'Good, now,' says he, 'that crittur'll pay the deacon off lively, pretty soon.'

"The deacon bobbed his head a spell, and old Dick he shook his horns and stamped at him sort o' threatnin'. Finally the deacon he give a great bow and brought his head right down at him, and old Dick he sot out full tilt and come down on him ker chunk, and knocked him head over heels into the broad aisle, and his wig flew one way and he t'other, and Dick made a lunge at it as it flew, and carried it off on his horns.

"Wal, you may believe that broke up the meetin' for one while, for Parson Morrell laughed out, and all the girls and boys they stomped and roared. And the old deacon he got up and begun rubbin' his shins—'cause he didn't see the joke on't.

"You don't orter laugh,' says he, 'it's no laughin' matter— it's a solemn thing,' says he. 'I might hev been sent into 'tarnity by that darned crittur,' says he. Then they all roared and haw-hawed the more to see the deacon dancin' round with his little shiny head, so smooth a fly would trip up on't. 'I believe, on my soul, you'd laugh to see me in my grave,' says he.

“Wal, the truth on't was, 'twas jist one of them bustin' up times that natur' has, when there ain't nothin' for it but to give in; 'twas jest like the ice breakin' up in the Charles River-it all come at once and no whoa to't. Sunday or no Sunday, sin or no sin, the most on 'em laughed till they cried, and couldn't help it.

"But the deacon he went home feelin' pretty sore about it. Lem Sudoc he picked up his wig and handed it to him. Says he, 'Old Dick was playin' tithing-man, wa'n't he, deacon? Teach you to make allowance for other folks that get sleepy.'

"Then Mrs. Titkins she went over to Aunt Jerushy Scran's and Aunt Polly Hokum's, and they hed a pot o' tea over it, and 'greed it was awful of Parson Morrell to set sich an example, and suthin' hed got to be done about it. Miss Hokum said she allers knew that Parson Morrell hedn't no spiritooality, and now it hed broke out into open sin, and led all the rest of 'em into it; and Mrs. Titkins she said such a man RRR*

wa'n't fit to preach; and Miss Hokum said she couldn't never hear him ag'in, and the next Sunday the deacon and his wife they hitched up and driv eight miles over to Parson Lothrop's, and took Aunt Polly on the back seat.

"Wal, the thing growed and growed till it seemed as if there wa'n't nothin' else talked about, 'cause Aunt Polly and Mrs. Titkins and Jerushy Scran they didn't do nothin' but talk about it, and that sot every body else a talkin'.

"Finally it was 'greed they must hev a council to settle the nash. So all the wimmen they went to choppin' mince, and makin' up punkin pies and cranberry tarts, and bilin' doughLuts, gettin' reddy for the ministers and delegates-'cause councils always eats powerful-and they hed quite a stir, like a gineral trainin'. The hosses, they was hitched all up and down the stalls, a stompin' and switchin' their tails, and the wimmen was a talkin', and they hed up every body round for witnesses, and finally Parson Morrell he says, Brethren,' says he, 'jest let me tell you the story jest as it happened, and if you don't every one of you laugh as hard as I did, why, then I'll give up.'

"The parson he was a master hand at settin' off a story, and afore he'd done he got 'em all in sich a roar they didn't know where to leave off. Finally, they give sentence that there hedn't no temptation took him but such as is common to man; but they advised him afterward allers to pray with his eyes shet, and the parson he confessed he orter 'a done it, and meant to do better in future, and so they settled it. "So, boys," said Sam, who always drew a moral, “ye see it larns you you must take care what ye look at, ef ye want to keep from laughin' in meetin"."

-Oldtown Fireside Stories.

.

ASPIRATIONS.

Our aims are all too high; we try
To gain the summit at a bound,
When we should reach it step by step,
And climb the ladder round by round.

He who would climb the heights sublime,
Or breathe the purer air of life,
Must not expect to rest in ease,

But brace himself for toil or strife.

We should not in our blindness seek

To grasp alone for grand and great,
Disdaining every smaller good,—
For trifles make the aggregate.
And if a cloud should hover o'er
Our weary path-way like a pail,
Remember God permits it there,

And His good purpose reigns o'er all.

Life should be full of earnest work,

Our hearts undashed by fortune's frown;
Let perseverance conquer fate,

And merit seize the victor's crown.

The battle is not to the strong,

The race not always to the fleet;

And he who seeks to pluck the stars,
Will lose the jewels at his feet.

THE PORTRAIT.-OWEN Meredith.

Midnight past! Not a sound of aught

Through the silent house, but the wind at his prayers, I sat by the dying fire, and thought Of the dear dead woman up stairs.

A night of tears! for the gusty rain

Had ceased, but the eaves were dripping yet; And the moon looked forth, as though in pain, With her face all white and wet.

Nobody with me my watch to keep

But the friend of my bosom, the man I love: And grief had sent him fast to sleep

In the chamber up above.

Nobody else, in the country place

All round, that knew of my oss beside,

But the good young priest with the Raphael-face,
Who confessed her when she died.

That good young priest is of gentle nerve,

And my grief had moved him beyond control, For his lips grew white as I could observe, When he speeded ner parting soul.

I sat by the dreary hearth alone;

I thought of the pleasant days of yore;
I said, "The staff of my life is gone,
The woman I loved is no more.

"On her cold dead bosom my portrait lies,
Which next to her heart she used to wear-
Haunting it o'er with her tender eyes
When my own face was not there.

"It is set all around with rubies red,

And pearls which a Peri might have kept;
For each ruby there my heart hath bled,
For each pearl my eyes have wept."

And I said "The thing is precious to me;

They will bury her soon in the churchyard clay; It lies on her heart, and lost must be If I do not take it away."

I lighted my lamp at the dying flame,

And crept up the stairs that creaked for fright, Till into the chamber of death I came,

Where she lay all in white.

The moon shone over her winding sheet;
There stark she lay on her carven bed;
Seven burning tapers about her feet,
And seven about her head.

As I stretched my hand I held my breath;
I turned as I drew the curtains apart:
I dared not look on the face of death:
I knew where to find her heart.

I thought at first as my touch fell there

It had warmed that heart to life, with love; For the thing I touched was warm, I swear, And I could feel it move.

"Twas the hand of a man, that was moving slow O'er the heart of the dead-from the other side And at once the sweat broke over my brow, "Who is robbing the corpse?" I cried.

Opposite me, by the tapers' light,

The friend of my bosom, the man I loved,
Stood over the corpse and all as white,
And neither of us moved.

"What do you here my friend?" The man
Looked first at me, and then at the dead.

"There is a portrait here," he began : "There is. It is mine." I said.

Said the friend of my bosom, "Yours no doubt
The portrait was, till a month ago,
When this suffering angel took that out,
And placed mine there, I know."

"This woman, she loved me well," said I.
"A month ago," said my friend to me:
"And in your throat," I groaned, “you lie!”
He answered, “Let us see.”

“Enough! ́let the dead decide;

And whosesoever the portrait prove,
His shall it be, when the cause is tried,-
Where death is arraigned by love."

We found the portrait there in its place,
We opened it by the tapers' shine,
The gems were all unchanged; the face
Was-neither his nor mine.

"One nail drives out another, at last!
The face of the portrait there," I cried,
"Is our friend's the Raphael-faced young priest
Who confessed her when she died."

The setting is all of rubies red,

And pearls which a Peri might have kept,-
For each ruby she my heart hath bled,
For each pearl my eyes have wept.

IN THE BOTTOM DRAWER.

I saw wife pull out the bottom drawer of the old family bureau this evening, and went softly out, and wandered up and down, until I knew that she had shut it up and gone to her sewing. We have some things laid away in that drawer which the gold of kings could not buy, and yet they are relics which grieve us until both our hearts are sore. I haven't dared look at them for a year, but I remember each article.

There are two worn shoes, a little chip-hat with part of the brim gone, some stockings, pants, a coat, two or three spools, bits of broken crockery, a whip, and several toys.