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As if they wept in heaven the approaching doom,
The warm hand pressed with many a generous token,
A sail! a sail! a hundrell voices rave-
She comes, and hope cheers up those hearts again,
Now o'er the ice-cold sea the victims swim,
cry is heard, she sinks, and all is night. The moon hath set-a darkness shrouds the lee, No voice is heard upon that moonless sea; Soft pity spreads her wings upon the gale, And few are left to tell the dreadful tale. From down-beds warm, and from their joyous sleep, Full many an eye afar shall wake to weep; Full many a heart a hapless parent mourn, From friends and home, alas! untimely torn.
TRE DYING CHRISTIAN-ALEXANDER POPE.
Vital spark of heavenly flame,
Sister spirit, come away.”
With sounds seraphic ring!
O death! where is thy sting?
SPIKE THAT GUN.
The great struggle for victory on the heights of Inkerman was decided by a young officer bravely carrying out an order to spike a gun that was sweeping down the troops with its shot and shell. The battery had to be approached with great care, or the attacking party would be swept away before ever the gun could be reached. The officer in command led his men under the cover of some rising ground, and then waited his opportunity to face the battery. At first, a brother officer who accompanied the party said that it was perfect madness to attempt an attack, and the men began to feel that it was charging into the arms of death; but the officer who had received the order to spike the gun was determined to carry it out or die in the attempt, and addressing his small party, said: “If no man will stand by me, I shall go alone. Who'll volunteer ?” and immediately he went out from the shelter of the rising ground where he had halted his men, and faced the battery. No sooner did the men see his brave determination to carry out his instructions than they rushed to the front, and with a victorious shout took the battery and spiked the gun. That brave deed turned the battle scales to victory in favor of the British. The Russians lost all heart when the battery, which had done such deadly mischief to the troops all that fearful day, was silenced and the gun spiked.
The great conflict between good and evil is still raging. Year after year rolls on, and the deadly strife continues. The ranks have been thinned, gaps made, homes desolated, families broken up, and thousands have passed away. One of the great (if not the greatest) difficulties in the progress of every good work is drink. It is one of the most prolific sources of evil that the civilized world has seen. It baffles our legislators. It startles the Church. It blights the progress of Christianity. It hinders the advance of missions. It degrades our army, and is found to be the chief agent in supplying pauperdom with starving beggars; mad-houses with the insane, and orphanages with the fatherless. Crime is fed by it; jails, reformatories, and penitentiaries are crowded
with its victims. Men have lost their honesty, and women their virtue, through the effects of drink. Good has been weakened, evil has been strengthened, by the baneful influence of drink.
Whether we speak of high or low, the educated or ignorant, the wealthy or poor, from each drink has claimed its victims, and scattered seeds of misery in all ranks, which have produced a sad harvest of wretchedness, woe, and death, sufficient for us to point out the danger in which every good work is placed, so long as that infernal weapon of evil is belching forth its deadly missiles against those enterprises which are making war upon sin, and the enormous disadvantage at which they war, so long as drink is allowed to decimate their ranks and destroy their hopes of success. For the sake of all that's good and true on earth, wa raise the cry: Spike that gun!
JOHN AND TIBBIE DAVISON'S DISPUTE.
Sat toasting their taes ae nicht,
And blinkit by their sicht.
Whar sorra was the cat ?”
It was'na a moose, 'twas a rat.”
Sae lang aboot the hoose,
Yon was'na a rat! 'twas a moose.”
An' what think ye o' that?
I tell ye, it was a rat.”
I'll be mester o this hoose
An' I tell ye, it was a moose!
It's I'm the mistress o't;
An' I ken best what's in the hoose,
Sae I tell ye, it was a rat.”
An' ca' it what ye please."
While John sat toasting his taes.
And aye their lips played smack;
Till their lugs began to crack.
Aboot a moose--" “A what? It's a lee ye tell, an' I say again,
It was'na a moose, 'twas a rat!”
My faith, but ye craw croose!
'Twas a moose !" “ 'Twas a rat!” “ 'Twas a moose !" Wi' her spoon she strack him ower the pow
“Ye dour auld doit, tak’ that; Gae to your bed, ye canker d sumph
'Twas a rat!” “ 'Twas a moose!" “ 'Twas a rat!" She sent the brose caup at his heels,
As he hirpled ben the hoose ; Yet he shoved oot his head as he steekit the door,
And cried, “ 'Twas a moose! 'twas a inoose !" But when the carle was fast asleep
She paid him back for that, And roared into his sleepin' lug,
" 'Twas a rat! 'twas a rat! 'twas a rat!" The de'il be wi me if I think
It was a beast ava!-
She faund wee Johnnie's ba'!
WHISTLING IN HEAVEN.
You're surprised that I ever should say so?
Just wait till the reason I've given Why I say I shan't care for the music,
Unless there is whistling in heaven.