makes him work for half the money a bartender gets, and board him around the naberhood, where they give him rhy coffee, sweetened with molasses, tew drink, and kodfish bawls three times a day for vittles.

And with all this abuse, I never heard ov a distrikt skoolmaster swearing anything louder than condemn it.

Don't talk to me about the pashunce ov anshunt Job. Job had pretty plenty ov biles all over him, no doubt, but they were all ov one breed.

Every young one in the distrikt skool iz a bile ov a dif ferent breed, and each one needs a different kind ov poultis to get a good head on them.

A distrikt skoolmaster, who duz a square job, and takes his codfish bawls reverently, iz a better man to-day, tew hav lieing around loose, than Solomon would be, arrayed in all ov hiz glory.

Solomon wuz better at writing proverbs and managing a large family than he would be tew navigate a distrikt skoolhous.

Enny man who haz kept a distrikt skool for ten years, and boarded around the naberhood, ought to be made a mager gineral and have a penshun for the rest ov his nat'ral days, and a hoss and waggin tew du his going around in.

But as a general consequence, a distrikt skoolmaster hain't got any more warm friends than an old blind ox haz.

He iz just about az welkum az a tax-gatherer iz. He iz respekted a good deal az a man to whom we owe a debt ov 50 dollars to, and don't want tew pay.

He goes through life on a back road, az poor az a wood sled, and finally iz missed; but what ever bekums ov hiz remains I kan't tell.

Fortunately he iz not often a sensitive man; if he waz h、 couldn't enny more keep a distrikt skool than he could file a krosscut saw.

Why iz it that these men and women, who pashuntly and with crazed brain teach our remorseless brats the tejus meaning ov the alphabet, who take the fust welding heat on thir destiny, who hav tu lay the stepping stones and enkurrage them to mount upwards, who have done more hard work and mean jobs than enny klass on the footstool, who have

prayed over the reprobats, strengthened the timid, restrained the outragious, and flattered the imbecile; who have lived on kodfish and vile coffee, and hain't been heard to swear, —why is it that they are treated like a vagrant fiddler, danced to for a night, paid oph in the morning, and eagerly forgotten?

I had rather burn a coal-pit, or keep the flys out ov a butcher's shop in the month ov August, than meddle with the skool bizzness.

SHIBBOLETH.-E. H. J. CLEVELAND.

"Then said they unto him: 'Say now Shibboleth;' and he said 'Sibboleth,' Then they took him, and slew him at the passages of Jordan: and there fell at that time, of the Ephraimites, forty and two thousand." Judges, xii. 6.

Down to the stream they flying go;

Right on the border stand the foe,

Stand the foe, and this threat they make:
Shibboleth say, or your head we'll take.
Up to his desk the good man goes,
Down in the pews they sit, his foes,-
Sit his foes, and this threat they make:
Shibboleth say, or your head we'll take.
Say: Remember the Sabbath day,
In it ye neither shall work nor play;
Say it commences on Saturday night,
Just about early candle-light;

Or, to make it a little surer still,

When the sun goes down behind the hill;
And if the sun sets at half-past four,

Close the shutters, and bar the door;
Tell the strangers your gates within,
That to do otherwise is a sin;

And at half past four on the following day,
Take out your knitting, and work or play;
For the Lord allows, in his law sublime,
Twenty-four hours for holy time;
Thus you must speak our Shibboleth.
Nothing daunted, the good man saith,
Ye must remember the Sabbath day,
In it ye neither shall work nor play,
Tell the strangers your gates within,
That to do otherwise is a sin;

But at twelve o'clock it begins, I'm sure,
Not on Saturday at half-past four,

And at twelve o'clock at night it ends;
This is the fourth command, my friends.
Down sits the parson in his seat,
Up rise his enemies from the pit;
Off with his head, they wrathful say,
How he abuses our Sabbath day!
Up comes another to take his place,
Heated and panting from the chase,
And again the foe their menace make,
Shibboleth say, or your head we'll take.
Say that the Lord made bond and free,
Slavery's an evil, not sin per se ;

Slaves there have been, from the first man's fali
And a righteous God upholds it all.

This is the pass-word, speak it plain;

And the good man answers back again:

I know that the Lord made bond and free
All of one blood, and cursed is he,
Saith a righteous God in his holy ire,
Who useth service and giveth no hire.
This man will never our Shibboleth say
Thus cry the foe, as they eager lay
Their violent hands on the clerical crown,
He is not one of us,-hew him down.
And again to the next in the sacred desk,

They look from below, and propound this text:
Say that we fell in Adam's fall,

And that in Adam we sinned all;

Say that in him we all are dead,

Else you'll oblige us to take your head.

A moment they wait to hear the word,
But shout as soon as his voice is heard,
Oh, hear ye now what this rebel saith?
Sibboleth only,-not Shibboleth.

Another cry in the stifled air,
Another head with its gory hair

By the rolling stream, and another threat
The dire assassins are making yet:
Shibboleth say, and the stream shall flow
Right and left, as you onward go;

Sibboleth say, and your head shall fall
Right in the pass, as fell they all.

Say that our sins we must all forsake,
That the yoke of Christ we must willing take;
Our tongues from evil we must restrain,
And from the alluring cup abstain;
But we have made an amendment fair,
And a due allowance, here and there,
For such as have but a little grace,—
Every one understands the case;.
We who are young in grace must grow,
But still in the ways of folly go;

We must have our pleasures, and perchance
Amuse ourselves in a little dance;

And we, who are somewhat older grown,-
Though our lips are the Lord's, and not our own,-
Must now and then be allowed to speak,
Though our words be truly not over meek;
And should we happen to speak "in a hurry,"
Why surely the parson needn't worry,-
Not even though we should blast his fame,
For the poor church members are not to blame;
And though we are not inclined to drink
Of the sparkling cup, yet we surely think
It will never answer to fully put down
The sale of the article in our town.
These things we willingly, freely tell,
That you may learn our Shibboleth well.
Thus do we all of our sins forsake,
And the yoke of Christ thus easy take.
For hath he not called the burden light?
Shibboleth say, as we indite.

But "Be ye holy," he calmly saith;
Brethren, this is my Sibboleth.

A sudden cry, and a sudden gleam

Of a glancing sword by the crimson stream,
And "Off with his head!" they vengeful cry,
He is an Ephraimite,-let him die;

And quick dispatch him with all their might,
Just as another one comes in sight.

Glad welcome give to the next who stands
With the "bread of life" in his pious hands.
In his pious hands, and they hear him through,
We believe it all, and so do you;

But this it is not enough to say,

We must have it said in a particular way.
Say that the sinner can't repent,

Without the spirit is on him sent;

To the small word can't, have a due regard,
Else things will be apt to go very hard.
But the good man says: He can, but won't;
I know that my danger is imminent.
And they quick reply: We're sorry to make
Such a very small word as this, to take
Your head from your shoulders,-thus,-entire,
But you have incurred our holy ire;

The meaning of both is the same, 'tis true,
But such an excuse will never do;

"Tis a very important word, my friend,

You will please to perceive you are near your end.

Forty-two thousand fell that day,
Forty-two thousand bodies lay,

*

Of the Ephraimites, in the narrow way
That led to the running river.

Forty-two thousand more will fall,

For when they accept the "unanimous call,”
They may be assured they have staked their all

By the theological river.

For still to the crossing do they hie,

And still the "Shibboleth" eager try,

But stop in the narrow pass to die,

And go not over the river.

DEATH OF THE OLD YEAR.-ALFRED TENNYSON,

Full knee-deep lies the winter snow,

And the winter winds are wearily sighing:

Toll ye the church bell, sad and slow,

And tread softly and speak low,

For the old year lies a-dying.
Old year, you must not die;
You came to us so readily,
You lived with us so steadily;
Old year, you shall not die.

He lieth still; he doth not move;
He will not see the dawn of day;