And can I ever cease to be
Affectionate and kind to thee
Who wast so very kind to me-

My mother.

Oh, no, the thought I cannot bear;
And if God please my life to spare
I hope I shall reward thy care,
My mother.

When thou art feeble, old and gray,
My healthy arm shall be thy stay,
And I will soothe thy pains away,
My mother.

And when I see thee hang thy head,
"Twill be my turn to watch thy bed,
And tears of sweet affection shed,-

My mother.

Jane Taylor.

WATER

Sweet, beautiful water-brewed in the running brook, the rippling fountain and the laughing rill-in the limpid cascade, as it joyfully leaps down the side of the mountain. Brewed in yonder mountain top, whose granite peak glitters like gold bathed in the morning sun-brewed in the sparkling dewdrop; sweet, beautiful water-brewed in the crested wave of the ocean deeps, driven by the storm, breathing its terrible anthem to the God of the sea-brewed in the fleecy foam and the whitened spray as it hangs like a speck over the distant cataract-brewed in the clouds of Heaven;

"Seekst thou the flashy brink

Of weedy lake or marge of river wide?"

TO A WATER-FOWL: William Cullen Bryant.

sweet, beautiful water! As it sings in the rain shower and dances in the hailstorm-as it comes sweeping down in feathery flakes, clothing the earth in a spotless mantle of white. Distilled in the golden tissues that paint the western sky at the setting of the sun, and the silvery tissues that veil the midnight mocn-sweet, health-giving, beautiful water! Distilled in the rainbow of promise, whose warp is the raindrops of Earth, and whose woof is the sunbeam of Heaven-sweet, beautiful water.

John B. Gough.

LINCOLN'S RULES FOR LIVING

Do not worry, eat three square meals a day, say your prayers, be courteous to your creditors, keep your digestion good, steer clear of biliousness, exercise, go slow and go easy. May be there are other things that your special case requires to make you happy, but, my friend, these I reckon will give you a good lift. Abraham Lincoln.

I RESOLVE

To keep my health;

To do my work;

To live;

To see to it I grow and gain and give;
Never to look behind me for an hour;

To wait in meekness, and to walk in power;
But always fronting onward to the light,
Always and always facing toward the right.
Robbed, starved, defeated, fallen, wide-astray-
On, with what strength I have;

Back to the way.

Charlotte Perkins Stetson.

THE VOLUNTEER ORGANIST

The great big church wus crowded full uv broadcloth an' uv silk

An' satin rich as cream that grows on our ole Brindle's milk; Shined boots, b'iled shirts, stiff dickeys an' stovepipe hats were there,

An' doods 'ith trouserloons so tight they couldn't kneel down in prayer.

The elder, in his poolpit high, said as he slowly riz:
"Our organist is kep' to hum, laid up 'ith rheumatiz,
An' as we hev no substitoot, as Brother Moore ain't here,
Will some'un in the congregation be so kind's to volunteer?"

An' then a red-nosed drunken tramp of low an' rowdy style Give an introductory hiccup an' then staggered up the aisle. Then thro' thet holy atmosphere there crep' a sense ov sin, An' thro' thet air uv sanctity the odor uv ole gin.

Then Deacon Purington he yelled, his teeth all set on edge: "This man perfanes the house uv God. Wy, this is sacrilege!"

The tramp didn't hear a word he said, but slouched 'ith stumbling feet,

An' sprawled an' staggered up the stairs an' gained the organ seat.

He then went pawin' thro' the keys, an' soon there rose a

strain

That seemed to jest bulge out the heart an' 'lectrify the brain,

An' then he slapped down on the thing 'ith hands an' head an' knees;

He slam dashed his whole body down kerflop upon the keys.