There are men to-day who would stand alone
On the bridge Horatius kept;

There are men who would fight at Marathon,
Who would battle with Stark at Bennington
When flashing from sabre and flint-lock gun
The fires of freedom leapt.

It is better to look back with pride and boast,-
It is well to look ahead;

The past to all is a dream at most,

The future is life instead;

And standing unmoved at your duty's post
Is truthfully praising the dead.

"GOD IS NOWHERE."

AN ACTUAL OCCURRENCE.

A hard, stern man upon a sick bed lay,
More and more feeble with each passing day;
No hallowing dream of heavenly peace was there,
No ray of love divine-no breath of prayer.

Kind Christian friends, on holiest mission bent,
Came bright and hopeful-sad and anxious went;
Harder and sterner still the Atheist grew,
The flinty heart no answering softness knew.

Angry at last at each persistent call,
With firm refusal he denied them all;

The Saviour's sacred name he would not hear,
His loving words could find no listening ear.

"Wife, fetch the blackboard and a bit of chalk!
One way remains to stop this senseless talk ;
I will write something which is truth indeed,
And have it placed where every one may read.”

The thin, weak hand that scarce the chalk could hold
Wrote "God is nowhere," very large and bold;
The fearful sentence met his waking sight
In wretched mockery, by day and night."

Time crept along-hour after hour passed o'er,
While the death-angel still his touch forbore;
Lower and lower burned the flickering flame,
And slower yet the fitful pulses came.

Then, happier change repaid the anxious view-
And hope so long denied, sprang forth anew;
Through every vein a fuller current flowed,
And Heaven once more the gift of life bestowed.
Soon the fond father sought his banished child,
Who erst with prattle sweet, his heart beguiled;
Charmed to come back, she told her little news,
And showed her "nice new gown and pretty shoes."

"And that's not all- the tones grew eager now--
For I can read-my aunty taught me how!"
Nonsense, my dear!" the father quick replied,
"You cannot read, of that I'm satisfied."

"Yes, father dear! Oh yes! I truly can,
For aunty taught me "-and the child began
To look around, perchance to find some way
Of proving what her words had failed to say.

The father smiled-and pointing to the wall
Said; "Well, read that, if you can read at all;
She hesitated-and the father spoke-
"I told you so-I knew it was a joke."

But still she strove,-her deep and earnest eyes
Fixed on the board,-and soon in glad surprise,
Exclaimed, "I know it now! Oh yes I see!
'God-is-now-here'-the last word puzzled me."

The conscience-stricken man, in mute amaze,
Covered his face to hide his startled gaze,
While, from the rocky fount, untouched for years,
Burst forth a flood of pure and holy tears.

"My God! my child-and has my darling learned
What I with death so near, denied and spurned?
Father, forgive! and fill with love divine,

That life thy mercy spared,—now wholly Thine."

GOOD READING THE GREATEST ACCOMPLISHMENT.

JOHN S. HART, LL.D.

There is one accomplishment, in particular, which I would earnestly recommend to you. Cultivate assiduously the ability to read well. I stop to particularize this, because it is a thing so very much neglected, and because it is such an elegant, and charming accomplishment. Where one person is

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 life 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 Son? 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 y f you would double the value of all your other acquisitions, if you would add immeasurably 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.

THE CHAMELEON.-JAMES MERRICK.

A FABLE FROM 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 perter 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.

66

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 fine 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, the beast I viewed And saw it eat the air for food." "I've seen it, sir, as well as you, And must again affirm 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 eyes?"

""Twere no great loss," the friend replies,

"

For, if they always serve you thus,
You'll find them of but little use."

So high at last the contest rose,
From words they almost came to blows;
When luckily came by a third—
To him the question they referred,
And begged he'd tell 'em, if he knew,
Whether the thing was green or blue.

Sirs,"
," cries the umpire," cease your pother!
The creature's neither one nor t'other.
I caught the animal last night,
And viewed it o'er by candlelight:
I marked it well-'twas black as jet-
You stare-but, sirs, I've got it yet,
And can produce it." 'Pray, sir, do:
I'll lay my life the thing is blue."
"And I'll be sworn, that when you've seen
The reptile, you'll pronounce him green.”

"Well, then, at once to ease the doubt,"
Replies the man, "I'll turn him out:
And when before your eyes I've set him,
If you don't find him black, I'll eat him."
He said: then full before their sight
Produced the beast, and lo!-'twas white.

Both stared, the man looked wondrous wise-
'My children," the chameleon cries,
(Then first the creature found a tongue,)
"You all are right, and all are wrong:
When next you talk of what you view,
Think others see as well as you:
Nor wonder, if you find that none
Prefers your eyesight to his own."

LITTLE MARGERY.

Kneeling, white-robed, sleepy eyes,
Peeping through the tangled hair,
"Now I lay me-I'm so tired-
Aunty, God knows all my prayer;
He'll keep little Margery."

Watching by the little bed,

Dreaming of the coming years,
Much I wonder what they'll bring,
Most of smiles or most of tears,
To my little Margery.