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"I say!";

"Hillo-sh-what is it?" he asked, in a confused way.

"I am sorry to disturb you, but I think it my duty to inform you that I walk in my sleep."

"Well, walk."

"My Christian friend, I am well aware that this is a free country, and if a man wishes to walk in his sleep, there is no constitutional provision to prevent him. But I wish to remark that if I do walk you had better not interfere with me."

"Oh, walk! I won't say a word about it."

"Well, don't. When addressed or interfered with, I am apt to get furious. I nearly brained a poor man with a dogiron the other night."

"The deuce you did! That's rather disagreeable.

A fel

low might, under an impulse, blurt out something to you.” "Better not."

"No, I should think not."

A long pause followed this. At last the now wide-awake lodger asked abruptly:

"Did you notice my hat on the floor?"

"I believe I did."

"If you walk, you know, I'd rather you would not step in it."

"I'll bear that in mind."

After another pause he again asked:

Did you notice that door on the left?"

"I saw a door on my left."

"Well, if you walk, I'd advise you not to go out there. It opens on a porch, only the porch hasn't been built, and it's twenty feet down into the stable-yard."

"I don't believe I shall walk out of that door."

"Don't think I would if I walked much."

I supposed my inquisitive friend was dropping into a sleep, when he again broke out:

"I say, did you really brain a man with a dog-iron?" "I tried pretty hard."

Then came in a silence that was not broken. After a little while I heard my bedfellow creeping softly from the other side of the bed. I could hear him feeling about for

his hat and his clothes. Then I had the satisfaction of knowing that the door had closed softly on my retreating tormentor. I rolled over and slept the sleep of innocence. The next morning, on descending to breakfast, I found an old friend seated at the table. We had not met for years.

After a cordial greeting, I said:

"Are you stopping here?"

"I have been trying. But I am nearly dead. I slept on a bench in the bar-room, amid a lot of drunken brutes who sang 'Bingo' for wagers of drink all night."

Could you get no bed?"

"Yes. I had a double bed to myself when that stupid ass of a landlord sent up a crazy fellow, who walked and struck out with dog-irons."

“Good heavens, Gillipsy, was that you?"

"And, D., you don't mean to say that you served me that infernal trick!"

It was a case that called for diplomatic explanation.

HEROES OF GREECE.-BYRON.

They fell devoted, but undying;

The very gale their names seemed sighing;
The waters murmured of their name;
The woods were peopled with their fame;
The silent pillar, lone and gray,

Claimed kindred with their sacred clay;
Their spirits wrapped the dusky mountain;
Their memory sparkled o'er the fountain;-
The meanest rill, the mightiest river,
Rolled mingling with their fame forever.

Despite of every yoke she bears,
That land is glory's still and theirs!
'Tis still a watchword to the earth :-
When man would do a deed of worth,
He points to Greece, and turns to tread,
So sanctioned, on the tyrant's head:
He looks to her, and rushes on
Where life is lost, or freedom won.

THE IDIOT BOY.

It had pleased God to form poor Ned
A thing of idiot mind,

Yet to the poor, unreasoning boy
God had not been unkind.

Old Sarah loved her helpless child,
Whom helplessness made dear,
And life was everything to him
Who knew no hope or fear.

She knew his wants, she understood
Each half-articulate call,
For he was everything to her,
And she to him was all.

And so for many a year they lived,
Nor knew a wish beside;
But age at length on Sarah came,
And she fell sick-and died.

He tried in vain to waken her,
He called her o'er and o'er;

They told him she was dead, the word
To him no import bore.

They closed her eyes and shrouded her,
Whilst he stood wondering by,

And when they bore her to the grave,
He followed silently.

They laid her in the narrow house,

And sung the funeral stave,

And when the mournful train dispersed,

He loitered by the grave.

The rabble boys that used to jeer

Whene'er they saw poor Ned,

Now stood and watched him at the grave, And not a word was said.

They came and went and came again,

And night at last drew on;

Yet still he lingered at the place
Till every one had gone.

And when he found himself alone
He quick removed the clay,

And raised the coffin in his arms
And bore it swift away.

Straight went he to his mother's cot
And laid it on the floor,
And with the eagerness of joy,
He barred the cottage door.

At once he placed his mother's corpse
Upright within her chair,

And then he heaped the hearth and blew,
The kindling fire with care.

She was now in her wonted chair,

It was her wonted place,―

And bright the fire blazed and flashed,
Reflected from her face.

Then, bending down, he'd feel her hands,
Anon her face behold;
"Why, mother, do you look so pale,
And why are you so cold?"

And when the neighbors on next morn
Had forced the cottage door,
Old Sarah's corpse was in the chair,
And Ned's was on the floor.

It had pleased God from this poor boy
His only friend to call;

Yet God was not unkind to him,
For death restored him ALL.

THE BATTLE OF LIFE.-S. OLIN.

Some one asked the Duke of Wellington what his secret was for winning battles. And he said that he had no secret, that he did not know how to win battles, and that no man knew. For all, he said, that man could do was to look beforehand steadily at all the chances, and lay all possible plans beforehand; but from the moment the battle began, he said, no mortal prudence was of use, and no mortal man could know what the end would be. A thousand new acci

dents might spring up every hour, and scatter all his plans to the winds; and all that man could do was to comfort him. self with the thought that he had done his best, and to trust in God.

Now, my friends, learn a lesson from this, a lesson for the battle of life, which every one of us has to fight from our cradle to our grave-the battle against misery, poverty, misfortune, sickness—the battle against worse enemies even than they-the battle against our own weak hearts and the sins which so easily beset us; against laziness, dishonesty, profligacy, bad tempers, hard-heartedness, deserved disgrace, the contempt of our neighbors, and just punishment from Almighty God. Take a lesson, I say, from the great duke for the battle of life. Be not fretful and anxious about the morrow. Face things like men; count the chances like men; lay your plans like men; but remember, like men, that a fresh chance may any moment spoil all your plans; remember that there are a thousand dangers round you from which your prudence cannot save you. Do your best, and then, like the great duke, comfort yourselves with the thought that you have done your best, and, like him, trust in God. Remember that God is really and in very truth your Father, and that without him not a sparrow falls to the ground; and are ye not of more value than many sparrows, O ye of little faith?

Remember that he knows what you have need of before you ask him; that he gives you all day long, of his own free generosity, a thousand things for which you never dream of asking him; and believe that in all the chances and changes of this life, in bad luck as well as in good, in failure as well as success, in poverty as well as wealth, in sickness as well as health, he is giving you and me and all mankind good gifts, which we in our ignorance, and our natural dread of what is unpleasant, should never dream of asking him for, but which are good for us nevertheless-like him from whom they come, the Father of light, from whom comes every good and perfect gift; who is neither neglectful, capricious, nor spiteful, for in him is neither variableness nor shadow of turning, but who is always loving unto every man, and his mercy is over all his works.

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