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SCHOOL.

(A SUMMARY OF "THE FRUIT OF THE SPIRIT.")
Then "Love thy neighbor as thyself,"
So shall thy joys increase,

Thy ways be ways of pleasantness
And all thy paths be peace!

Let long-suffering lead to gentleness,—
With goodness strew thy way;
And faith, by bounteous Grace supplied,
Will yield thee "fruit" each day.

In meekness looking unto God,
Temperance in all things show!

Thus thou shalt find "the law fulfilled,"
And Heaven begun below.

P. Garrett

THE DEMON SHIP.-LLOYD MIFFLIN.

Her prow was bright with an evil light,
Her sails were as red as gore;

She drifted alone in an endless night,
On a sea without a shore.

As the blood of a babe her decks were red,
Where her crimson masts careened;
Her criminal crew were doomed as dead,
And her name was the Scarlet Fiend;-

Black was the sea as a sorcerer's heart,
Black as the soul of sin,-

And she sailed the waves with never a chart,
And gathered her victims in.

There was Age with his red-rimmed rheumy eyes:

There were babes but newly born;

There was haggard Woman, with lips of lies,

And faded Youth forlorn.

Thus she sailed the sea for a thousand years:
Her corpses rotted therein

Till the sea grew black-this sea of Tears-
With the stench of her awful sin.

Millions had stood 'neath the sanguine sails
Till they gorged the graves of fools;

Her shrouds were wove of the whole world's wails,
And her crews were worse than ghouls.

She is sailing to-day on that dreadful sea;
Her cargo is blood of the vine;

"Ho-ho!" they shout in their demon glee,
"There is no God but Wine!"

The last fresh water they pour in the flood:
May we taste no more of it!

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She's sinking down, but, by Bacchus' blood,

We'll quaff till she touches the pit!"

And their hoarse throats yell, while their frantic feet
Drip red with the running wine

As it floods the deck like a slippery street
At the foot of the guillotine:

"Ho-ho! ho-ho! How the sea doth roar,
While our ship sinks slow in the dark!
By the Devil's soul! in a minute or more
There'll be food for a shoal of shark!"

As the lightnings crash through the midnight black
She is sinking slow in the wave:

"Ho-ho" they scoff, "Let the red masts crack, Yet we'll drink on the brink of the grave!

"Let death gape wide and swallow us up-
Here's a health to his soul again!-

She sinks!-she sinks!-then cheer the red cup!"
And the whole crew whooped, “Amen!"

The black sea yawned one ravenous hole:
Up rose a sickening yell;

For the Fiend plunged down with every soul
Headlong to the heart of hell.

O'er the vortex black where the ship went in
The seething sea swirls red;

O God! is 't the stain of wine or of sin,

Or the blood of her drunken dead!

She may sink to the depths for the millionth time-
The Scarlet Fiend and her crew,-

Yet ever she rises, crimson with crime,
With a million souls anew.

For the ship is bright as an evil light,
And her decks drip red with gore;
But she drifts to an awful gulf of night,
Where they thirst for evermore.

SOMETHING SPILT.

Barnet's boy left a sack of flour at Archibald's last evening. It was one of those evil-minded paper sacks that had a hundred pounds in it.

"Henry, won't you take that flour up in the garret ?" said Mrs. A. persuasively after supper.

"Ain't it awful heavy?" and Henry looked at it apprehensively.

"If I was as big as you, I wouldn't talk about any thing being heavy."

"Big, eh? I like the big part of it. Who busted one of the West-Ward cars last summer, I'd like to know?"

"Old man, you look out now! we are not discussing streetcars. You just grab that sack, and I'll help you with a boost behind."

Henry persuaded the sack on a chair, and from the chair to the table. Then he leaned down, and pulled it over on his shoulder; but it came on him with such a rush, that it jammed him against the kitchen-door, nearly knocking the top of his head in.

"Where are you going?" screamed Mrs. A. as he staggered back, ramming her over the stove, stepping on the hired girl's corn and the dog's tail in one motion. "What are you kicking things around that way for, you benighted old idiot?”

"Why don't you grab hold of this thing, and steady it, afore it chases a fellow down the cellar? Blamed thing weighs about a ton."

She grabbed the hind end of the sack, and steered Henry to the stairs. They were crooked, and he went up them with caution. At the next turn something stopped him: the miserable sack had found a nail.

"What in sin are you pullin' back for?"

"Who's a-pullin' back? Go on, you bandy-legged imbecile, afore a person lifts their heart out helping you.”

Henry gave a jerk and a grunt. The bag came loose, and ten pounds of flour came down on Mrs. A.'s head.

"Whew!—phew!-merciful powers!" But she was too mad for language, and struck out wildly, hitting Henry just

back of the knee, on the leg that had all the strain on it. That leg doubled up like a dissipated dishcloth. He reeled wildly a moment, and let go the sack, which immediately went down on top of Mrs. Archibald, precipitated her into the kitchen on top of the girl, who went backwards into the basket of clean clothes, at the same time nearly breaking the dog's back with her head. Henry just went backwards into a heap until his head struck the wall at the turn of the stairs; when he rolled over, and sat three steps up, feeling around for the place where his backbone came through with one hand, while he rubbed the flour and stars out of his eyes with the other.

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'Old woman, didn't you spill something?" he meekly inquired.

"O you murderous villain!” and she fired the stove-lifter at him; which, with a woman's usual aim, went out at the window, and knocked over her pet lily.

"Old woman's getting mad, I guess!" and Henry scrambled up into the garret and bolted himself in, and leaned out at the end window, inflicting an hour-and-a-half joke on Oxtoby, next door, about the Russians being fond of poultry, because they were going to live on Turkey all

summer.

WHEN THE COWS COME HOME.

When klingle, klangle, klingle,
Far down the dusty dingle,

The cows are coming home;

Now sweet and clear, now faint and low,
The airy tinklings come and go,
Like chimings from the far-off tower,
Or patterings of an April shower

That makes the daisies grow;
Ko-ling, ko-lang, kolinglelingle,
Far down the darkening dingle,
The cows come slowly home.

And old-time friends, and twilight plays,
And starry nights and sunny days,
Come trooping up the misty ways
When the cows come home.

With jingle, jangle, jingle,

Soft tones that sweetly mingle-
The cows are coming home;

Malvine, and Pearl, and Florimel,
DeKamp, Red Rose, and Gretchen Schell,
Queen Bess, and Sylph, and Spangled Sue,
Across the fields I hear her "loo-00"
And clang her silver bell;
Go-ling, go-lang, golingledingle,
With faint, far sounds that mingle,
The cows come slowly home.

And mother-songs of long-gone years,
And baby-joys and childish fears,
And youthful hopes and youthful tears,
When the cows come home.
With ringle, rangle, ringle,
By twos and threes and single,
The cows are coming home.

Through violet air we see the town,
And the summer sun a-sliding down,
And the maple in the hazel glade
Throws down the path a longer shade,
And the hills are growing brown;
To-ring, to-rang, toringleringle,
By threes and fours and single,
The cows come slowly home.

The same sweet sound of wordless psalm
The same sweet June-day rest and calm,
The same sweet smell of buds and balm,
When the cows come home.
With tinkle, tankle, tinkle,
Through fern and periwinkle,
The cows are coming home.

A-loitering in the checkered stream,
Where the sun-rays glance and gleam,
Clarine, Peach-bloom, and Phebe Phillis
Stand knee-deep in the creamy lilies,
In a drowsy dream;

To-link, to-lank, tolinklelinkle,

O'er banks with buttercups a-twinkle,
The cows come slowly home.

And up through memory's deep ravine
Come the brook's old song and its old-time sheen,
And the crescent of the silver queen,
When the cows come home.

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