Imatges de pÓgina
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sophistry,

whom

many

cupboard in the whole of that cottage, and that one-the
sole hope of the widow, and the glorious loadstar of the poor
dog—was bare! Had there been a leg of mutton, a loin of
lamb, a fillet of yeal, even an ice from Gatti's, the case would
have been 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

“The widow, no doubt, went out and bought a dogbiscuit.” Ah, no! Far removed from these earthly ideas, these mundane desires, poor Mother Hubbard, the widow,

thoughtless worldlings would despise, in that she owned only 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 said 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 Who would dare to pierce the veil that shrouds the ulterior fate of Old Mother Hubbard, the poor dog, the cup

or the bone that was not there? Must we imagine her still standing at the open cupboard-door; depict to ourselves the dog still dropping his disappointed tail upon the door, the sought-for bone still remaining somewhere else?

no, my dear brethren, we are not so permitted to attempt to read the future. Suffice it for us to 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 afford it, more than one cupboard in the house; and to keep sto res in them all. And, oh!dear friends, keeping in recollection what we have learned this day, let us avoid keeping

that are fond of bones. But, brethren, if we do, if Fate has ordained that we should do any of these things, let

go as Mother Hubbard did, straight, without curvet.

enough?

board,

Ah !

dogs

us then

ing 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."

MARC ANTONY'S ORIGINAL ORATION.
Friends, Romans, countrymen! Lend me your ears ;-
I will return them next Saturday. I come
To bury Cæsar,--because the times are hard,
And his folks can't afford to hire an undertaker.
The evil that men do lives after them,-
In the shape of progeny, who reap

the
Benefit of their life insurance,-
So let it be with the deceased.
Brutus hath told you Cesar was ambitious.
What does Brutus know about it?
It is none of his funeral. Would that it were!
Here under leave of you I come to
Make a speech at Cæsar's funeral.
He was my friend, faithful and just to me,-
He loaned me $5 once when I was in a pinch,
And signed my petition for a post-office, -
But Brutus says he was ambitious.
Brutus should wipe off his chin.
Cæsar hath brought many captives home to Rome,-
Who broke rock on the streets until their ransoms
Did the general coffers fill.
When that the poor hath (ried, Cæsar hath wept--
Because it didn't cost anything and
Made him solid with the masses.
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff;
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious.
Brutus is a liar, and I can prove it.
You all did see that on the Lupercal
I thrice presented him a kingly crown,
Which he did thrice refuse, because it did not fit him quite.
Was this ambition? Yet Brutus says he was ambitious.
Brutus is not only the biggest liar in the country,
But he is a horse thief of the deepest dye.
If you have any tears, prepare to shed them now.
You all do know this ulster,
I remember the first time Caesar put it on;
It was on a summer's evening, in his tent,
With the thermometer registering 190 in the shade.
But it was an ulster to be proud of,

But finally

And cost him $7 at Marcaius Swartzmeyer's
Corner of Broad und Ferry streets, sign of the red flag.
Old Swartz wanted $40 for it,

came down to $7, because it was Cæsar!
Was this ambitious ? If Brutus says it was
He is a greater liar-than any one present.
Look! in this place ran Cassius' dagger through,

,
And when he plucked his cursed steel away,
Marc Antony, how the blood of Cæsar followed it!
I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts;

as Brutus is.
Brutus bas a monopoly on all that business,
And if he had his deserts he would be
In the p enitentiary, and don't you forget it.
Kind fri ends, sweet friends, I do not wish to stir you up
To such a flood of mutiny.
And as ít looks like rain,
The pall bearers will please place the coffin in the hearse,
And we will proceed to bury Caesar,
Not to praise him.

I am no thief,

BEN ISAAC'S VISION.-ANNIE M. LAWRENCE.
Ben Isaac walked in solitude one day,
While on his heart a heavy burden lay.
Vain were his sacrifices, and the prayers he said
Seemed leaden-winged, and fell beside him dead.
Fasting he oft had spent a lonely day,
While wrapped around him folds of sackcloth lay.
'Twas useless all; in vain he looked for rest;
And uncheered anguish proved a constant guest.
The weight seemed heavier than his heart could bear,
And once again he sought for peace in prayer;
And vowed, unblessed by rest or any cheering good,
To

pass the days in loneliest solitude.
Thrice had the glorious sun, in golden rays,
Smiled out o’er earth and called to loving praise.
It shone as mockery on Ben Isaac's grief,
While day and night he vainly sought relief.
At last, the angel sleep his weary frame
Touched with her wand, and suddenly there camo
A vision to Ben Isaac's wondering eyes,
Which moved him with exceeding great surprise.
In awe unquestioning he marked the light,
Making the solitude with glory bright;
And in the midst two angels calmly stood,
Their very presence speaking peare and good.

Ben Isaac gazed, until, with voice that fell
As sweetly clear as Sabbath-morning bell,
One angel spoke, and then be bowed his head.

Your prayers are heard, your fustings seen,” she said,
And He who sitteth on the throne of heaven,
And by whose love your blessings all are given,
Hath wisely ordered, in His gracious care,
That you work out an answer to your prayer.
* Prayers are but useless, if through all one's life,
No prayer is lived; but in vain, selfish strife,
Talents and strength are spent that God has given
That you may make this earth a type of heaven.
Christ Jesus died to cleanse a world from sin,
Faith and repentance will sure pardon win,
And the pure teachings of His gracious Word
Show care for others' service to the Lord.
“Faith to prove true must lead to loving deeds,
That soothe and cheer humanity's great needs;
That worship finds in act, and word, and thought,
Whose texture is with holy love inwrought.
Ben Isaac, if your heart would claim release
From grief, and find life's roughness round to peace,
Go view your Saviour in each suffering soul,
And mend your own crushed joys by making others whole"
Ben Isaac woke. In lingering music crept
The words his heart had garnered while he slept.
He almost thought in the rich morning light,
To see the angels' gleaming robes of white.
Back to the busy haunts of life his way he took,
A chastened earnestnes in mien and look.
Henceforth his life bore loving fruit for heaven,
And alms as well as prayers were freely given.

THE LITTLE CUP-BEARER.
The little cup-bearer entered the room,

After the banquet was done;
His eyes were like the skies of May,

Aglow with a cloudless sun;
Kneeling beside his master's feet,

The feet of the noble king,
He raised the goblet, “ Drink, my liege,

The offering that I bring."
Nay, nav,” the good king smiling said,

But first a faithful sign
That thou bringest me no poison draught:

Taste thou, my page, the wine.”

Then gently, firmly, spoke the lad,

“My dearest master, no,
Though at thy lightest wish my feet

Shall gladly come and go."
“Rise up, my little cup-bearer,"

The king astonished cried;
“Rise up and tell me straightway, why

Is my request denied ?"
The young page rose up slowly,

With sudden paling cheek,
While courtly lords and ladies

Waited to hear him speak.
“My father sat in princely halls,

And tasted wine with you;
He died a wretched drunkard, sire-

The brave voice tearful grew,
"I vowed to my dear mother

Beside her dying bed,
That for her sake I would not taste

The tempting poison red.”
“ Away with this young upstart!"

The lords impatient cry,
But spilling slow the purple wine,

The good king made reply;
“Thou shalt be my cup-bearer,

And honored well,” he said,
“But see thou bring not wine to me,

But water pure instead."

66

HAY-FEVER.
A song of the man who sneezes,

The martyr of this, our day,
The victim of rag-weeds and roses,

Of pollen, bacteria and hay.
His habits are peripatetic,

And nothing his ardor can damp;
His motto is, “ Onward-keep moving!"

In fact, he's a sort of a tramp.
For from early hay-cuttirg in harvest,

Till the season of icebergs and snows,
The sneezer migrates to the mountains,

The fact is—he runs from his nose. His eyelids are heavy and drooping,

He can't raise them up--so he peeps; One ear is quite deaf and keeps buzzing, And his nose from pure sympathy weeps

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