And showed, from the rocks, to the two old folks On the watch, a weltering form, That half rose to the wave as if to save Some treasure from the storm. "Lay hold on the sea-weeds on the peaks!" Again they lowered, in haste and fear. Then, oh, 't was lightened! It leaped up bare! Again, and again they flung, Leaned headlong, and strained their sight in vain They wailed; but again the lamp shone out. Good-night, brave swimmer! True heart, sleep well While thy lamp shines o'er thy grave, Content, though one must go down, go down A many to light and save. E. FAXTON. EARLY CHRISTMAS MORNING. OUR little feet pattering on the floor, Two tangled curly heads peeping at the door, Hear the merry laughter, happy childish roar, Early Christmas morning. Two little stockings full of sweets and toys, Down beside the stockings many gifts were spread, Four little bare feet on the sidewalk cold, "Yes," says John to Nellie, as he spied the two, "We've so many presents, tell you what we'll do. I'll give half of mine away. Now, dear Nell, will you?" Early Christmas morning. Two little famished ones in the house were called, Favors heaped upon them till they stood enthralled. Was not this the angel's song, "Peace, good-will to all?" Early Christmas morning.-MARY B. PECK. A MODEL DISCOURSE. The following is a satire on a class of sermons now less frequently heard tha 66 formerly: BRETHREN, the words of my text are: "Old Mother Hubbard, she went to the cupboard, To get her poor dog a bone; But when she got there, the cupboard was bare, These beautiful words, dear friends, carry with them. a solemn lesson. I propose this evening to analyze their meaning, and to attempt to apply it, lofty as it may be, to our every-day life. "Mother Hubbard, you see, was old; there being no mention of others, we may presume that she was alonea widow, a friendless, solitary old widow. Yet, did she despair? Did she sit down and weep, or read a novel, or wring her hands? No! She went to the cupboard. And here observe that she went to the cupboard. She went to the cupboard. She did not hop, or skip, or run, or jump, or use any other peripatetic artifice; she solely and merely went to the cupboard. We have seen that she was old and lonely, and we now further see she was poor. For, mark, the words are, the cupboard,' not 'one of the cupboards,' or 'the right-hand cupboard,' or 'the left-hand cupboard,' or 'the one above,' or 'the one below,' or 'the one under the floor,' but just 'the cupboard,'-the one humble little cupboard the widow pcssessed. And why did she go to the cupboard? Was it to bring forth golden goblets, or glittering precious stones, or costly apparel, or feasts, or any other attributes to wealth? It was 'to get her poor dog a bone.' Not only was the widow poor, but her dog, the sole prop of her age, was poor also. We can imagine the scene. The poor dog crouching in the corner, looking wistfully at the solitary cupboard, and the widow going to that cupboard in hope, in expectation, may-be, to open it, although we are not distinctly told that it was not halfopen or ajar-to open it for that poor dog. "But when she got there, the cupboard was bare, "When she got there! You see, dear brethren, what perseverance is. You see the beauty of persistence in There were no turnings slidings, no leaning to the With glorious simplicity And how was her noble doing right. She got there. and twistings, no slippings and right or faltering to the left. we are told 'she got there.' effort rewarded? The cupboard was bare.' It was bare! There were to be found neither apples nor oranges, nor cheese-cakes, nor penny buns, nor gingerbread, nor crackers, nor nuts, nor lucifer matches. The cupboard was bare! Had there been a leg of mutton, a loin of lamb, a fillet of veal, even an ice from Gunter's, the case would have been very different, the incident would have been otherwise. But it was bare, my brethren-bare as a bald head. Many of you will probably say, with all the pride of worldly sophistry, The widow, no doubt, went out and bought a dog biscuit.' Ah, no! Far removed from these earthly ideas, these mundane desires, poor Mother Hubbard, the widow, whom many thoughtless worldlings would despise, in that she only owned one cupboard, perceived-or I might even say saw at once the relentless logic of the situation, and yielded to it with all the heroism of that nature which had enabled her without deviation to reach the barren cupboard. She did not attempt, like the stiff-necked scoffers of this generation, to war against the inevitable; she did not try, like the so-called men of science, to explain what she did not understand. She did nothing. 'The poor dog had none!' And then at this point our information ceases. But do we not know sufficient? Are we not cognizant of enough? Who would dare to pierce the veil that shrouds the ulterior fate of Old Mother Hubbard, her poor dog, the cupboard, or the bone that was not there? Must we imagine her still standing by the open cupboard door, depict to ourselves the dog, still drooping his disappointed tail on the floor, the sought-for bone remaining somewhere else? Ah, no! my brethren, we are not so permitted to try and read the future. Suffice it for us to try and glean from this beautiful story its many lessons; suffice it for us to apply them, to study them, as far as in us lies, and bearing in mind the natural frailty of our nature, to avoid being widows, to shun the patronymic of Hubbard, and have, if our means afford it, more than one cupboard in the house; and to keep stores in them all. And oh! dear friends, keeping in recollection what we have learned this day, let us avoid keeping dogs. They are fond of bones. But, brethren, if we do; if fate has ordained we should do anything of these things, let us then go, as Mother Hubbard did, straight, without curveting or prancing, to our cupboard, empty though it be; let us, like her, accept the inevitable with calm steadfastness; and should we, like her, ever be left with a hungry dog and an empty cupboard, may future chroniclers be able to write also of us in the beautiful words of our text: 'And so the poor dog had none.'” THE SAVING MISSION OF INFANCY. "And a little child shall lead them." THE mail has just brought me my letters—a baker's dozen or more— And I find myself laughing and crying while reading them quietly o'er: Some are from friends not far distant, others from far, far away, Yet they all contain the same message, though told in a different way. |