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This sell must surely love itself in others' weal, If we would win affections great, or love would feel.' But what can Ruth, the cripple, do, save weep the fate That made her so? Ah, me!"

A scream, then a smothered sob, here

Broke the murmurs, and there came a whisper low. “Please may I sit upon the step, and let you try To pull this briar from my foot? I will not cry." "This once, I'll try," thought Ruth, "what loving deeds can do.

I will not pluck the thorn, then coldly push her off,
But will to little motherless outcast soft caresses give:
Perhaps, though love may not be shed on crippled
form

A cripple's heart may have the Master's smile."
She softly raised the sobbing child;

And from her swollen foot the piercing briar drew,
And as she kissed the pearl drops from the pallid face,
An unknown joy through all her inner being thrilled.
Ere long the weary sufferer, eased from pain slept
deep,

While Ruth, her face aglow, bent watching o'er her dreams.

And when at last the child grew restless in her sleep,
A loving kiss on sun-brown cheek was laid.
She dreamed-then woke.

"Dear Ruth, I've been to heaven-to mother's home,
And oh! she was so glad her little girl had come.
I thought that in that joyous place, Elysium fair,
Our teacher dear, and all who loved on earth, were
there,

6

Bring forth a crown, my child has loved and did not hate,'

My mother quickly said.

But when an angel brought it me, composed of jew

els rare,

My head so small, its heavy weight, I could not bear. Our teacher's noble brow, then sure I thought, is

strong

To bear my diadem-I once again was wrong:

For 'mong the many lesser crowns he wore with grace

My larger jewels seemed to sparkle out of place. Then, when perplexed, the angel knew not what to do,

I thought that Jesus sweetly smiled and looked at

you,

And, Ruth, near by the throne we saw you standing bright,

Leant on your crutches grown to amber light.

The angels woke me shouting praise for trials given. That made you strong to wear a Royal crown in heaven."

The noon now passed-the teacher came;
With joy he saw the pauper child contented lie
In Ruth's embrace.

His hand he fondly laid in blessing on her head, Whispering soft: "Inasmuch as you have done it Unto this my lamb, so have you done it unto me." With happy heart Ruth lowly bent above her book, Rejoicing much. The teacher watched the sea shell flush

That mantled o'er her cheek, and ever as she raised Her calm, clear eyes of gentian blue, then let them droop,

He fully read the echo of her beating heart;

For thus that echo rose and wildly swelled, till, lost In love, it broke, and then exultant died away.

"Ah me!

Can I who late

Fain would no comfort see,
Save in an ever present hate,

Now wide unto my Master's "Inasmuch" expand
Till I can grateful see a Father's hand

In every stripe he loving deals,

And love without alloy

In the rod he wields?

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A KING AMONG MEN.

You may talk of your emperors, poets, and seers, You may speak of your palaces, princes, and peers, But a theme far more loyal shall quicken my pen: I sing of my father-a king among men.

His voice is as clear as the music of rills,

And his foot the bright dew dashes off from the hills, And his eye, like a lion's, deep hid in its den,

Gleams steadfast and true-he's a king among men. His brow is like marble-clean sculptured and bright, In his hair, like the raven's, gleam stray locks of white;

Though his hands may be trembling and weary— what then?

I hail him a monarch-this king among men.

And his heart-you could never all day in the street
Find one that was truer-more patiently beat—
He's a theme that would quicken a livelier pen,
Oh! would I could show you-this king among men.
"What makes him a king?" you may slightingly

cry,

""Tis not broadcloth and velvet," I'm proud to reply

""Tis nobleness inborn-true manhood-so then
I mean what I say of this king among men.
I've a fancy-'tis simple-but yet let me own
That when the gates open that lead to the throne,
Heaven's light on his brow, I may see him again,
And cry with the angels: "A king among men."
Harriet M. Spalding.

ELSIE'S THANKSGIVING.

Dolly, it's almost Thanksgiving. Do you know what I mean, my dear?

No? Well, I couldn't expect it; you haven't been with us a year.

And

you came with my
the wide blue sea,

auntie from Paris, far over

And you'll keep your first Thanksgiving, my beauti ful Dolly, with me.

I'll tell you about it, my darling, for grandma's explained it all,

So that I understand why Thanksgiving always comes late in the fall,

When the nuts and the apples are gathered, and the work in the fields is done,

And the fields, all reaped and silent, are asleep in the autumn sun.

It is then that we praise our Father, who sends the rain and the dew,

Whose wonderful loving-kindness is every morning

new;

Unless we'd be heathen, Dolly, or worse, we must sing and pray,

And think about good things, Dolly, when we keep Thanksgiving Day.

But I like it very much better when from church

we all go

home,

And the married brothers and sisters and the troops of cousins come,

And we're ever so long at the table, and dance and shout and play

In the merry evening, Dolly, that ends Thanksgiving

Day.

Now, let me whisper a secret: I've had a trouble to

bear;

It made me feel quite old, dear, and perfectly crushed

with care;

'Twas about my prettiest kitten, the white one with spots of black

I loved her devotedly, Dolly; I've been awfully angry with Jack:

So mad that I couldn't forgive him; and I wouldn't kiss him good-night,

For he lost my kitty on purpose, shut up in a bag so

tight;

He carried her miles and miles, dear, and dropped her down in the dark;

I would not wonder a bit, dear, if he took her to Central Park.

And then he came home to supper, as proud as a boy could be ;

I wonder, Dolly, this minute, how he dared to be looking at me,

When I called my kitty and called her, and of course she didn't come,

And Jack pored over his Latin as if he were deaf and dumb.

When I found out what he had done, dear, it was just like lead in my heart,

Though mamma is as kind as an angel, I knew she would take his part.

Suppose kitty did chase the chickens, they might have kept out of her way;

I've been so sorrowful, Dolly, I've dreaded Thanksgiving Day.

For I'll never pretend to be good, dear, when I feel all wrong in my mind;

And as for giving up kitty, I'm not in the least resigned.

And I've known with deep grief, Dolly--known it a long time back

That I couldn't keep Thanksgiving while I hated my brother Jack.

For you cannot love God and praise him when you are cherishing anger this way,

I've tried hard to conquer it, Dolly-I gave Jack two pears to-day;

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