48

A

The Publican's Specimen.

THE PUBLICAN'S SPECIMEN.

REV. CHARLES GARRETT.

VERY earnest, shrewd friend of mine was passing a gin

shop in Manchester one day, when he saw a drunken man lying on the ground. The poor fellow had evidently been turned out of doors, when all his money was gone. In a moment the gentleman hastened across the street, and, entering a grocer's shop, addressing the master, said:

"Will you oblige me with the largest sheet of paper you have?"

"What for, my friend? What's the matter?"

"Oh! you shall see in a minute or two. Please let it be the very largest sheet you have."

The sheet of paper was soon procured.

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Now, will you lend me a piece of chalk?"

Why, whatever are you going to do?"

"You shall see presently."

He then quickly printed in large letters:

"SPECIMEN OF THE WORK DONE INSIDE."

He then fastened the paper right over the drunken man, and retired a short distance. In a few minutes several passers-by stopped and read aloud, “Specimen of the work done inside."

In a very short time a crowd assembled, and the publican, hearing the noise and laughter outside, came to see what it was all about. He eagerly bent down and read the inscription on the paper, and then demanded, in an angry voice, "Who did that?"

"Which?" asked the gentleman, who now joined the crowd: "If you mean what is on the paper, I did that; but if you mean the MAN, you did that. This morning, when he arose, he was sober,-when he walked down this street, on his way to work, he was sober,-when he went into your gin-shop he was sober, and now he is what you made him. Is he not a true specimen of the work done inside?"

Old and New.

OLD AND NEW.

W. MACMILLAN.

HE old year has left us at last,

THE

We parted with scarcely a sigh ;
We would not mourn over the past,
But buried in peace let it lie.
The new year has come and the bells
Ring welcome with iron-tongued glee,
Sweet music that says, as it swells,
"A Happy New Year unto thee!"

The old year has gone, but its cares
Leave shadows upon our hearts yet,
O! think of the wheat-not the tares,
And learn to forgive and forget.
Sufficient of troubles will come,
So long as we sojourn down here;
And you, my dear friends, will have some,
But I wish you a happy New Year!

The old year caused many a sigh,
But healthy and happy to-day,

Sad memories let us bid fly,

And cheerfully go on our way;
For now that the new year has come,

Why should we court sorrow and fear?

Ask God, for a blessing on home,

He'll send us a Happy New Year.

The old year has gone with the rest,
And now it is with us no more;

The new year may turn out your best,

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E'en though you've seen more than three-score.

The new year prompts many to say

Henceforth they will keep conscience clear,

God give them the will and the way,

And send them a Happy New Year.

The old year has gone-let it go!
God blot out its record of sins!
Let's go to our duties, and know
To-day a new volume begins.
What shall the new volume comprise
Of joy, sorrow, hope, or of fear?
The answer with each of us lies;
God send us a Happy New Year!

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What I Love Best.

BE FAITHFUL AND TRUE.

E. J. OLIVER.

BE faithful and true to your colours, my boys,

No matter what foes may assail;

Be valiant and patient, and hold to the right,
And the cause you espouse shall prevail;
For the false and the base cannot flourish or live
By the side of the honest and just ;

So take your stand firmly, through sunshine and storm,
And conquer you shall, and you must.

Be faithful and true to your colours, my boys,
Though dangers may stand in the way,

Go forward, nor swerve from your duty one jot,
Though traitors should turn and betray;

The past may look cheerless, the present may frown,
And the future be hid from your view,

But fortune shall smile, and the shadows shall flee,
If you only be faithful and true.

Be faithful and true to your colours, my boys,
Though mighty your foemen may be,

For right shall be might ere the close of the fight,
And its triumph we surely shall see ;

The truth is advancing with powerful strides,
And its glory shall spread far and wide,

And the man that is faithful and true to his flag
Shall be victor, whatever betide.

WHAT I LOVE BEST.

LOVE the blue sky,
Where pretty birds fly,

And morning's bright beauty as well;
I love the fresh air,

That blows without care,
And many more things I could tell.

I love the warm sun,
And busy bee's hum,

And walks up the grassy green hills;
I love the fair flowers,

And sunshining showers,

And water that comes from the rill.

IT

The Two Roads.

I love the tall trees

That wave in the breeze,

And daisies and butter-cups too;
I love open day,

And beautiful May,

And all that light brings to my view.

But something beside,
Quite close to my side,
More lovely and precious I call;
'Tis darling Mamma,

And dear good Papa,

I love, and I love more than all.
But oh! there is One

More bright than the sun-
More passing fair than the rest;
'Tis Jesus, who shed

His blood in my stead,

Oh! should I not love Him the best?

THE TWO ROADS.

RICHTER.

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-T was New Year's night. An aged man was standing at a window. He mournfully raised his eyes toward the deep blue sky, where the stars were floating like white lilies on the surface of a clear, calm lake. Then he cast them on the earth, where few more helpless beings than himself were moving towards their inevitable doom-the tomb. Already he had passed sixty of the stages which lead to it, and he had brought from his journey nothing but errors and remorse. His health was destroyed, his mind unfurnished, his heart sorrowful, and his old age devoid of comfort.

The days of his youth rose up in a vision before him, and he recalled the solemn moment when his father had placed him at the entrance of two roads, one leading into a peaceful, sunny land, covered with a fertile harvest, resounding with soft, sweet songs; while the other conducted the wanderer into a deep, dark cave, whence there was no issue, where poison flowed instead of water, and where serpents hissed and crawled.

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The Two Roads.

He looked towards the sky, and cried out, in his anguish: "O, youth, return! O, my father, place me once more at the crossway of life, that I may choose the better road!" But the days of his youth had passed away, and his parents were with the departed. He saw wandering lights float over dark marshes, and then disappear. "Such," he said, "were the days of my wasted life!" He saw a star shoot from heaven, and vanish in the darkness athwart the church-yard. "Behold an emblem of myself!" he exclaimed; and the sharp arrows of unavailing remorse struck him to the heart.

Then he remembered his early companions, who had entered life with him, but who, having trod the paths of virtue and industry, were now happy and honoured on this New Year's night. The clock in the high church tower struck, and the sound, falling on his ear, recalled the many tokens of the love of his parents for him, their erring son; the lessons they had taught him; the prayers they had offered up in his behalf. Overwhelmed with shame and grief, he dared no longer look towards that heaven where they dwelt. His darkened eyes dropped tears, and, with one despairing effort he cried aloud, "Come back, my early days! Come back!"

And his youth did return; for all this had been but a dream, visiting his slumbers on New Year's night. He was still young; his errors only were no dream. He thanked God fervently that time was still his own; that he had not yet entered the deep, dark cavern, but that he was free to tread the road leading to the peaceful land where sunny harvests

wave.

Ye who still linger on the threshold of life, doubting which path to choose, remember that when years shall be passed, and your feet shall stumble on the dark mountains, you will cry bitterly, but cry in vain, "O, youth, return! 0, give me back my early days!