But meanwhile our friends with no small demonstration Arrived at that point in their gay recreation

Which men like Diogenes call dissipation.

The thing that least bothered our guests while together
They stayed, we might state, was the state of the weather.
But to dwell on details would be quite as imprudent
As a lecture on Kant to a smart college student;
In short, it would be nothing short of presumption-
A hint, too, that some one is lacking in gumption—
To dwell on a matter which was no exception,
So far as we know, from a modern reception;
Unless we believe, 'tis a small matter though,
That Plato discussed-'twas his hobby, you know-
The soul's immortality, and similar topics;
Back-numbers now from the poles to the tropics.
We hasten along, then, to finish our rhyme;
The friends of our Plato are "having a time,"
When all of a sudden a bang and a splash!

No warning whatever, but in with a crash

Springs a man,-yes, an awkward, plain man it is plain.

All spattered with mud and drenched through with the rain. When Plato this burly phenomenon sees,

66

'Why, bless me," he cries, " Mr. Diogenes!"

He prayed him to stay till the storm had passed by

And spread himself out on the sofa to dry.

His wagship, however, as blunt as of yore,

Stood pawing and scraping his feet on the floor.

Our friends stood astonished to see, where he stood,

The carpet disfigured with figures of mud,

And none dared molest him, though strange it may sound,
But stood with their hands in their pockets, around.

At length, when the floor seemed sufficiently black
Our model of industry straightened his back
And said, with his hands each at rest on his side,
"In this way, O Plato, I tread on your pride."

The silence that fell seemed to whisper "For shame!
Shame on thee, O Plato!" No wretch then his name
Would have changed for the noted philosopher's fame.
He stood there in silence but felt not disgrace
And looked his antagonist full in the face;
The Truth, his at all times, was present in this,
And it burned in Diogenes' breast with a hiss
As the teacher replied with a meaning divine, '
But with pride, O Diogenes, greater than mine."

The truth like a bright gleam of lightning flashed through
The minds of the guests-of Diogenes, too.

This man who had posed as the meekest of men,
Who preached against pride as the climax of sin,
Behold him! this would-be philanthropist! how,
The garb of hypocrisy torn from him now,
He is seen to commit the same sin he condemned,
A stranger to what he was wont to commend.
No longer so sure as to who is the hub

Of the world, let us hope, he returned to his tub.

Now Plato is dead and all of his species,
But still there are plenty of Diogeneses.
The Reverend Diogenes preaches for you
And Brother Diogenes sits in the pew.

You'll find them in office, and class-room, and store,
A few of them wealthy, and all of them poor!

You know Mr. Toper, that wreck of a man

Whom the demon of Drink seems determined to damn;
The poor, cringing menial! Why can he not see
That the slave of his passions can never be free!
Yet no one prates more about freedom than he,
Nor stoutly asserts, whilst his own shackles ring,
Why, liberty, sir, is a glorious thing!"

There's Modelman, too; I'm sure you ne'er saw
A greater fanatic on "order" and "law."

Hear him lecture on crime and you'd think he's a saint;
Just mention a murder-he's certain to faint.

Yet I say in plain words that the man is a thief,
An anarchist-yea, of lawbreakers the chief-
Who stands like our Modelman, passive and dumb
While neighbors and brothers are ruined by rum.

Our pastor, the Reverend Boodle, D. D.,
Preached, Sabbath, from Exodus, xx and 3:

"No gods," says the Lord, "shall men have before me."
In simile, metaphor, climax and phrase

He smote the old idols of Mammon and Praise,

But thought as he saw Jenkins nod from the gallery,

"The time is now ripe for increasing my salary."

And I thought (though such thoughts he had doubtless abhorred)

He aspired to the place that belonged to the Lord,

And 'twas his most constant ambition, or whim,

That Broadway church-members have no gods but him!

""Tis a pity," says one, "since with Diogenes
This sin did not die, that some dreadful disease
Which he sees does not seize all these old Pharisees."
But since it does not, we remark that the way to
Even imitate Truth is to personate Plato.

Be wiser than he; and if thou wouldst preach
'Gainst the failings of man be thou guiltless of each.

And brother, I charge thee to fling away shams;
By that sin hath fallen kings, moguls and chams;
How then canst thou expect by it to win?
Love thyself last; purge thine own self from sin;
Remember that virtue'is not in the name,
For infamy's often mistaken for fame.
For fame that is infamy truth never barter
And then if thou fallest, thou fallest a martyr.

HOMELESS.

She stood in the tender twilight,
While the soft wind whispered by,
Homeless, friendless and weary,
Under the evening sky.

The scent of violets was wafted
From the grassy turf at her feet,
And the promise of coming summer
Made all things wondrous sweet.

But alone she stood in the twilight,
With the dew on her yellow hair.
Her soft eyes dimmed by unshed tears
And never a friend to care;

And never a roof to shelter her,

Or a kindly word is said,

As from door to door she moves along

Begging her daily bread.

Oh, think of her in your cheerful homes,

When the twilight shadows come;

And the dear ones meet round the bounteous board

In the safe and quiet home;

Give her a kind and gentle word,

You can surely spare her that;

She may come to your door at any time

The Homeless Old Tramp Cat.

THE BANGS FAMILY TELL A STORY.*

SAM WALTER Foss.

This can be given as a monologue or, with slight adaptation, can be used as a dialogue.

Every member of the Bangs family always tries to help every other member of the family. When one member of the family tries to tell a story all the other twelve immediately take hold and tell him how to tell it. This mutual helpfulness is very beautiful.

"Did you ever hear that story about my dog Towzer?" said Bangs to me one day.

66

'No, I never did," said I, “let's hear it."

"Well, about the middle of last July," said Bangs"The first of July," interrupted Mrs. Bangs.

"The last of June," said Archibald Theodore Bangs, the oldest boy but four.

"Nearer the first of August," said Lucretia Penthesilea Bangs, the oldest girl but five.

"Well, call it some time between 1812 and the present time," said I, "I am awfully anxious to hear the story." Well, we were just coming home from church," continued Mr. Bangs.

"From the circus," interrupted Thaddeus Washington Bangs, the youngest boy but three.

"From the camp-meetin'," said Rosie Toddles, next to the baby. "I 'member it, coz I tored my dress."

"Warn't comin' home at all," said Tom Aristotle Bangs. "We were just startin' out for the beach."

"Well, let us decide," said I, "that we were all somewhere, we can't tell just where exactly, but somewhere between the cradle and the grave. You've no idea how anxious I am to hear the story. Go on, Mr. Bangs."

Well," said Mr. Bangs, "it rained."

"Snowed," said Mrs. Bangs.

"Hailed," said Archibald Theodore. "Drizzled," said the twins in concert. *By permission of the Author.

"Well, I am willing to admit," said I, "that it rained, snowed, hailed, drizzled and that we had an earthquake, an avalanche, a tornado and a landslide at the same time. I will admit any weather from the freezing to the boiling point, if I can only hear that story. I am eaten up with curiosity. Please go on."

"All right," said Mr. Bangs, "what was I talking about?"

"Dunno," said Thaddeus Washington.

"Dog," said Rosie Toodles.

"Calf," said Tom Aristotle.

"Efalunt," said Bobbie Bangs.

"Whale," said the twins.

"Hadn't begun to talk at all," said Lucretia Penthesilea.

"Only jest beginned to 'spute,'" said Bobbie.

"It's an excellent story," said Bangs. "You'd split yourself with laughing; but I can't think of it just now."

If Bangs shall outlive every other member of his own family, and if I can have an interview with him af ter they are all dead, I shall some day hear that story.. Sustained by this serene and beautiful hope I go through life each day.

LIFE'S WEAVING.--MILLIE COLCORD.

I stood in gladness-for life's highest joy
Had found within my heart its resting-place;
I do not think I saw or felt save this,

That I was standing in the King's own grace :
So near He was to me,

It seemed that I could see

The love and light and glory of His face.

When, as I waited, lo! the King bent down,

And in His hand I looked with great amaze—
For there were patterns more than I could count,
Lying together in confusing maze-

For some flashed sparkling bright,

And some were fair and white,

While some lay dark and sombre 'neath my gaze.