You hear that boy laughing? You think he's all fun.
But the angels laugh, too, at the good he has done ;
The children laugh loud as they troop to his call,
And the poor man that knows him laughs loudest of alí ¦

Yes, we're boys,-always playing with tongue or with pen :
And I sometimes have asked, Shall we ever be men?
Shall we always be youthful, and laughing, and gay,
Till the last dear companion drops smiling away?

Then here's to our boyhood, its gold and its gray!
The stars of its winter, the dews of its May!
And when we have done with our life-lasting toys,
Dear Father, take care of thy children, The Boys!

GETTING UNDER WAY.-Innocents Abroad.

MARK TWAIN.

ALL day Sunday at anchor. The storm had gone down a great deal, but the sea had not. It was still piling its frothy hills in air outside, as we could plainly see with the glass. We must lie still until Monday, and we did. The next morning we weighed anchor and went to seɩ. It was a great happiness to get away after the dragging, dispiriting delay. I thought there never was such gladness in the air before, such brightness in the sun, such beauty in the sea. All my malicious instincts were dead within me; and as America faded out of sight, I think a spirit of charity rose up in their place, that was boundless for the time, as the broad ocean that was heaving its billows about us. I wished to express my feelings; I wished to lift up my voice and sing; but I did not know anything to sing, and so I was obliged to give up the idea It was no loss to the ship, though, perhaps.

It was breezy and pleasant, but the sea was still very rough. One could not promenade without risking his neck; at one moment the bowsprit was taking a deadly aim at the sun in mid-heaven, at the next it was trying to harpoon a shark in the bottom of the ocean. What a weird sensation it is to feel the stern of the ship sinking swiftly from under you, and see the bow climbing high away among the clouds! One's safest course, that day, was to clasp a railing and hang on; walking was too precarious a pastime.

Soon a remarkable fossil, shawled to the chin and bandaged like a mummy, appeared at the door of the after deck-house, and the next lurch of the ship shot him into my arms. I said:

"Good morning, sir. It is a fine day."

He put his hand on his stomach and said, "Oh my! and then staggered away and fell over the coop of a skylight.

Presently another old gentleman was projected from the same door, with great violence. I said:

66

Calm yourself, sir. There is no hurry. It is a fine day, sir."

He, also, put his hand on his stomach, and said, "Oh my!" and reeled away.

In a little while another veteran was discharged abruptly from the same door, clawing at the air for a saving support. I said:

"Good morning, sir. It is a fine day for pleasuring. You were about to say-"

Oh my!

I thought so. I anticipated him anyhow. I staid there and was bombarded with old gentlemen for an hour perhaps; and all I got out of any of them was " Oh my!'

I went away, then, in a thoughtful mood. I said this is a grand pleasure excursion. I like it. The passengers

are not garrulcus, but still they are sociable. I like trese old people, but somehow they all seem to have the “OA my " rather bad.

SHIP OF STATE.

LONGFELLOW.

"Thou, too, sail on, O Ship of State!
Sail on, O Union, strong and great!
Humanity with all its fears,

With all the hopes of future years,
Is hanging breathless on thy fate!
We know what master laid thy keel,
What workmen wrought thy ribs of steel,
Who made each mast, and sail, and rope,
What anvils rang, what hammers beat,
In what a forge and what a heat
Were shaped the anchors of thy hope!
Fear not each sudden sound and shock-
'Tis of the wave and not the rock;
'Tis but the flapping of the sail,
And not a rent made by the gale!
In spite of rock and tempest roar,
In spite of false lights on the shore.
Sail on, nor fear to breast the sea!

Our hearts, our hopes are all with thee!

Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears,

Our faith triumphant o'er our fears

Are all with thee-are all with thee !"

THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM,

T. HOOD,

'TWAS in the prime of summer time,

An evening calm and cool,

And four-and-twenty happy boys

Came bounding out of school:

There were some that ran and some that leapt, Like troutlets in a pool,

Away they sped with gamesome minds,

And souls untouched by sin;

To a level mead they came, and there
They drove the wickets in;
Pleasantly shone the setting sun
Over the town of Lynn.

Like sportive deer they coursed about,
And shouted as they ran,

Turning to mirth all things of earth,

As only boyhood can;

But the usher sat remote from all,
A melancholy man.

His hat was off, his vest apart,

To catch heaven's blessed breeze;

For a burning thought was in his brow,

And his bosom ill at ease;

So he leaned his head on his hands, and read

The book between his knees.

Leaf after leaf, he turned it o'er,

Nor ever glanced aside;

For the peace of his soul he read that book

In the golden eventide :

Much study had made him very lean,

And pale, and leaden-eyed.

At last he shut the ponderous tome;
With a fast and fervent grasp
He strained the dusky covers close,
And fix'd the brazen hasp:
"O God, could I so close my mind,
And clasp it with a clasp !"

Then leaping on his feet upright,
Some moody turns he took-
Now up the mead, then down the mead,
And passed a shady nook-

And lo! he saw a little boy

That pored upon a book.

"My gentle lad, what is't you read—

Romance or fairy fable ?

Or is it some historic page,

Of kings and crowns unstable?"

The young boy gave an upward glance

He told how murderers walked the earth,
Beneath the curse of Cain-

With crimson clouds before their eyes,
And flames about their brain :

For blood has left upon their souls
Its everlasting stain!

"And well," quoth he, "I know, for truth, Their pangs must be extreme-