"Dey calls me Daddy Wufless," thought The negro to himself. "Dey'll take back dat ar name befo' I'se laid upon de shelf. I'd like to spite ole Satan once- If he'd been frown into de sea, And so the old man's money bought And every day he drove about And sick men tossing on their beds Of fever and of pain, Said, as they feebly raised their heads, "I hear the sound of rain, As when in nights of childhood passed, The air is fresher than it was, And, as he went, he often sang, With thin voice, cracked and high, "Dar's bressing in baptizing drops: Den sprinkle, sprinkle, sprinkle, We'll dribe ole Satan out!" The scourge is lifted from the town; Lies buried, like a faithful hound, And when I tread that burial-ground, To honor "Daddy Wufless" and The old man's sprinkling-cart. THAT HIRED GIRL. THE CLERGYMAN'S RECEPTION ON HIS INITIAL CALL IN HIS NEW PARISH. When she came to work for the family on Congress street, the lady of the house sat down and told her that agents, book-peddlers, hat-rack men, picture sellers, ash-buyers, ragmen, and all that class of people must be met at the front door and coldly repulsed, and Sarah said she'd repulse them if she had to break every broomstick in Detroit. And she did. She threw the door open wide, bluffed right up at 'em, and when she got through talking, the cheekiest agent was only too glad to leave. It got so after awhile that peddlers marked that house, and the door-bell never rang except for company. The other day, as the girl of the house was wiping off the spoons, the bell rang. She hastened to the door, expecting to see a lady, but her eyes encountered a slim man, dressed in black and wearing a white necktie. He was the new minister, and was going around to get acquainted with the members of his flock, but Sarah wasn't expected to know this. "Ah-um-is-Mrs.-ah!" "Git!" exclaimed Sarah, pointing to the gate. 66 Beg pardon, but I would like to see-see-" "Meander!" she shouted, looking around for a weapon; "we don't want any flour-sifters here!" "You're mistaken," he replied, smiling blandly. "I called to-" Don't want anything to keep moths away-fly!" she exclaimed, getting red in the face. "Is the lady in?" he inquired, trying to look over Sarah's head. "Yes, the lady is in, and I'm in, and you are out!" she snapped; "and now I don't want to stand here talking to a fly-trap agent any longer! Come, lift your boots!" "I'm not an agent," he new-" said, trying to smile. "I'm the 'Yes, I know you--you are the new man with the patent flat-iron, but we don't want any, and you'd better go before I call the dog!" "Will you give the lady my card, and say that I called?" "No, I won't; we are bored to death with cards and handbills and circulars. Come, I can't stand here all day." "Didn't you know that I was a minister?" he asked as he backed off. "No, nor I don't know it now; you look like the man who sold the woman next door a dollar chromo for eighteen shillings." "But here is my card." "I don't care for cards, I tell you! If you leave that gate open I will have to fling a flower-pot at you!" "I will call again," he said, as he went through the gate. "It won't do any good!" she shouted after him; "we don't want no prepared food for infants-no piano music-no stuffed birds! I know the policeman on this beat, and if you come around here again, he'll soon find out whether you are a confidence man or a vagrant!" And she took unusual care to lock the door. -Detroit Free Press. FAITH AND REASON.-LIZZIE YORK CASE. Two travelers started on a tour, With trust and knowledge laden; One was a man with mighty brain, And one a gentle maiden. They joined their hands and vowed to be Companions for a season; The gentle maiden's name was Faith, The mighty man's was Reason. He sought all knowledge from the world, All matter and all mind were his, But her's was only spirit. If any stars were missed from heaven, He sought for truth above, below, He said, "This earth's a rolling ball, He brings to light the hidden force He sends his message 'cross the earth, All things in beauty, science, art, He tries, from earth, to forge a key THE DUMB CHILD. She is my only girl, I asked for her as some most precious thing; The shadow that time brought forth I could not see, Oh! many a soft old tune I used to sing unto that deafened ear, And hushed her brothers' laughter while she lay. 'Twas long ere I believed That this one daughter might not speak to me; Vain love was long the untiring nurse of faith, Oh! if she could but hear For one short hour, till I her tongue might teach To call me mother, in the broken speech That thrills the mother's ear! Alas! those sealed lips never may be stirred My heart it sorely tries, To see her kneel with such a reverent air To watch our lips as though our words she knew, I've watched her looking up The struggling soul would burst its binding cords, The song of bird and bee, The chorus of the breezes, streams and groves, To her; the world of sound a tuneless void; Her face is very fair; Her blue eye beautiful; of finest mold Alas! this lovely temple closed must be, Wills He the mind within Should from earth's Babel-clamor be kept free, E'en that His still, small voice and step might be DDDD |