HE story of Poncé de Leon,

A voyager, withered and old, Who came to the sunny Antilles, In quest of a country of gold. He was wafted past islands of spices,

As bright as the Emerald seas, Where all the forests seemed singing,

So thick were the birds on the
trees;

The sea was as clear as the azure,
So deep and so pure was the sky
That the jasper-walled city seemed
shining

Just out of the reach of the eye.
By day his light canvas he shifted,
And rounded strange harbours
and bars;
By night, on the full tides he drifted,
'Neath the low-hanging lamps of the stars.
Near the glimmering gates of the sunset,
In the twilight empurpled and dim,

The sailors uplifted their voices,

And sang to their Maker a hymn.
"Thank the Lord!" said De Leon, the sailor,
At the close of the rounded refrain ;
"Thank the Lord, the Almighty, who blesses
The ocean-swept banner of Spain !
The shadowy world is behind us,
The shining Cipango before;
Each morning the sun rises brighter
On ocean, and island, and shore.
And still shall our spirits grow lighter,
As prospects more glowing unfold;
Then on, merry men! to Cipango,

To the west, and the regions of gold!"

II.

There came to De Leon, the sailor,

Some Indian sages, who told
Of a region so bright that the waters
Were sprinkled with islands of gold.
And they added: "The leafy Bimini,
A fair land of grottoes and bowers,
Is there; and a wonderful fountain
Upsprings from its gardens of flowers.
That fountain gives life to the dying,
And youth to the aged restores;
They flourish in beauty eternal,

Who set but their foot on its shores!
Then answered De Leon, the sailor:

"I am withered, and wrinkled, and old; I would rather discover that fountain, Than a country of diamonds and gold.

IV.

Then landed De Leon, the sailor,
Unfurled his old banner, and sung;
But he felt very wrinkled and withered,
All around was so fresh and so young.
The palms, ever verdant, were blooming,

Their blossoms e'en margined the seas;
O'er the streams of the forests, bright flowers
Hung deep from the branches of trees.
"Praise the Lord!" sung De Leon, the sailor;
His heart was with rapture aflame;
And he said: Be the name of this region
By Florida given to fame.
'Tis a fair, a delectable country,

More lovely than earth of a truth; I soon shall partake of the fountain,The beautiful fountain of youth!"

V.

But wandered De Leon, the sailor,
In search of that fountain in vain;
No waters were there to restore him
To freshness and beauty again.
And his anchor he lifted, and murmured,
As the tears gathered fast in his eye,
"I must leave this fair land of the flowers,
Go back o'er the ocean and die."
Then back by the dreary Tortugas,
And back by the shady Azores,

He was borne on the storm-smitten waters,
To the calm of his own native shores.

VI.

On his ship the old sailor lay dying
By the shores of a beautiful isle,
And his heart was enkindled with rapture,
And his face lighted up with a smile.
He thought of the sunny Antilles,

He thought of the shady Azores,
He thought of the dreamy Bahamas,
He thought of fair Florida's shores.
And when to himself he recounted
His wonderful travels of old,
He thought of the heavenly country,
Of the city of jasper and gold.

"Thank the Lord!" said De Leon, the sailor, "Thank the Lord for the light of the truth,

I now am approaching the fountain,
The beautiful Fountain of Youth."

III.

Away sailed De Leon, the sailor,

Away with a wonderful glee,

Till the birds were more rare in the azure,
The dolphins more rare in the sea.
Away from the shady Bahamas,
Over waters no sailor had seen,
Till again on his wondering vision
Rose clustering islands of green.

VII.

The cabin was silent: at twilight

They heard the birds singing a psalm, And the wind of the ocean low sighing Through groves of the orange and palm And just as the sunset was fading,

Heaven burst on the mariner's sight, And he knelt at the life-giving Fountain That springs in the Gardens of Light.

-New England Journal of Education.

GRIFLES.

N this enterprising age
Few on trifles do engage.
They are slighted or despised:
Rarely are they utilised.

Still e'en trifles claim a thought,
For the influence they have wrought.
Most have heard the wondrous tale
Of a single horse-shoe nail.
There are men of eminence
Owe their all to saving pence,
Few so humble or so small
As to be no use at all.

Drop by drop the streamlet grows,
Till the mighty river flows.
'Tis the woodman's single strokes
Fells the stately, spreading oaks.
Piece by piece the whole is done;
Step by step the race is won.
Solid mountains-lofty-grand,
Are composed of grains of sand.
Stone by stone, and single blows
Egypt's pyramids arose.
Little insects, armed and skilled,
Do the coral islands build.

Stitch by stitch the garment's spun;
Hosts are gathered one by one.
Every tree and flower and weed
Sprouted from a tiny seed.
Spit by spit, with pick and spade,
Rocks and hills are prostrate laid.
Single coins, as bank-books show,
Soon to scores and hundreds grow.
Touch by touch, midst hope and fear,
Artists' valued works appear.
Grand designs, with blessings fraught,
Often spring from one wise thought.
Spurn not fragments-small things prize;
'Tis by littles brave men rise.
Save the pence, cries saint and sage,
Thrift in youth adds wealth to age.
All that's saved, is so much earned;
Early should this truth be learned.
Drunkards, who in ruin sink,
Learn by sips to love the drink.
Who can estimate the gain
Springing from the word abtsain.
Culprits oft are heard to say,
"One false step led me astray."

Ships have foundered, crews have sank,
Through a single faulty plank.
Trifles, then, do not despise,
For it's neither safe nor wise.
Active, honest, thrifty ways,
These will stand the testing days.
Let all strive, by strength divine,
In the honoured ranks to shine.

THOMAS CRAMP.

SOWING AND REAPING.

ILL up each hour with what will last;
Buy up the moments as they go;
The life above, when this is past,
Is the ripe fruit of life below.

Sow truth, if thou the true wouldst reap;
Who sows the false shall reap the vain;
Erect and sound thy conscience keep;
Fror. hollow words and deeds refrain.

Sew love, and taste its fruitage pure;
Sow peace, and reap its harvest bright;
flow sunbeams on the rock and moor,
And find a harvest-home of light.

BONAR

"the man

LITTLE Hannah, five, speaks of a stammerer as who had to say something before he could talk." A MAN'S great ambition is to be credited with some great feat; a woman's to be credited with small feet.

A GENTLEMAN at a musical party asked a friend, in a whisper, how he should stir the fire without interrupting the music. "Between the bars," replied the friend.

A TAILOR was startled the other day by the return of a bill which he had sent to an editor, with a notice that the "manuscript was respectfully declined."

SOME thoughtful person says "It is unkind to ridicule those items in the papers about centenarians. It is no easy thing to be a centenarian; several have failed."

"CAN you steer the main-mast down the forecastle stairs?" said a sea captain to a new hand. "Yes, sir, I can, if you will stand below and coil it up." The captain didn't catechise that man any more.

A WITTY doctor, who was one of the corps of physicians appointed to vaccinate the policemen, remarked, "What is the use of vaccinating these fellows? They never catch anything!

We know a man so cross-eyed that he put his hand into another man's pocket and abstracted therefrom a watch. He wanted to learn the time. The judge told him it would be three years.

66

Two darkies were vaunting their courage. "I isn't feared o' nothin', I isn't." 'Den, Sam, I reckon you isn't feared to loan me a dollah." "No, Julius, I isn't feared to lend you a dollah, but I does hate to part with an ole frien' forebber." "BIDDY," said a lady to her servant, "I wish you would step over and see how old Mrs. Jones is this morning." few minutes Biddy returned with the information that Mrs. Jones was 72 years 7 months and 28 days old.

In a

SAID the night watchman when, about dusk, he was invited to drink a cup of coffee: "No, thank you, coffee keeps me awake all night." And then he saw his blunder, looked very embarrassed, and tried to explain it, but it was of no use.

THIS is how a pious French priest recently gave out an announcement of a procession to take place next day: "If it rains in the morning, the procession will take place in the afternoon; and if it rains in the afternoon, the procession will take place in the morning."

INSTRUCTOR in Latin--" Miss B., of what was Ceres the Miss B-"She was the goddess of marriage." goddess? Instructor-"Oh, no; of agriculture." Miss B. (looking perplexed)-"Why, I am sure my book says she was the goddess of husbandry."

"I THREW this off in ten minutes," softly said the poet, placing a manuscript on the editorial table. The editor said that when it came to speed no long-haired poet should dis tance him; so he threw it off in less than ten seconds-off the table into the waste-basket.

WHEN the ship City of Aberdeen was stranded at Porthleven, one paper headed its account, "Strangling of the City of Aberdeen." In the case of another shipwreck, the editor described the awful scene, and how the captain had been swallowed up by "a surging wave." The account, however, made it appear that the captain had been swallowed up by "a surgeon's wife."

A COUNTRYMAN saw, for the first time, a school-girl going through some of her gymnastic exercises for the amusement of the little ones at home. After gazing at her with looks of interest and commiseration for awhile, he asked a boy near by "if she had fits." "No," replied the lad, contemptuously, that's gymnastics." "Oh, 'tis, eh?" said the verdant; "how long has she had 'em?

THEBAUNTED HOUSE.

IN a certain town in Ireland, there was, a few years ago, a villa residence, about which there was a great deal of mystery. It might have been a house of entertainment, for no one family stayed in it long; they had no sooner come than they gave notice to quit, and off they went, glad to go; but only to be succeeded by others, who were soon equally anxious to remove. It was a substantial, roomy building, pleasantly situated on the outskirts of the thriving town, and gave no token of being troubled; but such was the rumour, which soon made it notorious, and so thoroughly was this believed, that no one would live in it for love nor money.

A respectable minister of a poor congregation in the town had often noticed this empty house, and looked wistfully at it as a most desirable dwelling for his ever-increasing family. He saw that it was fast becoming dilapidated, and would soon be in ruins if it continued uninhabited. He wondered whether he could secure it for a residence, but his presumption was checked by a study of his limited means. However, he made bold enough to make inquiries, found out the owner, who was delighted to see him, and offered, if he would live in it, he should have it rent free for a whole year, and afterwards only a nominal rent would be required. The landlord honestly told him that the house was troubled by some ghostly visitant, and had entirely lost its character. The minister procured the keys, determined, if possible, to solve the mystery. He went home, told his wife that he would be away for a few nights, and without distressing her mind with the purpose of his absence, he went away, bent on spending that night in the

haunted house.

About 11 p.m. he opened the door, fastened it after him, and went in. He struck a light and carefully examined the house. The place was richly carpeted with dust, the grates were rusty, the doors creaked with a woeful sound, as if sad at being disturbed out of their long repose, the spiders had hung the place with specimens of their handiwork, the mice also had been making free use of the property. Having satisfied himself that the place was empty and secure, our hero began his vigil in the front room below.

He waited there in the dark so long-as he supposed-that he began to feel drowsy. He was, however, suddenly roused from his lethargy by a tremendous thump at the front door, which immediately flew open, and thump! thump! thump! went the sound of feet upstairs. He flew to the door in some alarm, and found it open, but saw no one; he struck a light and ventured with some trepidation upstairs, searched every room, every nook and corner, but found nothing; went out, but saw no trace of anyone or anything. In looking at his watch he noted it was nearly 1 a.m. He was somewhat disconcerted by this event, but not discouraged; he continued there the whole night, but nothing further transpired.

The next night he entered the house determined to be more cautious, so he went upstairs and occupied a back room. He took with him a candle and a Greek Testament-for he was a devoted student-anxious that he should not be caught napping this time. The time passed slowly, and yet he was listening and watching, sometimes with beating heart, when lo! soon after twelve, the same heavy thud was heard at the door. Thud! thud! thud! was heard on the stairs. Summoning all his courage, he hastened to meet the approaching object-de. manded in a loud voice that it would stop; but the unseen one paid no heed--tramped upstairs. Up! up! it went, even

brushed past him, up into the garret, and there the mysterious sound disappeared. He hurried upstairs after him, but found nothing. His challenges were only answered by the echoes of the empty house. He was now more perplexed than ever. Again he made a diligent search, but to no purpose. Our hero was no coward, but the strange experience he had just passed through almost staggered him, and he began to think that there was something in superstition after all; notwithstanding he was loath to give up such a matter without thorough investigation. Next night he would stand outside and watch the approach of the visitant or visitants. So the third night came, and he secreted himself and awaited the ghosts, and immediately after a distant clock had struck the hour of midnight, imagine his feelings when he heard the same thump, and yet saw no one, the door as usual flew open, and up tramped the ghost with no silent tread, until lost in the garret. An immediate search proved useless. Our friend walked about annoyed, puzzled, and actually frightened.

Were there, after all, visitants from the unseen world doomed to trouble the living? He must give up this vexatious inquiry and all prospect of dwelling in that house. As he was thus musing, he could see a shining light at some distance, and this diverted his attention, and at once suggested another mode of inquiry. He directed his steps to where the light was, and found it to be a smithy. In the course of the day he went into that smithy and made a variety of inquiries, and discovered that every night that week a man had been working there, and would be engaged again that night. Anxious to put to the test the theory which he had crudely formed, he hastened that night to his vigil and took his position in the front room on the ground floor, and there in total darkness he watched in the direction of the smithy. About half-past eleven he could see someone strike a light and evidently kindling a fire, which soon after blazed up brilliantly, and about midnight he saw the smith lift up his brawny arm and strike the anvil a heavy blow, and simultaneously-as he had expected-the house door flew open, each successive step answering to the lighter strokes of the hammer upon the

heated iron anvil.

mystery, but how could that hammer have such an effect With joy he saw that he had fathomed a part of the from such a distance? This he was not long in discovering. A bricked drain passed under the door of the house and directly under the anvil at the smithy, so that when the smith struck the anvil in the dead of the night, the vibration underneath jerked the door, which, possessing only an old lock. need not inform you that the poor minister immediately took was soon opened. So there was the mystery fully revealed. I possession of the house, and he and his family lived in it most comfortably on the stipulated terms for a great number of habitants of the town, who were never let into the secret. years, to the astonishment of the landlord and all the in

TAKEN AT HIS WORD.

IT is told of Archbishop Leighton, that a tremendous storm of thunder and lightning happened one day, as he was going from Glasgow to Dumblane.

He was seen at a great distance by two men of bad character; they had not courage openly to rob him; but wishing to hit upon some method of extorting money from him, one of them said, "I will lie down by the way-side, as if I were dead; and you shall inform the archbiship that I was killed by the lightning, and beg money of him to bury me."

When Dr. Leighton arrived at the spot, the wicked wretch told him the fabricated story: the archbishop condoled with the survivor, gave him money, and proceeded on his journey.

But when the man returned to his companion, he found him really lifeless! Immediately he began to exclaim aloud, "Oh, sir, he is dead! Oh, sir, he is dead!" On which the archbishop, perceiving the fraud, left the man with this serious reflection:-"It is a dangerous thing to trifle with the judgments of God."

CORRESPONDENCE.

L. M.-We presume you are only entitled to the wages mentioned in your indentures, reporting (note-taking) being chiefly done at night.

NATURALIST.-Your scientific queries will be answered (with many similar ones) in "Our 'Ology Page," in good time for next season's work.

AR away on the southern borders of the Holy Land, and north of the rock-citadels of Petra, lies the scene of the first recorded battle of the world. A wild and desolate spot it is, shut in by tall cliffs of naked limestone: a place in which the traveller, fresh from the olive slopes of Hebron and the fountains of En-gedi, might feel that he was utterly alone.

No pillar of stone marks the site of this primeval struggle, no field-flowers bloom above the dust of the unknown slain, but across it, like an enchanted lake, with its clear, sluggish waters glittering through the hanging mist, spreads the long expanse of the grey Dead Sea. The rocks on the shore are white with the salt thrown up by the bitter waves, and the silent beach is strewn with boughs and tree-trunks -fragments of river-side forests, torn off by the descending Jordan. The edge of the lake is covered with a soft saline ooze, in which even the lower forms of animal and vegetable life fail to exist. The very sunshine that streams down on the scene renders it but the more desolate. It is Death in Nature, Death dreary, silent, and unadorned: a corner of the earth on which the curse of God seems to rest, and where the beauties of Creation are no longer suffered to appear.

Yet, strange to say, this was not always so. Long ago when the world was young and the tent of a wealthy patriarch held the future of "God's chosen people," there was not a more fair and fertile spot in all Palestine than this Vale of Siddim-the Valley of the Fields. Let us glance at it as it appeared nearly 2,000 years before the Christian era, when it was the scene of an event which has rendered its name famous, and which the sacred historian has

recorded in the [fourteenth chapter of the Book of Genesis.

We take our stand on the summit of a hill, a little to the northward of the modern Masada, and overlooking a pleasant valley now occupied by the Salt Sea. It rises two thousand feet in height, and is bounded on either side by two magnificent gorges. The descent is almost vertical, but the terrible look of the declivity is relieved by the crystal cascade that gushes out from under a huge boulder on a narrow shelf or terrace far beneath. You can hear the soft rush of the falling waters thirteen hundred feet below. In a shower of spray it leaps down the rock, hidden in a green thicket of rustling canes and solanum bushes with blood-red flowers that quiver above the life-giving stream. At the foot of the cliff is a palm-grove, whose tufted fronds have just caught the first rays of morning; and, close by, a field of camphire lies like a sheet of gold, scenting the whole valley with its fragrance. Down by the water's edge, where the cascade joins the broad, swift Jordan (there is no Salt Lake now to check its flow), a collection of dark goat-skin tents lie overturned and dismantled, and the bodies of the slaughtered inhabitants lie strewn on the grassy slopes.

What spot is this? It is En-gedi, the beautiful settlement of the rude Amorites. If you would learn the cause of the assault, look yonder! Up the mountain-pass come the authors of this terrible deed, a band of wild Assyrian nomads, some mounted, others on foot, with bow and quiver slung behind them, and their long lances glittering in the sun. Up they come, fierce-visaged, dark-bearded men, with the stains of conflict still upon them, and the dust on their loose white robes. Behind them, weeping and

wailing, a long train of captives are being half-led, half-driven up the path. They are the wives and daughters of the slain, now become the property of the victors. Pillage and booty of various kinds has been packed hastily on the patient camels that form part of the cavalcade, and a bewildered flock of sheep and goats are being driven on at the point of the spear. The summit of the pass is gained at length, and the whole party halt for a breathingspace, ere they move on towards the south.

Whence come these roving freebooters, and what has led them to the fair valleys of Hazezon-tamar ? * Their home is far away beyond the Tigris, but, lured by the love of gain and conquest, Chedorlaomer, a stern Babylonian chief, with three of his princely neighbours, had gathered an armed force of picked men, and, sweeping down the eastern valley of the Jordan, had smitten tribe after tribe till they arrived before the rock towers of Petra. The hardy cliff-dwellers in vain withstood the attack, and the invaders marched northward, as we have seen already, to plunder the settlement at En-gedi.

But another and harder fight must be won ere they turn their steps homeward. In the vale of Siddim lie the rudely-built towns of Sodom and Gomorrah. There, too, dwells Shinab, the king of Admah, and Shemeber, king of Zeboiim, and, on the east side, nestles the little village of Zoar. Rebels they all are against their lord and master Chedorlaomer, for, tired of their twelve years' servitude, they have thrown off the yoke.

Hearing of the approach of their rejected rulers, the revolted chiefs hold a hurried conference, and, resolving to hazard all in one great battle, have moved down the valley to meet the foe.

Meanwhile the Assyrian band has been journeying south, intending to cross the Jordan lower down and make their way homeward. On they come, putting mile after mile behind them, till the foremost rider reaches the edge of the lofty cliffs that overhang the vale of Siddim. Far below, by the side of the blue lake that in these days receives the rapid waters of the river, are drawn up the armed forces of the five kings.

Alive at once to the nature of the situation, the dark eyes of the horseman have taken in the scene at a glance, and, wheeling round, he dashes back to the cortège, and gives the alarm. In an instant all is stir and preparation; the camels are tethered, while the captives are bound together and a guard set over them; and the remainder of the troop, throwing off every encumbrance, wind slowly down the steep pass.

Then nothing is to be heard, save the crumble of the loose stones beneath their feet or the hurried word of command passed from lip to lip. Along the green slopes the red anemones glitter like threads of fire, and the bare soil is rich with the mingled hues of wild tulip and daisy. The cliff swallows swing airily from crag to crag above those dusky forms, and the hill-fox starts up from almost under their feet, and goes bounding back into the fissured rock. And on the gnarled boughs of yonder terebinth the raven is whetting his beak, for he knows that his turn will come before the sun goes down.

The ancient name of En-gedi.

The attack is sudden, and the onslaught fierce and desperate; but for a time, it is checked by an answering volley of shafts from the Canaanite archers, and the short two-edged swords, wielded by brawny hands, beat back the invader. The green plain is strewn with the bodies of the fallen, and there is a red foam on the ripples of the lake. The groans of wounded warriors mingle with the clash of weapons, and the ground trembles under the feet of the flying.

And now the attacking force is withdrawing, and Chedorlaomer calls back his men from the struggle; but it is only to prepare for a second and more desperate charge. Under cover of a flight of arrows the whole Assyrian force sweeps down in one terrible onset. The war-steeds of Sodom are borne back at the spear's point; the light brass-bound shields of their riders are pierced and thrust down and with a wild shout of triumph, that echoes far and wide up the stony gorge, the alien bowmen press forward to complete the work of death. Resistance is useless; and the five chiefs endeavour to save themselves by flight. But between them and the mountain refuge which they are making for, are deep treacherous pits of bitumen, partially concealed by the nature of the ground, and disastrous to any who should chance to flounder into their slimy depths. Pressed hard by the victorious enemy, the kings of Sodom and Gomorrah fly across the plain, and, heedless of the proximity of the perilous holes, sink into the yielding mire, and are lost. The rest,