"And who was your schoolmaster?" "Oh! I never was at school." Here was a singular case -a boy could read and spell without a book or a master, But what was the fact? 'Another little sweep a little older than himself, had taught him to read by showing him the letters over the shop-doors which they passed as they went through the city. His teacher, then, was a little sweep like himself; and his book, the sign boards on the houses. What may not be done by trying? our salva-tion, 'Tis flow-ing full and free. I will sing the story, How Jesus died for me, I will sing the story- I will sing the story Of pardon, peace and love; Poetry. ONLY A WORD. A FRIVOLOUS word, a sharp retort, The sun that rose on a bower of bliss, Where pilgrims tread with weary feet A frivolous word, a sharp retort, A frivolous word, a sharp retort, A flash from a passing cloud, Two hearts are scathed to their inmost core, Are ashes and dust for evermore. Two faces turned to the crowd, Masked by pride with a life-long lie, To hide the scars of that agony. A frivolous word, a sharp retort, An arrow at random sped, A frivolous word, a sharp retort, But live and die in secret pain. A frivolous word, a sharp retort, Alas! that it should be so? The petulant speech, the careless tongue, Than all the armies age to age Records on hist'ry's blood-stained page. All the Year Round. HAPPY EVERYWHERE. There are briars encircling every path, |