Let us the present hour employ,
And deem each future dream a joy
Already past.

Let no vain hope deceive the mind,
No happier let us hope to find
To-morrow than to-day;

Our golden dreams of yore were bright,
Like them the present shall delight-
Like them decay.

Our lives like hastening streams must be,
That into one engulfing sea

Are doomed to fall

The sea of death whose waves roll on
O'er king and kingdom, crown and throne,
And swallow all.

Alike the river's lordly tide,
Alike the humble rivulets glide,
To that sad wave;

Death levels poverty and pride,
And rich and poor sleep side by side,
Within the grave.

Our birth is but a starting place;
Life is the running of the race;

And death the goal:

There all our glittering toys are broughtThat path alone of all unsought,

Is found of all.

See, then, how poor and little worth
Are all those glittering toys of earth,
That lure us here;

Dreams of a sleep that death must break;
Alas! before it bids us wake,

We disappear.

Long ere the damp of death can blight,
The cheek's pure glow of red and white
Has passed away;

Youth smiled and all was heavenly fair,
Age came, and laid his finger there,
And where are they?

Where is the strength that spurned decay,
The step that roved so light and gay,
The heart's blithe tone?

The strength is gone, the step is slow,
And joy grows wearisome, and woe,-
When age comes on.

LITTLE STEENIE.-ANNA L RUTH.

Sturdy Steenie, rose-cheeked, bright-eyed,
Standing at the open door
Bidding me good-bye with kisses
And with promises a score-
"I'll be just as good as-apples!
'Bey my aunties and not cry,
Not tease Mabe or wake the baby
Till you comes, mamma,-good-bye!"

So I started, musing softly,

On the blessings God had given In my children-"Surely," said I,

"They are cherubs strayed from heaven!

Hearts so full of tender loving,

Eyes with earnest impulse bright-
Round them still there seems to linger
Halos of celestial light!

Two hours' labor, home returning
Languidly, with weary feet,
Standing in the self-same doorway
Little Mabe I chanced to greet;
Bright blue eyes all flushed with weeping,

Lips a-quiver, cheeks a-flame;

Eagerly, to pour her sorrows

Into mamma's ears, she came.

"Mamma, Steenie's been so naughty! First he told aunt Sallie 'won't,'

Then he scratched my little table,

Though I asked him 'please to don't!'

Then he screeched and waked the baby,
Frighted him most to a fit,

And when aunt Belle called him naughty,
Said he didn't care a bit!

"Then he made a face at Dolly,
Said she was an 'ugly sing,'

Said some day he's going to hang her
To the door-knob with a string.

Then I told him if he did it

You would send him right to bed, So he thumped me on the shoulder,See the place-it's awful red!

"When he saw you coming, mamma, He hid hisself behind the door,

RRR

And he's wearing out his slippers,
Poundin' with 'em on the floor.
Mamma, if he is so wicked,

Does so many drefful things,
Will he ever be an angel

Up in heaven with shiny wings?"

With a sudden jerk, my visions
Of celestial cherubs fled.
Frowningly my brows contracted;
In an accent stern, I said,
"Come to me, you naughty fellow!
What are all these things I hear?
Rude to aunties! striking sister!
I must punish you, I fear!"

From his stronghold came the culprit,
Seeming not at all afraid;

Round his mouth the dimples lurking,
Brown eyes beaming undismayed;
By my knee he took his station,
Small defiance in his air,
Answering only to my chidings
Saucily, "I doesn't care!"

In my eyes the tear-drops started,
Anger giving place to pain,
"O my baby, how you grieve me!
Are my teachings all in vain ?"
Suddenly, two arms were round me→
Little fingers softly drew

Down my quiv'ring lips to meet his,
"Kiss me mamma-I loves-you!"

This was all of his confession;

All his plea for pardoning grace,
Yet I knew that I had conquered
By the love-light in his face,-
So I gave him absolution,-

Though I pondered sadly still
On this mingled human nature,
Half of good, and half of ill.

Inwardly I prayed for wisdom,
Safe my little band to guide,
Through the perils that beset them,
Hedge them in on every side.

And an answer seemed to reach me,
Softly falling from above,

"

Safest guard and guide, O mother,
Is the holy power of love!"

THE BOY'S LAST REQUEST.

Half raised upon the dying couch, his hand
Drooped on his mother's bosom, like a bud
Which, broken from its parent stock, adheres
By some attenuate fibre. His thin hand,
From 'neath the downy pillow drew a book,
And slowly pressed it to his bloodless lips.
"Mother, dear mother, see your birthday gift
Fresh and unsoiled. Yet have I kept your word,
And ere I slept each night, and every morn,
Did read its pages, with my simple prayer,
Until this sickness came.'

He paused; for breath
Came scantily, and with a toilsome strife-
"Brother or sister have I none, or else
I'd lay this Bible on their hearts, and say,
'Come read it on my grave, among the flowers.'
So you who gave must take it back again,
And love it for my sake."

"My son! My son!"

Whispered the mourner in that tender tone,

Which woman in her sternest agony

Commands to soothe the pang of those she loves;
"The soul! the soul! to whose charge yield you that?"
"To God who gave it!"-So that gentle soul,
With a slight shudder, and a seraph smile,
Left the pale clay for it's Creator's arms.

LAUGHIN' IN MEETIN'.-H. B. STOWE.

We were in disgrace, we boys, and the reason of it was this: we had laughed out in meeting-time! To be sure, the occasion was a trying one, even to more disciplined nerves. Parson Lothrop had exchanged pulpits with Parson Summeral, of North Wearem. New, Parson Summeral was a man in the very outset likely to provoke the risibles of unspiritualized juveniles. He was a thin, wiry, frisky little man, in a powdered white wig, black tights, and silk stockings, with bright knee-buckles and shoe-buckles, with round, dark, snapping eyes, and a curious, high, cracked, squeaking voice, the very first tones of which made all the children

stare and giggle. The news that Parson Summeral was goIng to preach in our village spread abroad among us as a prelude to something funny. It had a flavor like the charm of circus-acting; and on the Sunday morning of our story we went to the house of God in a very hilarious state, all ready to set off in a laugh on the slightest provocation.

The occasion was not long wanting. Parson Lothrop had a favorite dog yclept Trip, whose behavior in meeting was notoriously far from that edifying pattern which befits a minister's dog on Sundays. Trip was a nervous dog, and a dog that never could be taught to conceal his emotions or to respect conventionalities. If anything about the performance in the singers' seat did not please him, he was apt to express himself in a lugubrious howl. If the sermon was longer than suited him, he would gape with such a loud creak of his jaws as would arouse every body's attention. If the flies disturbed his afternoon's nap, he would give sudden snarls or snaps; or if anything troubled his dreams, he would bark out in his sleep in a manner not only to dispel his own slumbers, but those of certain worthy deacons and old ladies, whose sanctuary repose was thereby sorely broken and troubled. For all these reasons, Madame Lothrop had been forced, as a general thing, to deny Trip the usual sanctuary privileges of good family dogs in that age, and shut him up on Sundays to private meditation. Trip, of course, was only the more set on attendance, and would hide behind doors, jump out of windows, sneak through by-ways and alleys, and lie hid till the second bell had done tolling, when suddenly he would appear in the broad aisle, innocent and happy, and take his seat as composedly as any member of the congregation.

Imagine us youngsters on the qui vive with excitement at seeing Parson Summeral frisk up into the pulpit with all the vivacity of a black grasshopper. We looked at each other and giggled very cautiously, with due respect to Aunt Lois' sharp observation.

At first there was only a mild, quiet simmering of giggle, compressed decorously within the bounds of propriety, and we pursed our muscles up with stringent resolution when" ever we caught the apprehensive eye of our elders.