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really interested by music, twenty are pleased by good reading. Where one person is capable of becoming a skillful musician, twenty may become good readers. Where there is one occasion suitable for the exercise of musical talent, there are twenty for that of good reading.

The culture of the voice necessary for reading well, gives a delightful charm to the same voice in conversation. Good reading is the natural exponent and vehicle of all good things. It is the most effective of all commentaries upon the works of genius. It seems to bring dead authors to lift again, and makes us sit down' familiarly with the great and good of all ages.

Did you ever notice what life and power the Holy Scriptures have when well read? Have you ever heard of the wonderful effects produced by Elizabeth Fry on the criminals of Newgate, by simply reading to them the parable of the Prodigal Sou? Princes and peers of the realm, it is said, counted it a privilege to stand in the dismal corridors, among felons and murderers, merely to share with them the privilege of witnessing the marvelous pathos which genius, taste, and culture could infuse into that simple story.

What a fascination there is in really good reading! What a power it gives one! In the hospital, in the chamber of the invalid, in the .nursery, in the domestic and in the social circle, among chosen friends and companions, how it enables you to minister to the amusement, the comfort, the pleasure of dear ones, as no other art or accomplishment can. No instrument of man's devising can reach the heart as does that most wonderful instrument, the human voice. It is God's special gift and endowment to his chosen creatures. Fold it not away in a napkin.

If you would double the value of all your other acquisitions, if you would add immeasurablv to your own enjoyment and to your power of promoting the enjoyment of others, cultivate, with incessant care, this divine gift. No music below the skies is equal to that of pure, silvery speech from the lips of a man or woman of high culture.

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THE CHAMELEON.—James Merrick.

A FarleFrom M. De Lamotte.

Oft has it been my lot to mark
A proud, conceited, talking spark,
With eyes, that hardly served at most
To guard their master 'gainst a post,
Yet round the world the blade has been
To see whatever could be seen,
Returning from his finished tour,
Grown ten times porter than before;
Whatever word you chance to drop,
The traveled fool your mouth will stop;
"Sir, if my judgment you'll allow,
I've seen—and sure I ought to know,"
So begs you'd pay a due submission,
And acquiesce in his decision.

Two travelers of such a cast,
As o'er Arabia's wilds they passed
And on their way in friendly chat,
Now talked of this, and then of that,
Discoursed awhile, 'mongst other matter,
Of the chameleon's form and nature.
"A stranger animal," cries one,
".Sure never lived beneath the sun.
A lizard's body, lean and long,
A fish's head, a serpent's tongue,
Its foot with triple claw disjoined:
And what a length of tail behind!
How slow its pace; and then its hue—
Who ever saw so tine a blue?"

"Hold, there," the other quick replies,
"Tis green," I saw it with these eyes,
As late with open mouth it lay,
And warmed it in the sunny ray:
Stretched at its ease, I he beast 1 viewed
And saw it eat the air for food."

"I've seen it, sir, as well as you,
And must again atliriu it blue;
At leisure I the beast surveyed,
Extended in the cooling shade."

"Tis green, 'tis green, sir, I assure ye!" "Green!" cries the other in a fury— "Why, sir!—d'ye think I've lost my eves?" "'Twere no great loss," the friend replies,

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Will the wimple, trusting faith
Shining in the childish breast

Always be so clear and bright?
Will God always know the rest,
Loving little Margery?

As the weary years go on,
And yon are a child no more,

But a woman, trouble-worn,
Will it come—this faith of yours—
Blessing you, dear Margery?

If your sweetest love shall fail,
And your idol turn to dust,

Will you bow to meet the blow,
Owning all God's ways are just?
Can you, sorrowing Margery?

Should your life-path grow so dark
You can see no step ahead,

Will you lay your hand in His,
Trusting by him to be led
To the light, my Margery?

Will the woman, folding down
Peaceful hands across her breast,

Whisper, with her old belief,

"God, my Father, knows the rest,
He'll take tired Margery?"

True, my darling, life is long,
And its ways are dark and dim;

But God knows the path you tread;
I can leave you safe with Him,
Always, little Margery.

He will keep your childish faith,
Through your weary woman years,

Shining ever strong and bright,
Never dimmed by saddest tears,
Trusting little Margery.

You have taught a lesson sweet
To a yearning, restless soul;

We pray in snatches, ask a part,
But God above us knows the whole.
And answers, baby Margery.

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