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, we raise the cry: Spike that gun!

JOHN AND TIBBIE DAVISON'S DISPUTE.
ROBERT LEIGHTON.

John Davison and Tibbie, his wife,
Sat toasting their taes ae nicht,
When something startit in the fluir,
And blinkit by their sicht.

"Guidwife," quoth John, " did ye see that moose?
Whar sorra was the cat ?"

"A moose?" "Aye, a moose." "Na, na, guidman,
It was'na a moose, 'twas a rat."

"Ow, ow, guidwife, to think ye've been

Sae lang aboot the hoose,

An' no to ken a moose frae a rat!

Yon was'na a rat! 'twas a moose."

"I've seen mair mice than you, guidman—
An' what think ye o' that?

Sae haud your tongue an say nae mair
I tell ye, it was a rat."

"Me haud my tongue for you, guidwife!
I'll be mester o' this hoose-

I saw't as plain as een could seet,"
An' I tell ye, it was a moose!

"If you're the mester o' the hoose
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."

"Weel, weel, guidwife, gae mak' the brose,
An' ca' it what ye please."

So up she rose, and made the brose,
While John sat toasting his taes.

They supit, and supit, and supit the brose,
And aye their lips played smack;
They supit, and supit, and supit the brose,
Till their lugs began to crack.

"Sic fules we were to fa' oot, guidwife,
Aboot a moose--" "A what?

It's a lee ye tell, an' I say again,

It was'na a moose, 'twas a rat!".

"Wad ye ca' me a leear to my very face?

My faith, but ye craw croose!

I tell ye, Tib, I never will bear't—

'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 moose!"

But when the carle was fast asleep

She paid him back for that,

And roared into his sleepin' lug,

66

"Twas a rat! 'twas a rat! 'twas a rat!"

The de'il be wi me if I think

It was a beast ava!

Neist mornin', as she sweepit the fluir,

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.

Then you'll think it no very great wonder,
Nor so strange, nor so bold a conceit,
That unless there's a boy there a-whistling,
Its music will not be complete.

It was late in the autumn of '40;

We had come from our far Eastern home Just in season to build us a cabin,

Ere the cold of the winter should come;
And we lived all the while in our wagon
That husband was clearing the place
Where the house was to stand; and the clearing
And building it took many days.

So that our heads were scarce sheltered
In under its roof, when our store

Of provisions was almost exhausted,
And busband must journey for more;

And the nearest place where he could get them
Was yet such a distance away,

That it forced him from home to be absent
At least a whole night and a day.

You see, we'd but two or three neighbors,
And the nearest was more than a mile;
And we hadn't found time yet to know them,
For we had been busy the while.

And the man who had helped at the raising
Just staid till the job was well done;
And as soon as his money was paid him
Had shouldered his axe and had gone.

Well, husband just kissed me and started-
I could scarcely suppress a deep groan
At the thought of remaining with baby
So long in the house all alone;

For, my dear, I was childish and timid,
And braver ores might well have feared,
For the wild wolf was often heard howling,
And savages sometimes appeared.

But I smothered my grief and my terror
Till husband was off on his ride,

And then in my arms I took Josey,
And all the day long sat and cried,

As I thought of the long, dreary hours
When the darkness of night should fall,

And I was so utterly helpless,

With no one in reach of my call.

And when the night came with its terrors,
To hide ev'ry ray of light,

I hung up a quilt by the window,
And almost dead with affright,
I kneeled by the side of the cradle,
Scarce daring to draw a full breath,
Lest the baby should wake, and its crying
Should bring us a horrible death.

There I knelt until late in the evening,
And scarcely an inch had I stirred,
When suddenly, far in the distance,
A sound as of whistling I heard,
I started up dreadfully frightened,
For fear 'twas an Indian's call;
And then very soon I remembered
The red man ne'er whistles at all.

And when I was sure 'twas a white man,
I thought, were he coming for ill,
He'd surely approach with more caution-
Would come without warning, and still.
Then the sounds, coming nearer and nearer,
Took the form of a tune light and gay,
And I knew I needn't fear evil

From one who could whistle that way.
Very soon I heard footsteps approaching,
Then came a peculiar dull thump,
As if some one was heavily striking
An axe in the top of a stump;
And then, in another brief moment,
There came a light tap on the door,
When quickly I undid the fast'ning,
And in stepped a boy, and before

There was either a question or answer,
Or either had time to speak,

I just threw my glad arms around him,
And gave him a kiss on the cheek.
Then I started back, scared at my boldness,
But he only smiled at my fright,

As he said, "I'm your neighbor's boy, Elick,
Come to tarry with you through the night.

"We saw your husband go eastward,

And made up our minds where he'd gone, And I said to the rest of our people, 'That woman is there all alone,

And I venture she's awfully lonesome, And though she may have no great fear,

I think so would feel a bit safer

If only a y were but near.'

"So, taking my axe on my shoulder,
For fear that a savage might stray
Across my path and need scalping,
I started right down this way;
And coming in sight of the cabin,
And thinking to save you alarm,
I whistled a tune, just to show you
I didn't intend any harm.

"And so here I am, at your service;
But if you don't want me to stay,
Why, all you need do is to say so,

And should'ring my axe, I'll away."
I dropped in a chair and near fainted,
Just at thought of his leaving me then,
And his eye gave a knowing bright twinkle
As he said, "I guess I'll remain."

And then I just sat there and told him
How terribly frightened I'd been,

How his face was to me the most welcome
Of any I ever had seen;

And then I lay down with the baby,

And slept all the blessed night through, For I felt I was safe from all danger

Near so brave a young fellow and true. So now, my dear friend, do you wonder, Since such a good reason I've given, Why I say I shan't care for the music, Unless there is whistling in heaven? Yes, often I've said so in earnest,

And now what I've said I repeat,

That unless there's a boy there a-whistling,
Its music will not be complete.

-Harper's Magazine.

AIRY NOTHINGS.-SHAKSPEARE.

Our revels now are ended. These, our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits, and

Are melted into air-into thin air;

And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made of, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.

-The Tempest.