He kept a-wanting mother, so I spoke as the minister spoke: "I am the resurrection!" Well, well, would you believe, He seemed to forget to scold; once he said with voice all

broke,

"Tilly, I've been a bad daddy; forgive me, my child, forgive!"

"Father," says I, "don't mind me; there's a better One than me

He will forgive and comfort, too, though we be foul with sin; They hung a thief upon a cross way up on Calvary,

He met the Lord in paradise. Believe, and enter in!" And so he hoped. I told him then about our little Ben, Who must be now a great-grown boy. He cried himself to sleep.

He did not wake again; his hand grew cold in mine, and then

I was alone-the Lord had called another poor black

sheep!

Now what will you say when I tell you for eleven long years

more

I was waiting for Ben and never saw him in all that time? And yet I knew I'd find him,-I knew it for certain, for I'd said it wasn't in the blood, that was my reason and

rhyme;

And I knew the minister's name, and so I couldn't go far

astray,

And could always know where. Ben was. I worked and

learned all I could,

Worked and learned and waited for just one beautiful day

When I'd see Ben a good man-for it wasn't in the blood. And lo! the day it came! I'd wandered into a great town; I found a church and people there, a young man and an

old;

I heard the old man's name. I looked,-both their faces

shone

With worth and cleanness like the light in fire-refinéd

gold.

And I-I knew the young man; if that wasn't little Ben He'd never had eyes just like mine, nor hair like mine, all curl;

I'd found him, yes, I'd found him; I said it again and again, And wrung my hands for joy, for all the world like a silly

girl.

Then he was up in the pulpit! Friends, I could scarcely see, For the tears they would keep coming, I felt so very good;

He spoke about the virtues,-Faith, Hope, and Charity;— The landlord that day had told a lie-for these were in the blood!

Glad, so glad, I stood there when everything was done, And the people said 'twas spiritual, this young man's first

effort;

I wanted to see him close, to touch him once ere he was gone

For he never should know who I was, I wasn't quite his

sort.

So he came down the long red aisle, as I was trembling there; Closer and nearer, on he came, Benny, my Benny, my boy, Till he was standing before me. My eyes? Yes, and my hair; I hadn't been mistaken. And then-oh, joy! oh, joy! His face all coloring somewhat, he looked right in my eyes Before he left. I couldn't help the next thing that I did― There wasn't a soul that loved me, and I wasn't very wise, And somehow I thought if I'd say his name, I'd feel more

comforted;

For nobody knew him by that name. So I said low, "Brother," and "Ben."

Then he had turned, had caught my arm,

red aisle,

there in the long

"I have looked into my birth, woman, I know the very day

when

My sister ran away with me and our mother's basket, while She meant to give me to the man who has since then called

me son!

They told me at the old lodging that my little sister stood Up for me-she named me Ben, my sister lost and goneAnd vowed that sin and shame were not, dared not be in my blood.

Tell me! You knew my sister? I have long searched for her. Tell

Me what you mean by 'Brother,' and 'Ben.' Tell me!

tell me!" Then

I think I fell down on my knees, I couldn't stand very well; Strong arms holding me fondly, I was praying up past Ben, "Lord, I hope you'll excuse me for letting him know, Lord, dear!

Yet there are so many things in life I've never understood, But even a little helpless child may be thy minister.

And I thank thee, Lord, for proving that it wasn't in the blood!"

NOTE. The very effective and popular recitation entitled "JAMIE," by the same author as the above, will be found in No. 23 of this Series.

FIRE! FIRE!-W. A. EATON.

Night in a great city. What a world of meaning is hidden in that sentence. Night, when poverty and misery can walk abroad unseen, when vice can wander forth without disguise, when the reveler's shout dins the ear and the blasphemer's oath makes one shudder. Night in a great city silent are its streets;-the roar of traffic is stilled for awhile, and the footfall of the lated pedestrian echoes with startling distinctness.

What means that red glare in the sky? It is not near daybreak. No, it is the gleam and glow of fire. See how it brightens and then falls. Hark! others have seen the reflection, and a cry of alarm startles the midnight stillness. "Fire! fire!" The cry gathers strength as it is passed along. "Fire! Fire!"

Hark to the tramping of feet! Look, they are coming from all directions-breathless, some hatless and coatless -as if aroused from sleep. Now the thundering of hoofs is heard, and the shouting of the firemen "Hi! hi!" See how the flames are bursting through the windows! Hark how the rotten timber crackles! Now they are playing upon it with the long hose, and the deep thud, thud of the engine sounds above the crackling of the flames. Hark! was not that a cry for help? It came from that room yonder. Quick, quick, the ladder! They have raised it against the window. A sturdy fireman mounts it, his bright helmet glowing in the blaze. Two or three strokes of his hatchet and the sash falls in, and out streams a vast volume of smoke, but nothing else is visible. The fireman disappears in the aperture. The crowd hold their breath, and the excitement becomes intense. Presently he appears again, holding the fainting form of a woman in his arms. He has mounted the window sill, and is preparing to descend. See, the flames have almost reached him! Look, he is coming down. A deafening cheer goes up as the noble fellow

reaches the ground,—a cheer that is worth the winning. Rough voices shout, and great brawny hands are stretched out to congratulate him. The flames have reached the roof, and the rafters are beginning to give way. Soon, with a crash and a sputter, the roof falls, and the black and charred skeleton of a house is all that is left on the morrow to tell that a home has been blotted out.

Fire is a terrible enemy, but a more devouring enemy is still going in and out amongst us. The power of the fire-demon Alcohol is not yet crippled. We have still to overcome this mighty foe. With insidious wiles he enters the homes of millions of our countrymen and ruins them. Let us give him no quarter, but whenever we see his terrible form upreared, let us shout aloud our warning cry-"Fire! fire!"

THE BOLD DRAGOON.

Once in a merry tavern in Brabant,

A jolly dozen of dragoons were boasting

Of their past feats in many a Flemish hosting. "How, now," at length cried one, "friend Gaspar!-can't You brush your memory up, and give us some

Exploit of yours?" The query was addressed

To a dragoon who had as yet been dumb.
"Oh," answered Gaspar, "I am silent, lest

You might suppose me lying, or might call

Me braggart." "No, no, no !—we won't!” cried all. "Well, then, the time we lay in camp near Seville I—I—” “Ay!—hear him! Gaspar Schnapps for ever!"— "I cut ten troopers' legs off-clean and clever!" "Their legs!" cried six or eight-"By all that's civil! What made you cut their legs off, prithee, brother?" "What made me cut their legs off?" echoed t'other. "Ay! had you cut their heads off, then, in truth,

You would have ta'en the right mode to astound them." "Oh, but you see," said Schnapps, "the fact is-I— I-couldn't cut their heads off." "No!-and why?" "Because," responded the redoubted youth,

"Their heads had been cut off before I found them!"

OUTSIDE.

"There is a fountain filled with blood!"
Triumphant was the strain,

And sweet the words whose message found
That wanderer in the rain.
Wayworn and weary, spent with sin,
And dyed with many stains,

Sore needed he the cleansing flood

Drawn from Immanuel's veins."

He stepped within the open door
To list; the harmonies

Awakened dead echoes in his heart,-
His mother's cadences.

"The dying thief-" (Ah! that am I
In sin grown old and gray!)
"And there may I, though vile as he,
Wash all my sins away."

"Thou dying Lamb"-ah, precious words! He knelt upon the floor

And prayed; now rose the glorious song,

"Are saved to sin no more."

"Dear Lord," he cried in piteous tones,

"Oh! hear a sinner's plea,

And wash me clean in Jesus' blood

From all iniquity."

Now fuller rose the organ tone,
Throbbing upon the air,

While blending voices seem to raise
To Heaven that pleading prayer.
The theme of all that matchless song,
Raising that burdened soul-
Redeeming love, redeeming love!
(By that love make me whole!)

Those lips once but to curses given
Now join the "sweeter song,"
And praises to salvation's power
Unchain the "stammering tongue."

And now the messenger of God

Cries: "Ho! ye thirsting, come!" When lo! with firm yet humble tread, Returns the wanderer home.