"Twas a moonlight night when Bet and I,-
Bet-she's the old mare, you know,—
Started for camp on our lonely route
O'er the dreary waste of snow.

I had been to the "clearing" that afternoon,
For powder and ball, and whiskey, too,
For game was plenty, furs in demand,
And plenty of hunting and trapping to do.

I had no fear of the danger that lurked
In the region through which my journey lay,
Till Bet of a sudden pricked up her ears,
And sniffed the air in a curious way.

I knew at once what the danger was,
As Bet struck out at a 'forty gait;
'Twas life or death for the mare and me,
And all I could do was to trust to fate.

Wolves on our track, ten miles from home!
A pleasant prospect that, eh, boys?
I could see them skulking among the trees,
And the woods re-echoed their hideous noise.

At last, as their number began to swell,
They bolder grew and pressed us close;
So "Old Pill Driver" I brought to bear,
And gave the leader a leaden dose.

Now you must know, if you draw the blood
On one of the sneaking, ravenous crew,
The rest will turn on the double-quick,
And eat him up without more ado.
This gave me time to load my gun,
With just a chance to breathe and rest,
When on they came! a-gaining fast,
Though Bet was doing her level best.

I began to think it was getting hot;

Pill-Driver" says I "this will never do;
Talk to 'em again!" You bet she did;
And right in his tracks lay number two.
Well boys, to make a long story short,

I picked them off till but one was left;
But he was a whopper, you'd better believe-
A reg'lar mammoth in size and heft.

Yes, he was the last of the savage pack,

For as they had followed the natʼral law, They had eaten each other as fast as they fell, Till all were condensed in his spacious maw.

BROTHER ANDERSON'S SERMON.

THOMAS K. BEECHER.

I was to preach for Brother Anderson. He was a good pastor. Almost the last time I saw him he had just called upon a lamb of his flock to ask after her spiritual welfare and for fifty cents towards his salary.

Punctual to the hour Brother Anderson came rolling across the street, and up to the door, and we went in together. After the usual songs and prayers, I took for my text, Paul's counsel to the Corinthians as to their disorderly meetings and meaningless noises. The sermon was, in the main, a reading of the fourteenth of Paul's first letter with comments and application interspersed.

I spoke half an hour, and while showing consideration for the noisy ways of my audience, exhorted them to cultivate intelligence as well as passion. When you feel the glory of God in you let it out, of course. Shout, Glory! Clap your hands, and all that, but stop now and then and let some wise elder stand up and tell you what it all means. Men and boys hang around your windows and laugh at you and your religion, because they don't understand you. Some men have religion all in the head, clear, sharp, dry, and dead; others all in the heart, they feel it all in their bones. Now I want you to have religion in your heads and hearts too. Let all things be done decently and in order.

I was well satisfied with my effort, at the time it seemed a success. As I sat down Brother Anderson got up and stood on the pulpit step and gave out a hymn

"Let saints below in concert sing."

I am not sure that he could read, for he stood book in hand, and seemingly from memory gave the words of the hyan, he repeated the first and second stanzas with a deep growing feeling. Of the third he read three lines:

There he stopped and after swallowing one or two chokes, went on to say:

"I lub Brudder Beecher; I lub to hear him preach dis af'ernoon; he tole us a good many things. He's our good frien', and he sez, sez he, dat some folks goes up to glory noisy 'n shoutin', and some goes still like, 'z if they was ashamed ob what's in 'em, and he sez we better be more like de still kind, an' de white folks 'ill like us more, and den I thinks tain't much 'count no way, wedder we goes up still like, or shoutin', for heben is a mighty big place brudders, an' w'en we all goes marchin' up to see de Lord an' I's so full ob de lub, an' de joy, an' de glory, dat I mus' clap my han's an' shout, de good Lord got some place whar we won't 'sturb nobody, an' we can shout 'Glory! b'ess de Lord!' I tell you, brudders an' sisters, heben 's a mighty big place an' dar's room for Brudder Beecher an' us too. Dat's so! B'ess de Lord.

"Brudder Beecher sez dat tis'n de folks as makes de mos' noise as does de mos' work. He sez de ingines on de railroad only puff, puff, puff, reg'lar breavin like, when dey's at work haulin' de biggest loads, an' de bells an de whistles don't do no work, dey only make a noise. Guess dat's so. I don't know 'bout ingines much, an' I don't know wedder I's a puff, puff ingine, or wedder I's one dat blows de whistles an' rings de bells. I feel like bofe sometimes, an' I tell you what, w'en de fire is a burnin' an' I gits de steam up, don't dribe no cattle on de track, de ingine's a comin. Cl'ar de track.

"An' de boys an' de gals, an' de clarks, an' de young lawyers, dey come up yar watch-nights an' dey peep in de windows, an' stan' 'round de doors an' dey larf an' make fun, an Brudder Beecher sez, 'Why don't we stop de noise now 'n den an' go out an' tell 'em 'bout it-'splain it to 'em.' An' I'member w'at de Bible says, 'bout de outer darkness, an' de weepin' an' de wailin', an' de 'nashin' ob teeth. An' if dese boys an' gals stan' dar outside larfin', biemby dey'll come to de weepin' an' de wailin,' fus' dey know. An' den w'en we stan' 'roun' de great white temple ob de Lord, an' see de glory shinin' out, an' de harpers harpin', an' all de music, an' de elders bowin', an' all shoutin' like many waters, an' de saints a singin-" Glory! Glory to de Lam,' 'spose God'll say, Stop dat noise dar, Gabriel. You Gabriel, go out an' 'splain.' Yes, I see dem stan' las' winter 'roun' de doors an' under de

windows an' larf; an' dey peep in an' larf. An' I'member wot I saw las' summer, 'mong de bees. Some ob de hives was nice an' clean an' still, like 'spectable meetin's, an' de oders was bustin' wid honey, an' de bees kep' a comin' an' a goin' in de clover, an' dey jes' kep' on a fillin' up de hive, till de honey was a flowin' like de lan' ob Canaan. An' I saw all 'roun' de hives was de ants, an' worms, an' de great drones, an' de black bugs, an' dey kep' on de outside. Dey wasn't bees. Dey couldn't make de honey for dareselves, Dey couldn't fly to de clover an' de honeysuckle. Dey jus' hang 'roun' de bustin' hive an' live on de drippins. An' de boys an' de gals come up yar an' hang 'roun'. Jes' come in an' we'll show you how de gospel bees do. Come in, an' we'll lead you to de clover. Come in, we'll make your wings grow. Come in, won't ye? Well den, poor things, let 'em stan' 'roun' de outside an' hab de drippins. We's got honey in dis hive.

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Part ob de hos' has crossed de flood,
An' part are crossin' now."

THE VILLAGE SEWING-SOCIETY.

"Mis' Jones is late agin to-day:
I'd be ashamed now ef 'twas me.
Don't tell it, but I've heerd folks say
She only comes to git her tea."

"Law me! she needn't want it here,

The deacon's folks ain't much on eatin':

They haven't made a pie this year!
Of course, 'twon't do to be repeatin';

"But old Mis' Jenkins says it's true

(You know she lives just 'cross the way, And sees most everything they do).

She says she saw 'em t'other day—”

"Hush, here comes Hannah! How d'ye do?
Why, what a pretty dress you've got!"
("Her old merino made up new:

I know it by that faded spot.")

"Jest look! there's Dr. Stebbins' wife "
"A bran-new dress and bunnit!-well-

They say she leads him such a life!
But, there! I promised not to tell."

"What's that Mis' Brown? 'All friends,' of course;
And you can see with your own eyes,
That that gray mare's the better horse,
Though gossipin' I do despise."

"Poor Mary Allen's lost her beau"-
"It serves her right, conceited thing!
She's flirted awfully, I know.

Say, have you heard she kept his ring?”

"Listen! the clock is striking six.

Thank goodness! then it's time for tea." "Now ain't that too much! Abby Mix Has folded up her work! Just see!" "Why can't she wait until she's told? Yes, thank you, deacon, here we come." ("I hope the biscuits won't be cold, No coffee? Wish I was to hum!")

"Do tell, Mis' Ellis! Did you make This cheese? the best I ever saw. Such jumbles too (no jelly cake):

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I'm quite ashamed to take one more."

'Good-by: we've had a first-rate time,

And first-rate tea, I must declare.

Mis' Ellis' things are always prime.

(Well, next week's meetin' won't be there!)"

PAPA CAN'T FIND ME.

No little step do I hear in the hall;
Only a sweet little laugh, that is all.

No dimpled arms round my neck hold me tight,
I've but a glimpse of two eyes very bright,
Two little hands a wee face try to screen,
Baby is hiding, that's plain to be seen.

"Where is my precious I've missed so all day?" "Papa can't find me!" the pretty lips say.

"Dear me, I wonder where baby can be!"
Then I go by, and pretend not to see.
"Not in the parlor, and not on the stairs?
Then I must peep under sofas and chairs."
The dear little rogue is now laughing outright,
Two little arms round my neck clasp me tight.
Home will indeed be sad, weary, and lone,
When papa can't find you, my darling, my own.