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"D°

THE CARE OF GOD.

you see this lock of hair?" said an old man

to me.

Yes; but what is it? It is, I suppose, the curl from

the head of a dear child long since gone to God."

"It is not. It is a lock of my own hair; and it is

now nearly seventy years since it was cut from this head."

"But why do you prize a lock of your own hair so much?"

"It has a story belonging to it-a strange one. I keep it thus with care because it speaks to me more of God, and of His special care, than anything else I pcssess.

"I was a little child, four years old, with long, curly locks which, in sun or rain or wind, hung down my cheeks uncovered. One day my father went into the woods to cut up a log, and I went with him. I was standing a little behind him, or rather at his side, watching with interest the stroke of the heavy axe, as it went up and came down upon the wood, sending splinters in all directions at every stroke. Some of the splinters fell at my feet, and I eagerly stooped to pick them up. In doing so I stumbled forward, and in a moment my curly head lay upon the log. I had fallen just at the moment when the axe was coming down with all its force. It was too late to stop the blow. Down came the axe. I screamed, and my father fell to the ground in terror. He could not stay the stroke, and in the blindness which the sudden horror caused he thought he had killed his boy. We soon recovered-I from my fright, and he from his terror. He caught me in his arms and looked at me from head to foot, to find out the deadly wound

which he was sure he had inflicted. Not a drop of blood nor a scar was to be seen. He knelt upon the grass and gave thanks to a gracious God. Having done so, he took up his axe and found a few hairs upon its edge. He turned to the log he had been splitting, and there was a single curl of his boy's hair sharply cut through and laid upon the wood. How great the escape! It was as if an angel had turned aside the edge at the moment it was descending upon my head."

That lock he kept all his days as a memorial of God's care and love. That lock he left to me on his death

bed. I keep it with care. It tells me of my father's God and mine. It rebukes my unbelief and alarm. It bids me trust Him forever. I have had many tokens of fatherly love in my threescore years and ten, but somehow this speaks most to my heart. It is the oldest and perhaps the most striking. It used to speak to my father's heart; it now speaks to mine.

OLD GRIMES.

OLD GRIMES is dead; that good old man,

We ne'er shall see him more:

He used to wear a long black coat,

All button'd down before.

His heart was open as the day,

His feelings all were true:

His hair was some inclined to gray;
He wore it in a queue.

Whene'r he heard the voice of pain,
His breast with pity burn'd;

The large, round head upon his cane
From ivory was turn'd.

Kind words he ever had for all,
He knew no base design;

His eyes were dark and rather small,
His nose was aquiline.

He lived at peace with all mankind,
In friendship he was true;

His coat had pocket-holes behind,
His pantaloons were blue.

Unharm'd, the sin which earth pollutes

He pass'd securely o'er,
And never wore a pair of boots
For thirty years or more.

But good old Grimes is now at rest,
Nor fears misfortune's frown;
He wore a double-breasted vest,
The stripes ran up and down.

He modest merit sought to find,
And pay it its desert;
He had no malice in his mind,
No ruffles on his shirt.

His neighbors he did not abuse,
Was sociable and gay;

He wore large buckles on his shoes,
And changed them every day.

His knowledge, hid from public gaze, He did not bring to view,

Nor make a noise, town-meeting days, As many people do.

His worldly goods he never threw
In trust to fortune's chances,
But lived (as all his brothers do)
In easy circumstances.

Thus, undisturb'd by anxious cares,
His peaceful moments ran;
And everybody said he was

A fine old gentleman.-A. G. GREENE

MINE KATRINE.

You would n't dink mine frau,

If you shust look at her now,

Vhere der wrinkles on her prow
Long haf been;

Vas der fraulein blump und fair,
Mit der vafy flaxen hair,

Who did vonce mine heart enshnare;
Mine Katrine.

Der dime seems shord to me
Since ve game acrosd der sea,
To der gountry off der free
Ve'd nefer seen;

But ve hear de beople say
Dhere vas vork und blendy bay,
So I shtarted right away

Mit Katrine.

Oh, der shoy dot filled mine house
Vhen dot goot oldt Tocter Krauss
Brought us "Leedle Yawcob Strauss,"
Shveet und clean;

Vhy, I don'd pelief mine eyes
When I look, now, mit surbrise,
On dot feller, shust der size
Off Katrine!

Den "dot leedle babe off mine,"
He vas grown so tall und fine-
Shust so sdrait as any pine
You efer seen;

Und der beoples all agree
Sooch fine poys dey nefer see

(Dey looks mooch more like me
As Katrine).

Vell, ve haf our criefs und shoys,
Und dhere's naught our lofe destroys,
Bud I miss dose leedle poys.

Dot used to been ;

Und der tears vill somedime sdart,

Und I feels so sick at heart,

Ven I dinks I soon musd part
From Katrine.

Oldt Time vill soon pe here,
Mit his sickle und his shpear,
Und vill vhisper in mine ear
Mit sober mien:

"You must coom along mit me,
For id vas der Lord's decree;
Und von day dose poys you'll see

Und Katrine."-CHAS. F. ADAMS.