When the elements, melting with fervent heat,
Shall proclaim the triumph of RIGHT Complete?
Will you wish to have his blood on your hands
When before the great throne you each shall stand,—
And he only sixteen?

Christian men! rouse ye to stand for the right,

To action and duty; into the light

Come with your banners, inscribed "Death to rum!" Let your conscience speak. Listen, then, come; Strike killing blows; hew to the line;

Make it a felony even to sign

A petition to license; you would do it I ween,
If that were your son, and he only sixteen,
Only sixteen.

THE YEAR THAT IS TO COME.

FRANCES DANA Gage.

What are we going to do,dear friends,
In the year that is to come,

To baffle that fearful fiend of death
Whose messenger is rum?

Shall we fold our hands and bid him pass,
As he has passed heretofore,

Leaving his deadly-poisoned draught

At every unbarred door?

What are we going to do,dear friends?
Still wait for crime and pain,

Then bind the bruises, and heal the wound,
And soothe the woe again?

Let the fiend still torture the weary wife,

Still poison the coming child,

Still break the suffering mother's heart,
Still drive the sister wild?

Still bring to the grave the gray-haired sire,
Still martyr the brave young soul,

Till the waters of death, like a burning stream,
O'er the whole great nation roll,

And poverty take the place of wealth,
And sin and crime and shame

Drag down to the very depths of hell

The highest and proudest name?

Is this our mission on earth, dear friends,
In the years that are to come?
If not, let us rouse and do our work
Against this spirit of rum.

There is not a soul so poor and weak,
In all this goodly land,

But against this evil a word may speak,
And lift a warning hand;

And lift a warning hand, dear friends,
With a cry for her home and hearth,
Adding voice to voice, till the sound shall sweep,
Like rum's death-knell, o'er the earth,-
And the weak and wavering shall hear,
And the faint grow brave and strong,
And the true, and good, and great, and wise
Join hands to right this wrong,—

Till a barrier of bold and loving hearts,
So deep and broad, is found,

That no spirit of rum can overleap,
Pass through, or go around.

Then the spirit of rum shall surely die;
For its food is human lives,

And only on hourly sacrifice

The demon lives and thrives.

And can we not do this, dear friends,
In the years that are to come?

Let each one work to save and keep
Her loved ones and her home;

Then the ransomed soul shall send to heaven

A song without alloy,

And "the morning stars together sing,

And God's sons shout for joy."

THE REFORM WILL GO ON.

Intemperance is not a mere local affair, but strikes at the very vitals of the nation. The liquor traffic is the fruitful source of woe, crime, misery, taxation, pauperism, and death.

Bear me witness if I exaggerate when I say that the country is rapidly becoming one vast grog-shop, to which half a million of its youth are yearly introduced, and over whose thresh

old sixty thousand are annually carted to a drunkard's grave. The streets of our cities echo to the shouts and oaths of drunken revellers, from whom society seeks protection through police regulations; and within hovel and mansion like, not entirely smothered either by physical fear or social pride, is heard the sound of insane violence and wailing. There are some who say the temperance movement is a senimental affair, and that the reform will not go on. The reform will go on. Point me to a reform which ever stopped. Why, reform is motion, and motion ceaselessly acted upon by the impulse of acceleration; so is it with the temperance movement. From whatever standpoint you look at it, it is seen to be in exact harmony with the age;-nay, it is a part of the age Itself. The great civil revolution is to be supplemented with a great social revolution. God has so written it down. He has blessed the efforts of its friends until it has already taken a strong hold on the popular heart. Its champions are not fanatics; they are not sentimentalists;-only terribly in earnest. Back of them are memories which will not let them pause. Broken circles, and ruined altars, and fallen roof-trees, and the cold, sodden ashes of once genial fires, urge them on. No fear such men and women will falter, until you can take out of the human mind painful recollection; until you can make the children forget the follies and vices of the parents, over which they mounted to usefulness and to honor; until the memory will surrender from its custody the oaths of drunken blasphemy and the pains of brutal violence; until you can do these things, no man, no combination of men, can stop this reform. Its cause lies deep as human feeling itself. I draws its current from sources embedded in the very fast. nesses of man's nature. The reform, then, will go on. it wil go on because its principles are correct and its progress bene. ficent. The wave which has been gathering force and vol ume for these fifty years will continue to roll, because the hand of the Lord is under and back of it, and the denuncia tions of its opponents, and the bribed eloquence of the un principled, cannot check,-no, nor retard,―the onward movement of its flow. Upon its white crest thousands will be lifted to virtue and honor, and thousands more who put themselves in front of it will be submerged and swept away.

The crisis through which this reform is passing will do good, It will make known its friends, and unmask its foes. The concussions above and around us will purify the atmosphere: and when the clouds have parted and melted away, we shill breathe purer air and behold sunnier skies.

We know not, indeed, what is ahead; what desertion of apparent friends may occur; what temporary defeat we may have to bear; nor against what intrigues we may be called upon to guard. For one, I count on the opposition of parties. I anticipate the double-dealing of political leaders. The cause more than once may be betrayed into the hands of its foes; more than once be deserted by those who owe to it whatever of prominence they have. But these reflections do not move me. They stir no ripple of fear on the surface of my hope. No good cause can ever be lost by the faithlessness of the unfaithful; no true principle of government overthrown by the opposition of its enemies; nor the progress of any reform, sanctioned by God and promotive of human weal, long retarded by any force or combination which can be marshaled against it. Over throne and proud empires the gospel has marched, treading bayonets, and banners, and emblems of royalty proudly under its feet; and out of that gospel no principle or tendency essential to the kingdom that is yet to be established on the earth can be selected so weak or so repugnant to fallen men as not to receive, ere the coming of that kingdom, its triumphant vindication. On this rock I plant my feet, and from its elevation contemplate the future, as a traveler gazes upon a landscape waving in golden-headed fruitfulness underneath the azure of a cloudless sky.

HOW TO CURE A COUGH.

One Biddy Brown, a country dame,
As 'tis by many told,

Went to a doctor-Drench by name-
For she had caught a cold.

And sad, indeed, was Biddy's pain,
The truth must be confest,

Which she to ease found all in vain,
For it was at her chest.

The doctor heard her case--and then,
Determined to assist her,
Prescribed-oh! tenderest of men,
Upon her chest a blister!

Away went Biddy, and next day
She called on Drench again.
"Well, have you used the blister,
And has it eased your pain?"

pray,

"Ah, zur," the dame, with curtsey cries,

Indeed, I never mocks;

But, bless ye! I'd no chest the size.

So I put it on a box.

"But la! zur, it be little use,

It never rose a bit;

And you may see it if you choose,

For there it's sticking yet!"

O'CONNELL'S HEART.-A. H. DORSEY.

The last words of this great and extraordinary man were, "My body to Ire land, my heart to Rome, and my soul to God.”

Bear it on tenderly,

Slowly and mournfully!

That heart of a nation which pulsates no more,
The fount that gushed ever with Freedom's high lore.
Through years over Erin it brooded and wept,

It watched while she slumbered, and prayed when she slept,
And the Saxon raged on that their chains had not crushed
The faith of a nation whose harp they had hushed.

Bear it on tenderly,

Slowly and mournfully!

It was broken at last when the famine-plague's glaive
And the spade turned the shamrock in grave after grave;
When the angels of God turned weeping away

From the want-stricken earth and its famishing clay,
And the wail of the dying arose from the sod-
The dying, those martyrs to faith and their God-
Came like the wild knell of his hope's fairest day,
Is it strange that its life-tide ebbed quickly away?