He reaches his home at the close of the day

The oven wood has to be chopped for next morn; The horse must be given his oats and his hay,

The cows have their mash, and the pigs get their corn. He would like for a moment to glance at the news

In the journal that yesterday came from the town;
But when he has fed, he must hurry to bed—
Pity the troubles of Timothy Brown.

Riding along is the rich Hector Graeme,

With his wife by his side; both are sickly and wan; They have not a child left to carry their name

The one that they owned, to the churchyard has gone.

He looks at the boys perched aloft on the fence,

She sees the stout wife in the skimpest of gowns"These have children and health!" and the people of wealth Envy the lot of those fortunate Browns.

I think that the world is made up just like this-
Discontent gnaws the higher as well as the low;
The Browns think the Graemes reach the summit of bliss;
The Graemes think the Browns are exempt from all woe.
We are all Browns or Graemes as our stations may be;

We look to our crosses much more than our crowns;
And while Brown and his wife thus repine at their life,
Graemes pass in their coaches and envy the Browns.

JUDGE NOT.

Judge not! The workings of his brain
And of his heart thou canst not see;
What looks to thy dim eyes a stain,
In God's pure light may only be

A scar, brought from some well-won field,
Where thou wouldst only faint and yield.

The look, the air, that frets thy sight,

May be a token, that below

The soul has closed in deadly fight

With some infernal, fiery foe,

Whose glance would scorch thy smiling grace,

And cast thee shuddering on thy face.

The fall thou darest to despise

Perchance the slackened angel's hand
Has suffered it, that he may rise
And take a firmer, surer stand;
Or, trusting less to earthly things,
May henceforth learn to use his wings.

CUT BEHIND.-T. DEWITT TALMAGE.

The scene opens on a clear, crisp morning. Two boys are running to get on the back of a carriage, whose wheels are spinning along the road. One of the boys, with a quick spring, succeeds. The other leaps, but fails, and falls on the part of the body where it is most appropriate to fall. No sooner has he struck the ground than he shouts to the driver of the carriage, " Cut behind!”

Human nature is the same in boy as in man-all running to gain the vehicle of success. Some are spry, and gain that for which they strive. Others are slow, and tumble down; they who fall crying out against those who mount, “Cut behind!"

A political office rolls past. A multitude spring to their feet, and the race is in. Only one of all the number reaches that for which he runs. No sooner does he gain the prize, and begin to wipe the sweat from his brow, and think how grand a thing it is to ride in popular preferment, than the disappointed candidates cry out, " Incompetency! Stupidity! Fraud! Now let the newspapers of the other political party 'cut behind.""

There is a golden chariot of wealth rolling down the street. A thousand people are trying to catch it. They run; they jostle; they tread on each other. Push, and pull, and tug. Those talk most against riches who cannot get them. Clear the track for the racers! One of the thousand reaches the golden prize and mounts. Forthwith the air is full of cries, "Got it by fraud! Shoddy! Petroleum aristocracy! His father was a rag-picker! His mother was a washerwoman! I knew him when he blacked his own shoes! Pitch him off the back part of the golden chariot! Cut behind! cut behind!"

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In many eyes success is a crime. "I do not like you," said the snow-flake to the snow-bird. Why?" said the snow-bird. "Because," said the snow-flake, "you are going up and I am going down."

We have to state that the man in the carriage, on the crisp morning, though he had a long lash-whip, with which

he could have made the climbing boy yell most lustily, did not cut behind. He heard the shout in the rear, and said, “Good morning, my son. That is right; climb over and sit by me. Here are the reins; take hold and drive; was a boy myself once, and know what tickles youngsters."

Thank God, there are so many in the world that never “cut behind,” but are ready to give a fellow a ride whenever he wants it. There are hundreds of people whose chief joy it is to help others on. Now it is a smile, now a good word, now ten dollars. When such a kind man has ridden to the end of the earthly road, it will be pleasant to hang up the whip with which he drove the enterprises of a lifetime, and feel that with it he never" cut behind" at those who were struggling.

REV. OLEUS BACON, D. D.-IN MEMORIAM.

He was a lowly missionary,
And he sailed upon the sea,
As far as western longitude,
One hundred sixty-three.
Of such a portly presence,
And so unctuous was he,
There seemed no goodlier preacher
In all the presbytery.

But a very unfortunate person,
As all men must agree,

Was the Reverend Öleus Bacon,
To be sent upon a mission

To the islands near Feejee.

He was much too fleshy a person,
As any one might see;

I may say, in fact, he was corpulent

To the very last degree.

His cheeks were as plump as puddings,

His thighs were as fat as could be,

And his beautiful double chin reposed
Upon his bosom free;

And no man in his waistcoat

Ever buttoned so much as he,

This Reverend Oleus Bacon,

As was sent upon a mission

To the islands near Feejee.

It was all in a fore-and-aft schooner
That he sailed to that far countree,
And, according to Captain Simminson,
It was beautiful to see

How warmly those heathens welcomed him,
And how grateful they seemed to be,
And how, in their simple, innocent way
They patted him-now on his knee,
And now on his cheek, and now on his chin,
And, in short, made only too free
With the Reverend Oleus Bacon,
As was sent upon a mission
To the islands near Feejee.

But I have an affidavit

Captain Simminson took afore me,
(And Simminson is a Christian man,)
How standing that night on his lee,
And a-swearing up his canvas

All ready to put to sea,

He noticed a fire on the island

As was burning remarkably free;
But he had no idea that these rascals
Were a-makin' a fricassee

Of the Reverend Oleus Bacon
As was sent upon a mission
To the islands near Feejee.

But so it turned out; and therefore I say
As Simminson said to me,

If the Board of Foreign Missions

Had any eyes to see,

They'd never have sent a man out there

A missionary to be,

The make of whose person was tempting

In the very least degree,

Or one as was anyway bulky at all,

Still less, one as bulky as he ;

This Reverend Oleus Bacon
As was sent upon a mission

To the islands near Feejee.

However, the Lord was in it,
At least, so it seems to me;

Or something about Mr. Bacon
As didn't at all agree

With the stomachs of those heathen men,

But made them uneasy be;

And I happen to know what that something was, It was cavendish and rappee!

Nevertheless, it was somewhat unfortunate,

As most any man may see, That the Reverend Oleus Bacon Ever started on that mission

To the islands near Feejee.

EDINBURGH AFTER FLODDEN.-AYTOUN.

News of battle!-news of battle!
Hark! 'tis ringing down the street:
And the archways and the pavement
Bear the clang of hurrying feet.
News of battle!--who hath brought it?
News of triumph!--who should bring
Tidings from our noble army,

Greetings from our gallant King!

All last night we watched the beacons
Blazing on the hills afar,

Each one bearing, as it kindled,
Message of the opened war;
All night long the northern streamers
Shot across the trembling sky:
Fearful lights, that never beacon
Save when kings or heroes die.

News of battle! who hath brought it?
All are thronging to the gate;
"Warder,--warder! open quickly!
Man,-is this a time to wait?"
And the heavy gates are opened:
Then a murmur long and loud,
And a cry of fear and wonder

Bursts from out the bending crowd;
For they see in battered harness
Only one hard-stricken man;
And his weary steed is wounded,
And his cheek is pale and wan;
Spearless hangs a bloody banner

In his weak and drooping hand—
What! can that be Randolph Murray,
Captain of the city band?

Round him crush the people, crying,
"Tell us all-Oh, tell us true!
Where are they who went to battle,
Randolph Murray, sworn to you?