maiden, just stepping forth from the precincts of the school and gazing with wistful, eager eyes out into the world, with the little bud upon the tree, and say that she, too, by the aid of the sunlight which comes from education, will soon develop into a woman, that priceless gift of God to man, and ever cast about her the holy light of love. That ought to fetch 'em."

"It sounds nice, doesn't it?" said the young lady. There is nothing so sweet and

"You bet it does, sis. alluring as a palpable lie.

Of course you and I know that when a girl graduates she is as useless as a fan in a cyclone, but it wont do to say so. You must give it to 'em the way I told you, and you'll be all right."

"Thank you very much," said the young lady, starting for the door.

"Don't forget to tie your essay with a blue ribbon," said the horse reporter.

"No, sir, I wont."

"And tell your papa to buy a bouquet to fire at you." "Yes, sir."

"Remember about the glad sunlight. Any sunlight that isn't glad is of no use in a graduating essay." "Yes, sir. Good-by."

"Bon soir. Come around when you fall in love, and I will put you up to a great scheme for making Charley declare his intentions several months earlier than would otherwise be the case."

THE RINGER OF THE CHIMES.*

JEANNIE PENDLETON EWING.

He wasn't obliged to do it; a man had been paid before To ring the chimes at stated times, but had blundered o'er and o'er,

And, growing old and feeble, had just resigned the place When this lad appeared and volunteered,―this lad with the lovely face.

"Pay? Oh, I wouldn't take it!" he said with a lofty frown; He had lately come to make his home in this quaint oldfashioned town

*Written expressly for this Collection.

With his mother. Their house was yonder; the gray-stone church stood near,

And the jangling notes of poor old Coates had tortured the lad's keen ear.

It was surely another story when the keyboard felt his hand! At the first firm stroke the music woke and pealed over all the land;

There was panic among the swallows in the loft that held the chime

It was deep with dust and red with rust since Coates's idle time!

In the hush of the Sabbath evenings, when the summer days grew long.

Six times an hour from the old church tower he sent a snatch of song;

The Gloria in Excelsis" when the Christmas dawn was

gray;

And at Eastertide the sweet bells cried, "The Lord is risen

to-day!"

One tune was of all the dearest to people and ringer too, When his music-soul made the soft notes roll o'er the churchyard wet with dew

At time for the evening service;-when from clumsy keys he pressed,

"O Paradise! O Paradise! who doth not crave for rest!"

Advent-Easter-Trinity-a year had rolled away.

When the lad grew slight, with a fevered light in his deepset eyes of gray.

"Give up the chimes," said the people, "though yet we shall miss them so;

But he smiled at their fears and his mother's tears: "What, give up his chimes? ah, no!"

Then round came the eve of the New Year. At midnight a year before,

He had sent a crash and a merry dash the sleeping country

o'er.

But to-night he was past the effort. He looked at the solemn

skies

(He had crept with pain to the tower again) and played "O Paradise!"

"O Paradise, O Paradise, I greatly long to see

And, as blest with speech, each bell to each spoke weirdly,

tenderly;

And the people woke and listened.

sung so?

Had ever the bells

Each note seemed a word with meaning stirred as it drifted

down below.

"Who would not seek the happy land?"-of a sudden the music stopped;

With one long thrill the bells stood still, for the ringer's hands had dropped.

Quick to the tower the people climbed. With open, up turned eyes,

And the starlight shed on his golden head, he had gone to Paradise.

ADAM NEVER WAS A BOY.-T. C. HARBAUGH.

Of all the men the world has seen
Since Time his rounds began,
There's one I pity every day,-

Earth's first and foremost man;

And then I think what fun he missed

By failing to enjoy

The wild delights of youth-time, for
He never was a boy.

He never stubbed his naked toe

Against a root or stone;

He never with a pin-hook fished
Along the brook alone;

He never sought the bumblebee
Among the daisies coy,

Nor felt its business end, because

He never was a boy.

He never hookey played, nor tied

The ever-ready pail,

Down in the alley all alone,

To trusting Fido's tail.

And when he home from swimmin' came,

His happiness to cloy,

No slipper interfered, because

He never was a boy.

He might refer to splendid times
'Mong Eden's bowers, yet

He never acted Romeo

To a six-year Juliet.

He never sent a valentine,

Intended to annoy

A good, but maiden aunt, because

He never was a boy.

He never cut a kite-string, no!
Nor hid an Easter egg;
He never ruined his pantaloons
A-playing mumble-peg;

He never from the attic stole,
A coon-hunt to enjoy,

To find "the old man" watching, for
He never was a boy.

I pity him. Why should I not?

I even drop a tear;

He did not know how much he missed;

He never will, I fear.

And when the scenes of "other days"
My growing mind employ,

I think of him, earth's only man

Who never was a boy. -Texas Siftings.

AN EASTER LILY.-A. W. HAWKS.*

A seed fell into the ground; it died.

And from its grave there grew a lily.

Tall, fair and pure as an angel by the throne of God, the lily stood erect in a crystal vase.

And its golden tongue praised God.

The florist said, "It is the queen of my Easter offering." The poet came to buy a flower for the woman he loved. He saw the lily and he said, "She is as fair as that flower." And on Easter Sabbath morning the lily rose and fell upon her breast.

In the great congregation, when the waves of glorious. music touched the lily, it quivered and thrilled as the heart beneath it pulsed to the glad voices.

Out beneath the golden stars the poet stooped to kiss the lips he loved, and the lily, broken and bruised, fell to the ground.

And creeping to her cellar, a beggar girl, cold, tired, hungry, with pain of body, mind and soul, saw the fair lily glistening in the moonlight: she picked it up, and

*Used by permission of Professor Hawks, Public Reader and Lecturer

looking into its depths, she saw a picture of her childhood's home.

Into her hardened eyes came tears, and each tear held a face, the mother face, the father face, faces of loved ones long dead. And out of her heart she said to the lily: "O Lily! thou art so fair, so pure. I knew you long ago in my country home; have you a message for a sinner like me?"

And the golden-tongued lily seemed to sing to her: "O weary one! the Christ of the lilies is your Christ. I sing to you of rest and peace at home."

And kissing the lily the beggar slept in rags upon the cellar floor and dreamed of home.

In the morning they found there a broken, faded lily. In the morning they found there a dead girl, with a smile on her face.

Her dust fell into the earth.

And from the earth an angel joined the lily-bearing host of God.

WHY UNCLE BEN BACK-SLID.*-RALPH BINGHAM. De room wha'r de Squire's Co't sat was packed to suffication, An' folks wuz dar from fur an' near wif eager expectation, De pos'master an' school ma'm an' de rich ole Kun'nel Graw, De biggis' crowd dat little room had up till dat time saw Crowded inter de front door, an' looked in at de winders; Seemed ter me mos' like dey'd split de ole place inter flinders.

De reason why de crowd wuz big, wuz 'cos Ole Hones' Ben
Had back-slid jis' about fo'ah pegs an' stol'd a turkey hen.

Now Hones' Ben was a nigger an' wuz as black as ink,
But ev'y body liked him, since I done com' ter think;
He'd lived in Tuscaraugus since de closin' of de wah',
Liked work mo' dan any nigger I mos' eber saw,
Had a wife an' grown up gal-bof 'em bright an' witty-
An' a boy who wuz an artis' way down in Richmond City.
Some said he wuz a barber, but his bus'ness card said jis',
Benjamin Franklin Peyton, Junior, Tonsorial Artis'.

*By permission of the Author. Mr. Bingham attained celebrity as "The Boy Orator," and is now a well-known Impersonator aud Violinist.