"Bring me my children, darling wife, I'm in an ardent mood;

My soul lacks purer aliment,

I long for other food;

Bring forth my children to my gaze,
Or ere I rage or weep,

I yearn to kiss their happy eyes
Before the hour of sleep."

"I have a question yet to ask,
Be patient, husband dear.
A stranger, one auspicious morn,
Did send some jewels here;
Until to take them from my care,
But yesterday he came,

And I restored them with a sigh-
Dost thou approve or blame?"

"I marvel much, sweet wife, that thou Shouldst breathe such words to me; Restore to man, resign to God,

Whate'er is lent to thee;

Restore it with a willing heart,

Be grateful for the trust;

Whate'er may tempt or try us, wife,
Let us be ever just."

She took him by the passive hand,
And up the moonlit stair,

She led him to their bridal bed,

With mute and mournful air;
She turned the cover down, and there,
In grave-like garments dressed,
Lay the twin children of their love,
In death's serenest rest.

"These were the jewels lent to me,
Which God has deigned to own;
The precious caskets still remain,
But, ah, the gems are flown!
But thou didst teach me to resign
What God alone can claim;
He giveth and he takes away,
Blest be His holy name!"

The father gazed upon his babes,
The mother drooped apart,

While all the woman's sorrow gushed
From her o'erburdened heart;
And with the striving of her grief,
Which wrung the tears she shed,
Were mingled low and loving words
To the unconscious dead.

When the sad sire had looked his fill,
He veiled each breathless face,
And down in self-abasement bowed,
For comfort and for grace;
With the deep eloquence of woe,
Poured forth his secret soul;
Rose up, and stood erect and calm,
In spirit healed and whole.
“Restrain thy tears, poor wife,” he said,

"I learn this lesson still,

God gives, and God can take away,
Blest be His holy will!

Blest are my children, for they live
From sin and sorrow free,
And I am not all joyless, wife,

With faith, hope, love-and thee."

I LIVE FOR THEE.-ALFRED TENNYSON.

Home they brought her warrior dead:
She nor swooned, nor uttered cry:

All her maidens, watching, said,
"She must weep, or she will die."

Then they praised him, soft and low,
Called him worthy to be loved,
Truest friend and noblest foe;

Yet she neither spoke nor moved.

Stole a maiden from her place,
Lightly to the warrior stept,

Took the face-cloth from the face;
Yet she neither moved nor wept.

Rose a nurse of ninety years,

Set his child upon her knee

Like summer tempest came her tears"Sweet my child, I live for thee."

THE SCHOOLMASTER'S CONQUEST.

Bronson Alcott, of Boston, told Joseph Cook, and Joseph Cook told everybody he met, that he made a regulation in his school that if a pupil violated a rule, the master should substitute his own voluntary sacrificial chastisement for that pupil's punishment; and this regulation almost Christianized his school. "One day," Mr. Alcott said, "I called up before me a pupil who had violated an important rule. I put the ruler into the offender's hand; I extended my own hand; I told him to strike. Instantly I saw a struggle begin in his face. A new light sprang up in his countenance. A new set of shuttles seemed to be weaving a new nature within him. I kept my hand extended, and the school was in tears. The boy struck once and burst into tears. He seemed transformed by the idea that I should suffer chastisement in the place of his punishment, and ever after was the most docile fellow in the school, though he had at first been the rudest." Now, this is very affecting and reasonable and striking. The incident came to the knowledge of Willis K. Stoddard, who for years past has been teaching a district-school in Flint River township, in Iowa. He read this extract from one of Joseph Cook's lectures, and never forgot the great moral it conveyed. Young Stoddard had some pretty hard boys in his school. They were big and noisy and rough and turbulent. He had reasoned with them; he had expostulated; he had begged and wept. He had whipped them until his arms ached, and the directors had threatened to dismiss him for unnecessary severity and absolute cruelty; and the boys grew worse and worse every day. But when he was at his wits' end, and was seriously thinking of running away and losing all his back salary, rather than stay at the school another day, he read this incident and it gave his troubled mind new light. He had treasured it up probably half a day when, one bright June afternoon, Samuel Johnson, the biggest and strongest and worst of all the big boys, tore seven leaves out of his geography. These he crammed into his mouth, and when he had chewed them into a pulp he took the "wad" into his hand, and propelled

the whole mass with great violence into the ear of Ellis Haskell, who signified his very natural dismay and astonishment by a tremendous howl. Mr. Stoddard called Samuel Johnson up to his desk, and more calmly than was his custom under such circumstances, told him to go out and bring in a switch. The boy presently returned with a very peaceful looking switch indeed,—a switch apparently far gone in the last stages of consumption,—the sickest switch!

"Now," said Mr. Stoddard, with a gentle, compassionate intonation, "strike me."

66

Samuel Johnson stared in speechless amazement. Mr. Stoddard calmly repeated his order. He thought he could see the new set of shuttles beginning to work." "Some one," he said tenderly-" some one must suffer the infraction of the rules. I will suffer chastisement in your stead." The teacher saw a "new light springing up" in Samuel Johnson's countenance. The boy looked at his teacher and then at his switch. The teacher could "see a struggle begin in the face." Presently the tears sprang to Samuel Johnson's eyes, and he said, in a voice confused with anxiety, "Hadn't I better go out and get a bigger switch ?"

The teacher softly told him he might do so if he wished, and Samuel Johnson went out and was gone ten minutes. When he returned, the school smiled. He carried in his hand a switch which looked like a Russian peace commissioner. The boy's face shone with a bright glow of conscientious satisfaction as he balanced this switch and drew it through his hard, muscular hands.

Mr. Stoddard stood up and folded his arms. Then he said, with a sad, sweet look at the culprit," Now, strike me." Samuel Johnson did not act in greedy and unseemly haste. He pulled off his jacket; he rolled up his sleeves; he spat in his hands, and took a two-handed grasp on the switch. Twice he changed the position of his feet to get a better brace. Then he drew a long, deep breath, raised his arms, and the switch just shrieked through the air like a wild, mad, living thing.

In accepting Mr. Stoddard's resignation, the directors considerately allowed his pay for the full term, and in a series

of complimentary resolutions spoke of his efficiency in the highest terms, although it transpired that the board was privately agreed, after all the facts had been laid before it, that he was too much of a "nat'ral born fool" to suit a practical locality.

THE DUTCHMAN'S SERENADE.

Vake up, my schveet! Vake up, my lofe!
Der moon dot can't been seen abofe.
Vake oud your eyes, und dough it's late,
I'll make you oud a serenate.

Der shtreet dot's kinder dampy vet,
Und dhere vas no goot blace to set;
My fiddle's getting oud of dune,
So blease get vakey wery soon.

O my lofe! my lofely lofe!
Am you avake ub dhere abofe,
Feeling sad und nice to hear
Schneider's fiddle schrabin near?

Vell, anyvay, obe loose your ear,
Und try to saw of you kin hear
From dem bedclose vat you'm among,

Der little song I'm going to sung:

Oh, lady vake! Get vake!

Und hear der tale I'll tell;

Oh, you vot's schleebin' sound ub dhere,
I like you pooty vell!

Your plack eyes dhem don't shine

Ven you'm ashleep-so vake!
(Yes, hurry ub und voke ub quick,
For gootness cracious sake!)

My schveet imbatience, lofe,
I hobe you vill oxcuse;

I'm singing schveetly (dhere, py Jinks!
Dhere goes a shtring proke loose!)

Oh, putiful, schveet maid!

Oh, vill she efer voke?

Der moon is mooning-(Jimminy! dhere

Anoder shtring vent proke!)