Full wages to the laborer,

He always, too, denied;

He paid much less than others paid,
To mortify his pride.

His pigmy market-basket with
Its closely fitting lid,
Concealed the luscious liver, and
Tim's vanity was hid.

Now, Tim was pious and he felt
For man an anxious fear;
Lest "root of evil" ruin him,
Tim bagged it, far and near.
"Twas thus he daily gathered in
The devil's dirty pelf;

But well we know he never kept

A dollar for himself.

For when the bold assessor came,

Assessing all around,

He clapped the screws to Timmy's pile

And not a dime was found.

"Can this be so?" the taxman said;

A sceptic, nothing loth;

Tim Titus proved it clear as mud,
Tim proved it with his oath.

To grind the faces of the poor,
Tim ever kept his mill;

And gathered in from year to year,
The "root of evil" still.

Mistaken toil of Tim's whole life,

Now when his breath was riven, His hoard was found-a mountain high, Just-'twixt his soul and heaven.

Dear reader: Here take warning, when
Religiously inclined,

Be sure you shake the jingle of
The dollars from your mind;
For, 'tisn't in the meetin'-house,
Nor in the wordy prayer,

But in your daily walks and works-
Religion must be there.

KARL THE FIDDLER.*

ROSSITER W. RAYMOND.

This is a story of strange old times, when beasts and birds could talk-as they can still, for all I know—and men (that is to say, children) could understand what they said, which, I regret to confess, has now become impossible. There are a great many respects in which the world has improved, no doubt; but the fact is, the locomotives and factories and water-wheels keep up such a clatter that we cannot hear any more what flowers and winds whisper, or birds gossip about among the leaves in the sociable twilight, or cattle gravely discuss between meals. Things have changed and do change wonderfully in this world, and it is a comfort to remember that goodness and kindness and happiness do not alter as you will see, dear children, from the story of Karl the Fiddler.

Once upon a time, between the age of Abraham and the election of General Grant, there was a boy whose name was Karl, and he fiddled for a living. He used to play such lively tunes, and nod his head so gayly while he played, that no one could hear him without desiring to dance; and whenever he had played for five minutes, you could hear all the toes and heels of the audience rapping out the tune. He was accustomed to travel from one place to another, and to pay for his lodging and his meals with his violin. He was welcome everywhere. When the children of any village saw him coming along the road with his green bag, they used to leave their play, and run to meet him; and the old women who sat spinning in the doorways, and the old men who were smoking their pipes in the sun, greeted him kindly. The pastor, who was a white haired man and loved all children, but especially good ones, often said that Karl was the best boy he knew, From "The Man in the Moon, and Other People," by permission.

'I

for he was honest and industrious, and kind to all. "He deserves," said the pastor, "to be rich as the baron, powerful as the emperor, and happy as a lark at sunrise." Then Karl would laugh and answer: want nothing of your barons and emperors. As for the lark, he and I know one another already. I often watch his nest in the morning, when the lady-lark and all the little larks make the beds and put everything in order, while he flies up into the dawn and sings down to them how beautiful is the world. I understand their language, too; for every one who lives twelve years without doing harm to any living thing will have his ears open to hear what birds and beasts and trees say. And I heard the wise mother-lark say to the little ones yesterday, when they had finished reciting their lessons:

Take note of this, my children, for in this we are more sensible than men. To be rich is to have food and shelter; to be powerful is to do good; to be happy is to love all things and sing.'

"So you see," Karl would add, "according to the philosophy of the larks, I am rich and powerful and happy. Only I do not sing; but my violin does that for me." Then he would go merrily on his way.

One day, in the middle of winter, Karl left the inn where he had spent the night before to go to the great city, miles away, beyond the woods. The guests all came to the door to bid him farewell, and the storm seemed so dreadful to them that they said: "You must not go to-day, Karl; you will never find your way through the wood. You will never get there alive." But he shook his curly head, laughing and saying: "The cold world is a warm world to me; I am not afraid." Then the landlady put a little bundle of food in his hand, for fear he might lose the path and be hungry; and he slung his green bag over his shoulder, and went on his way. The winds blew terribly, and they rushed by him he heard them say: Is that you, Karl? We are very sorry to knock you about so

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roughly, but the fact is we are on a race from the North Pole to the Equator; and we have taken such a long start, and got a-going so fast, that we can't stop. Next summer we'll come back and play with you among the roses." And with that away they went, so fast that Karl could not answer them. The snow fell furiously, so that he could hardly see; but as the crystal flakes went by, he heard them whisper: "We are sorry, Karl, to get in your way; but the fact is, we were sitting just now on the edge of a cloud up there, and those rough winds came by and jostled us, and we fell off; and we have been falling so far that we cannot stop." Karl laughed and said: "No matter, next summer I shall find you in the brook, and we'll have good times with the frogs and speckled trout."

Presently he got into the wood. There the wind was not so strong, but the snow was very deep. Before long he knew that he had lost his way. At first he was not frightened, but went bravely on, expecting soon to get out of the forest. At last it began to grow dark, and he was very cold and tired; so he sat down in the snow by the side of a great tree. But the snow was so deep that he sank in out of sight. So he worked away till he had scooped out a little cave in it. Into that he crawled and ate the supper which the good landlady had given him. After supper he felt both numb and sleepy; and, as he did not know how to get any warmer, he thought he would go to sleep. Just as he was almost asleep he heard the snow-crystals whispering to him: Karl! Karl! do not sleep here! We are doing our best to keep you warm; but the closer we keep to you, the colder you grow, and we fear we shall freeze you to death!" When Karl heard that, he resolved not to sleep. So, to keep himself awake, he took out his violin, and began with his numb fingers to play a lively tune. Was not that a strange thing,-a boy playing a tune on the violin, at the bottom of a snow-drift, in the middle of a forest, on a stormy winter's night? Not half

as strange as the next thing that happened; for just as he was growing so faint with cold that he could not play much longer, a big, gruff voice said: "Karl, is that you?"

Karl scrambled out of his cavern, and looked about in vain to see who had spoken. There was nothing but the silent trees, reaching up from the white snow to the black sky, like pillars on a marble floor holding up an iron roof. Presently the voice said again: "Karl, come in and get warm!" And this time it certainly came from the tree near which he had been lying; but it could not be the tree that spoke, for the voice used not tree-language, but animal-language, which is as different as can be; and besides, in the winter the trees are so cold that they cannot talk at all, but only shiver and chatter their branches, as people that are cold chatter their teeth. While he looked at the tree and wondered what this could mean, he saw that it was hollow, and the hole at the bottom was stopped with a great snowball; but the snow-ball was strangely agitated, as if trying of itself to get away. He ran to the spot, and helped with all his might; and when the ball was a little moved, so that he could pass by, he crawled into the hole with his violin as quickly as he could, and the ball rolled back into its place.

Now, who should be in the tree but a bear,--a great black bear, who growled out very kindly to him, with a long yawn: "You have spoiled my winter nap for me, Karl; I haven't slept more than six weeks, and here you come fiddling under my very nose! Well, never mind! I'm glad to meet you again. Here, snuggle up, and warm yourself. I haven't forgotten how good you were to me when you played the violin for me to dance in the menagerie."

They had a great deal to say about old times, but, unfortunately, they did not say it; for just as the bear was about to relate how he happened to forsake the menagerie business and take to the woods, he gave a