,-when mellow.
But the fact was, I knew every page
Of her history. "Flirted?" You'd think so.
There was Harry McKeown, sixty-three;
It was she that drove him to the drink so;
"Am I sure?" As can be.

She's a scheming coquette, and I know it;
She hasn't the least bit of soul

Or an atom of truth. "Doesn't show it?"
No; her feelings are under control.
Then it's nonsense to say she has beauty,
I pity the fellow she's caught.

It must be a matter of duty

With him, or he's bought.

Who the deuce can it be? There's Fred Baker,
You remember him?-scored for the Nine;
But there isn't much fear that he'd take her;
He wants blue blood, and not a gold mine.
"Chicken" Jones? No, he's married. 'Twas funny,
How he ran a tie race with Jim Prout,
For the "class cradle," wasn't it? Money
He's got, and the gout.

"Tub" Abbott was sweet on her. Sandy
McGillum!-he must be the one,

By Jove, it's old "Sandy, the dandy!"
It's not he? I give up then. I'm done.

Is it one of our class, are you sure,

That the vixen has seized for her prey? Who's the fellow? let's have it! What! you are f The dickens you say!

A PAUPER'S REVENGE.-JOHN F. NICHOLLS.

One moment, oh, stay one moment, and give me a coin for bread,

You're the first I've ever asked, sir, for begging's a thing I

dread;

But I only left the workhouse a few short hours ago,

And I haven't a friend to help me—for God's sake, don't say No.

I know that I'm presuming, but I'm suffering want and pain, And I'll never ask the Guardians to take me back againThe same old story? Nay, sir; my story is fresh and true, Will you linger just a moment while I tell my tale to you?

Five long, long years ago, sir, I was happy and well-to-do, Not a thin and wasted creature, but as tall and strong as you; With a wife as fair as sunlight, and a home like heaven below;

While, better than these, my name, sir, was pure as the glistening snow.

I'd worked my business well, sir, then, thinking 'twould be for the best,

I took in a working partner, intending to take some rest; And I did, till I found the money was melting fast away, When I searched the books and found, sir, that the business had gone astray.

That partner of mine soon vanished with all the available cash;

He had ruined the firm in bills, sir, and naught could avert a smash:

'Twas a blow that simply crushed me; my ruin was so

complete,

That within a month from then, sir, we had scarcely food to eat.

Ah! many a time I've cursed him, the villain who spoiled my life,

I prayed for vengeance once, sir, as I stood by my poor dead wife,

For he, and he only, caused me the whole of my awful woe, And I prayed that God's wrath would follow wherever the wretch should go.

Alone in the world, I glided down, down in the social scale; Unable to find employment, my courage began to fai,

And weary of life and its burden, impelled by the hand of

Fate,

I flew to my only shelter inside of the workhouse gate.

Why did I leave it? I'll tell you. The reason is strange though true.

I hope you'll not think I am trying to hatch up a story for

you,

And pray do not think for a moment, I'm wanting to brag of my acts,

I'll tell you the tale quite simply, confining it strictly to facts.

'Twas only to-day it happened, though it seems a month ago, I was just outside of the gate, sir, a-sweeping away the snow, When a tattered, shivering stranger, with an air of fallen pride, Came up and asked me softly, was there room for him inside.

I started, and eyed the speaker, for I thought that voice I knew,

And he seemed to quail before me as I looked him through and through;

"Twas a mutual recognition, and there for a minute's space We two old city partners, stood silently face to face.

My blood grew hot, and I shouted, as I clutched and held him fast:

"You villain! till now you've 'scaped me, but my time has come at last;

I've a few old scores to settle before I can let you go!"

And with that I raised my fist, sir, to strike him a crushing

blow.

But just as the blow was falling, I fancied that I could trace
A mute appeal for mercy in his thin and careworn face,
And my blow went wide and harmless, for, bad as he once
had been,

I couldn't resist his glances, whatever the man might mean.

With an effort, I curbed my temper, and instantly let him go, When he fell right down before me, on his knees, in the pure-white snow,

And he sobbed: "I crave forgiveness, the way has been sharp and rough;

For God's sake spare your anger, my punishment's hard enough!"

'Twas a struggle, but I forgave him, and showed him the way inside,

Though I knew he couldn't stay there, however much he tried.

The wards were full, they told him, there wasn't a vacant

place,

And it went to my heart, that look, sir, on his pale and shrunken face.

Then straight from the spot I darted, right into the master's room,

Took my discharge and went, sir, away from the place of gloom,

Into a gloomier, maybe. You say, 'twas a foolish whim! Nay, sir, I left that workhouse to give up my place to him. That's all the revenge I've had, sir, a poor one you think, no doubt;

But I hope I shall never regret, sir, the morning that I came out.

Even now, I am proudly conscious that I did what I thought was right

I thank you, kind sir, God bless you! A happy new year! Good night!

HE GIVETH HIS LOVED ONES SLEEP.

He sees when their footsteps falter, when their hearts grow weak and faint;

He marks when their strength is failing, and listens to each complaint;

He bids them rest for a season, for the pathway has grown

too steep;

And, folded in fair, green pastures,

He giveth his loved ones sleep.

Like weary and worn out children, that sigh for the daylight's close,

He knows that they oft are longing for home and its sweet

repose;

So he calls them in from their labors, ere the shadows round

them creep,

And silently watching o'er them,

He giveth his loved ones sleep.

He giveth it, oh, so gently! as a mother will hush to rest The babe that she softly pillows so tenderly on her breast.