with its victims. Men have lost their honesty, and women their virtue, through the effects of drink. Good has been weakened, evil has been strengthened, by the baneful influence of drink. Whether we speak of high or low, the educated or ignorant, the wealthy or poor, from each drink has claimed its victims, and scattered seeds of misery in all ranks, which have produced a sad harvest of wretchedness, woe, and death, sufficient for us to point out the danger in which every good work is placed, so long as that infernal weapon of evil is belching forth its deadly missiles against those enterprises which are making war upon sin, and the enormous disadvantage at which they war, so long as drink is allowed to decimate their ranks and destroy their hopes of success. For the sake of all that's good and true on earth, we raise the cry: Spike that gun! JOHN AND TIBBIE DAVISON'S DISPUTE. John Davison and Tibbie, his wife, "Guidwife," quoth John, “did ye see that moose? "A moose?" "Aye, a moose." 'Na, na, guidman, "Ow, ow, guidwife, to think ye've been Sae lang aboot the hoose, An' no to ken a moose frae a rat! Yon was'na a rat! 'twas a moose." "I've seen mair mice than you, guidman— Sae haud your tongue an say nae mair "Me haud my tongue for you, guidwife! I saw't as plain as een could seet," "If you're the mester o' the hoose An' I ken best what's in the hoose, "Weel, weel, guidwife, gae mak' the brose, So up she rose, and made the brose, While John sat toasting his taes. They supit, and supit, and supit the brose, "Sic fules we were to fa' oot, guidwife, It's a lee ye tell, an' I say again, "Wad ye ca' me a leear to my very face? My faith, but ye craw croose! I tell ye, Tib, I never will bear't— 'Twas a moose!" ""Twas a rat!" ""Twas a moose!" Wi' her spoon she strack him ower the pow "Ye dour auld doit, tak' that; Gae to your bed, ye canker'd sumph "Twas a rat!" "Twas a moose!"""Twas a rat!" She sent the brose caup at his heels, Yet he shoved oot his head as he steekit the door, But when the carle was fast asleep She paid him back for that, And roared into his sleepin' lug, 66 'Twas a rat! 'twas a rat! 'twas a rat!" The de'il be wi me if I think It was a beast ava! Neist mornin', as she sweepit the fluir, She faund wee Johnnie's ba'! WHISTLING IN HEAVEN. You're surprised that I ever should say so? Then you'll think it no very great wonder, It was late in the autumn of '40; We had come from our far Eastern home Just in season to build us a cabin, Ere the cold of the winter should come; And we lived all the while in our wagon That husband was clearing the place Where the house was to stand; and the clearing And building it took many days. So that our heads were scarce sheltered In under its roof, when our store Of provisions was almost exhausted, And the nearest place where he could get them That it forced him from home to be absent You see, we'd but two or three neighbors, And the man who had helped at the raising Well, husband just kissed me and started— For, my dear, I was childish and timid, But I smothered my grief and my terror And then in my arms I took Josey, As I thought of the long, dreary hours And I was so utterly helpless, With no one in reach of my call. And when the night came with its terrors, I hung up a quilt by the window, There I knelt until late in the evening, And when I was sure 'twas a white man, From one who could whistle that way. Very soon I heard footsteps approaching, There was either a question or answer, I just threw my glad arms around him, As he said, "I'm your neighbor's boy, Elick, "We saw your husband go eastward, And made up our minds where he'd gone, And I said to the rest of our people, "That woman is there all alone, And I venture she's awfully lonesome, And though she may have no great fear, I think she would feel a bit safer If only a boy were but near.' "So, taking my axe on my shoulder, "And so here I am, at your service; And then I just sat there and told him How his face was to me the most welcome And then I lay down with the baby, And slept all the blessed night through, Near so brave a young fellow and true. That unless there's a boy there a-whistling, -Harper's Magazine. AIRY NOTHINGS.-SHAKSPEARE. Our revels now are ended. These, our actors, Are melted into air-into thin air; And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, -The Tempest. |