The barber got up, with the lather half choked;
The stranger sat down, which the barber provoked;
Le consented to shave him, for somehow he hoped
To get rid of him; then for his razor he groped.

The stranger he grinned him a horrible grin;
If he left but one stubble, he vowed, on his chin,
Or cut but a pimple, or scratched but his skin,
The pistol's contents through the barber should spin.
The barber got nervous, he shook like a leaf,
So he lathered away, just to get some relief;
And the longer he lathered, the more his belief
That his customer looked very much like a thief.
"Brush away! for I like it," the little man cried;
To get at his razor the barber he tried:
But shave him the barber could not, had he died—
So he lathered away, his emotion to hide.

The clock it struck nine, the clock it struck ten,
Still the barber kept brushing away in his den;
"Brush away!” cried the queerest of queer little men-
Eleven it struck, he was soaping him then.

The lamp it went out, and the fire it grew dim ;
Thought the barber, "At last I shall get rid of him,"
When a couple of lamps, that no mortal could trim,
Became both the eyes of the stranger so grim.
The barber, exhausted, no more could be civil;
He shook, for he dreaded the worst of all evil;

He rushed to the door, o'er the court-yard so level—
"Oh, dear!" he exclaimed, "I've been shaving the devil!"

He ran through each street, and he flew through each square;
"Brush away!" cried his foe as he followed him there;
He gained the cathedral, ascended each stair-
"Brush away! brush away!"-still it followed him there.
He rushed up the steeple-the stranger gave chase;
He was close at his heels, with the soap on his face;
The city below him the barber could trace,—
"Brush away!"-and the stranger got up in the race.
The barber he sank, quite exhausted and dumb,
The stranger came up with his finger and thumb
Held him out by the nose (he was forced to succumb),
Then dropped him, not caring to what he might come.

The barber spun round, and his danger was rife,
As he felt himself fall at the end of the strife;
When, just as he thought he was settled for life,
He found he was only-in bed with his wife.

CONSIDER THE LILIES.-MARIANNE FARNINGHAM.
They have no care;

They bend their heads before the storm,
And rise to meet the sunshine warm,
And dance responsive to the breeze,
And nestle underneath the trees,
And take whatever life shall bring
As gayly as the birds that sing.
They do not toil;

Content with their allotted task
They do but grow, they do not ask
A richer lot, a higher sphere,

But in their loveliness appear

And grow and smile, and do their best,

And unto God they leave the rest.

They have no sin;

Their poor sweet faces they upraise;

And shrink not from the sun's bright gaze.
And if the earth should soil, the rain
Comes down to make them clean again,

And scented, beautiful and white,

They live their lives in God's dear sight.
They weep no tears;

No shadow dims their happiness,
They do but live the world to bless;
Enough have they of cloth of gold,
They lift their cups the dew to hold,
About them are the light and song,
And they are glad the whole day long.
God cares for them:

His love is over every one,—

He wills their good, his will be done!

He does neglect no single flower,

He makes them rich with sun and shower,

Their song of trust is sweet and clear

And he that hath an ear may hear.

THE RAIN-DROPS.-DELIA LOUISE COLTON, The silver rain, the golden rain,

The tripping, dancing, laughing rain!
Stringing its pearls on the green leaf's edge,
Fringing with gems the brown rock's ledge,
Spinning a vail for the water-fall,

And building an amber-colored wall
Across the West where the sunbeams fall:
The gentle rain, in the shady lane,
The pattering, peering, winning rain!
The noisy rain, the marching rain,
The rushing tread of the heavy rain!
Pouring its rivers from out the blue,
Down on the grass where the daisies grew,
Darting in clouds of angry drops

Across the hills and the green-tree tops,
And kissing, at last, in its giant glee,
The foaming lips of the great, green sea:
The fierce, wild rain, the riotous rain,
The boisterous, dashing, shouting rain!
The still night rain, the solemn rain,
The soldier-step of the midnight rain!
With its measured beat on the roof o'erhead,
With its tidings sweet of the faithful dead,
Whispers from loves who are laid asleep
Under the sod where the myrtles creep;
Culling bouquets from the sun-lit past,
Of flowers too sweet, too fair to last:
The faithful rain, the untiring rain,
The cooing, sobbing, weeping rain!
The sulky rain, the spiteful rain,
The bothering, pilfering, thieving rain!
Creeping so lazily over the sky,

A leaden mask o'er a bright blue eye,
And shutting in, with its damp, strong hands,
The rosy faces in curls, and bands

Of girls who think, with unwonted frown,

Of the charming laces and things down-town, That might as well for this tiresome rain,

Be in the rose land of Almahain:

The horrid rain, the tedious rain,

The never-ending, dingy rain!

CHRIST AND THE LITTLE ONES. "The Master has come over Jordan,"

Said Hannah, the mother, one day; “He is healing the people who throng him, With a touch of his finger, they say. "And now I shall carry the children, Little Rachel, and Samuel, and John; I shall carry the baby Esther

For the Lord to look upon."

The father looked at her kindly,

But he shook his head and smiled; "Now who but a doting mother Would think of a thing so wild?

"If the children were tortured by demons,
Or dying of fever, 'twere well;
Or had they the taint of the leper,
Like many in Israel."

"Nay, do not hinder me, Nathan,

I feel such a burden of care;

If I carry it to the Master,
Perhaps I shall leave it there.

"If he lay his hand on the children,

My heart will beat lighter, I know;
For a blessing for ever and ever
Will follow them as they go."

So over the hills of Judah,

Along the vine-rows green,

With Esther asleep on her bosom,

And Rachel her brothers between

'Mong the people who hang on his teaching,
Or waiting his touch or his word,
Through the row of proud Pharisees listening,
She pressed to the feet of her Lord.

"Now why should'st thou hinder the Master,"
Said Peter, "with children like these?
Seest not how from morning to evening
He teacheth, and healeth disease ?”

Then Christ said, "Forbid not the children!
Permit them to come unto me;"

And he took in his arms little Esther,
And Rachel he set on his knee.
And the heavy heart of the mother
Was lifted all earth-care above,
As he laid his hands on the brothers,
And blessed them with tenderest love:
As he said of the babes in his bosom,
"Of such is the kingdom of heaven;"
And strength for all duty and trial,

That hour to her spirit was given.

PENNING A PIG.-JAMES M. BAILEY.

Two families in Slawson had a somewhat singular experience several weeks ago. These families live in a double house, and each had a pen with two pigs. Last Friday the woman in one part discovered that her two pigs were free from their pen, and looking after geological specimens at the foot of the yard. She also discovered at the same time that the gate to a cabbage-yard adjoining was open, and that the pigs might at any moment become ravished by a view of the glories within.

Her husband being away she hurriedly secured the gate, and then set about to return the truants by the following ingenious plan: Taking a shovelful of corn, she approached as close to the animals as possible, and, holding the tempting morsel near enough for them to learn its inviting character, she screwed her face into an expression of winning sweetness, and backed slowly toward the pen.

It was a beautiful illustration of woman's faith, and we regret to write that it did not work. The pigs took one snuff at the contents of the shovel, just to show that they took some interest in the matter, and, being convinced thereby that there was nothing injurious in the experiment, fell to rooting about again with renewed fervor.

The nearer the woman came to the pen the straighter her face grew, and presently lost every vestige of solici