took from my pocket one cent-'twas the last;
Here, Richard, take this," I remarked with a sigh,
'For I find that my lot is more pleasantly cast,

As you've proved beyond doubt you are poorer than I!"

A LITTLE SHOE.

There it lies, a little shoe-
Only that, at least to you,
Just such others, six or more,
Patter on your nursery floor;

And your heart and lips are smiling,
Some sweet thought is you beguiling,
Of one little pair of feet

That will hurry out to meet

Mother,--and when they have found you,
Chubby arms will cling around you.
You will have no need to call him,
Neither sleep nor death enthrall him.
You will hold him to your breast,
With an utter sense of rest;
All your own, within your grasp,
At your neck the baby clasp.

And to me a tearless weeping,
And a hunger never sleeping,
As I stand, my heart out-leaping,
Knocking, knocking at the door,
Where God stands for evermore.
For He holds the wee one who
Once did wear this little shoe.
And the tender little voice,
That did make my heart rejoice
Maybe He has taught another
Language, and the childish clinging
Has died out in his upbringing,
And he will not know his mother.

Not the shoe, but what was in it,
As the cage that holds the linnet,
Did I love; but Christ bereft me,
And the husk alone is left me;
On my dead heart let it lie;
I could leave it, if on high
My lost little one should meet me,
Tottering, hurrying up to greet me,—
This you know not-only you

See a little common shoe.

THE LIFE BRIGADE.-MINNIE MACKAY.

Wild are the mountainous billows
That break on the rocky shore,
Wildly whistles the storm-wind
Through crevice, window, and door
Down in relentless fury

Falls a torrent of icy rain,

And, black with its wrath, the tempest
Rides over the rolling main.

Hark! 'mid the strife of waters
A shrill despairing cry,
As of some drowning sailor
In his last agony!

Another! and now are mingled
Heart-rending shrieks for aid.
Lo! a sinking ship. What ho! arouse,
Arouse the Life Brigade!

They come with hurrying footsteps:
No need for a second call;
They are broad awake and ready,
And willing one and all.

Not a hand among them trembles,
Each tread is firm and free,
Not one man's spirit falters

In the face of the awful sea.

Yet well may the bravest sailor
Shrink back appalled to-night
From that army of massive breakers
With their foam-crests gleaming white

Those beautiful, terrible breakers,

Waiting to snatch their prey,

And bury yon hapless vessel

'Neath a monument of spray!

But rugged, and strong, and cheery
Dauntless and undismayed,

Are the weather-beaten heroes
Of the gallant Life Brigade.

"To the rescue!" shouts their leader,
Nor pauses for reply-

A plunge!-and the great waves bear him

Away to do or die!

The whole night long, unwearied,

They battle with wind and sea,

All ignorant and heedless

Of what their end may be.

They search the tattered rigging,
They climb the quivering mast,
And life after life is rescued

Till the frail ship sinks at last.

The thunderous clouds have vanished,
And rose-fingered morn awakes,
While over the breast of ocean

The shimmering sunlight breaks;
And the Life Brigade have finished
The work God gave them to do.
Their names are called. "Any missing?"
Mournful the answer,-"Two!"

Two of the best and bravest

Have been dragged by the cruel waves
Down to the depths unmeasured,
'Mid thousands of sailor graves!
Two lives are given for many!
And the tears of sorrow shed,
Should be tears of joy and glory
For the grandeur of the dead!

DO NOT SING THAT SONG AGAIN.-H. F. MCDERMOTT

Do not sing that song again,

For it fills my heart with pain;

I am bending to the blast,
And it tells me of the past,

Of the years of long ago,

When my days were young and fair,

And my heart as light as air

When one feeling filled the breast,
And one image gave it rest,
In the long, long ago.

Do not sing that song again,
I have lived my years in vain,
And my hair is thin and gray,
And I'm passing fast away;

On the dark and downward streams.
I'm a wreck of idle dreams;
And it puts me on the rack
At the weary looking back,
At the ebb and at the flow,
In the long, long ago.
Do not sing that song again,
There's a tear in its refrain;

It brings sadly back the time
When my manhood felt its prime;
When the comrades, dear and true,
Closer, warmer, fonder grew

In the hour of friendship's proof,
When the false ones stood aloof,
And their friendship was but show,
In the long, long ago.

Do not sing that song again,
It distracts my weary brain.
Ah, too well, alas! I know.
It is time for me to go,

And to leave to younger eyes
The mild myst'ry of the skies,
And this mighty world I tread,
And the grander age ahead.

There's a mist upon the river,
And there's bleakness on the shore;
And in dreams I pass forever,

While sad music wafts me o'er.

THE SHIP OF FAITH.

A certain colored brother had been holding forth to his little flock upon the ever fruitful topic of Faith, and he closed his exhortation about as follows:

My bruddren, ef yous gwine to git saved, you got to git on board de Ship ob Faith. I tell you, my bruddren, dere ain't no odder way. Dere ain't no gitten up de back stairs, nor goin' 'cross lots; you can't do dat away, my bruddren, you got to git on board de Ship ob Faith. Once 'pon a time dere was a lot ob colored people, an' dey was all gwine to de promised land. Well, dey knowed dere want no odder way for 'em to do but to git on board de Ship ob Faith. So dey all went down an' got on board, de ole granfaders, an' de ole granmudders, an' de pickaninnies, an' all de res' ob 'em. Dey all got on board 'ceptin' one mons'us big feller, he said he's gwine to swim, he was. "W'y!" dey said, “you can't swim so fur like dat. It am a powerful long way to de promised land!" He said, "I kin swim anywhar, I kin. I git board no boat, no, 'deed!" Well, my bruddren, all dey could say to dat poor disluded man dey couldn't git him on

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board de Ship ob Faith, so dey started off. De day was fair, de win' right, de sun shinin', an' ev'ryt'ing b'utiful; an' dis big feller he pull off his close and plunge in de water. Well, he war a powerful swimmer, dat man, 'deed he war; he war dat powerful he kep' right 'long side de boat all de time; he kep' a hollerin' out to de people on de boat, sayin': "What you doin' dere, you folks, brilin' away in de sun; you better come down here in de water, nice an' cool down here." But dey said, “Man alive, you better come up here in dis boat while you got a chance." But he said, No, indeedy! I git aboard no boat; I'm havin' plenty fun in de water." Well, bimeby, my bruddren, what you tink dat pore man seen? A horrible, awful shark, my bruddren; mouf wide open, teef more'n a foot long, ready to chaw dat pore man all up de minute he catch him. Well, when he seen dat shark he begin to git awful scared, an' he holler out to de folks on board de ship: “Take me on board, take me on board, quick!" But dey said: “No, indeed; you wouldn't come up here when you had an invite, you got to swim, now."

He look over his shoulder an' he seen dat shark a-comin' an' he let hisself out. Fust it was de man an' den it was de shark, and den it was de man agin, dat away, my bruddren, plum to de promised land. Dat am de blessed troof I'm a-tellin' you dis minute. But what do you t’ink was awaitin' for him on de odder shore when he got dere? A horrible, awful lion, my bruddren, was a-stan'in' dere on de shore, a-lashin' his sides wid his tail, an' a-roarin' away fit to devour dat poor nigger de minit he git on de shore. Well, he war powerful scared den, he didn't know what he gwine to do. If he stay in de water de shark eat him up; if he go on de shore de lion eat him up; he dunno what to do. But he put his trust in de Lord, an' went for de shore. Dat lion he give a fearful roar an' bound for him; but, my bruddren, as sure as you 'live an breeve, dat horrible, awful lion he jump clean ober dat pore feller's head into de water; an' de shark eat de lion. But, my bruddren, don't you put your trust in no sich circumstance; dat pore man he done git saved, but I tell you de Lord ain't a-gwine to furnish a lion for every nigger!