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A "STRANGE" PREACHER.

[IS name was Strange. Many will think his conduct was strange also. He was a zealous preacher, and a sweet singer. Nothing gave him so much pleasure as to go about the country preaching and singing. A benevolent gentleman, well off in worldly goods, desiring to make him and his family comfortable in their declining years, generously presented him a title-deed for three hundred and twenty acres of land. Strange accepted the donation with thankfulness, and went on his way, preaching and singing as he went. But after a few months he returned, and requested his generous friend to take the title-deed. Surprised at the re quest, the gentleman inquired

"Is there any flaw in it?"

"Not the slightest."

"Is not the land good?"

"First rate."

"Isn't it healthy ?"

"None more so.'

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Why, then, do you wish me to take it back? It will be a comfortable home for you when you grow old, and something for your wife and children, if you should be taken away."

66

Why, I'll tell you. Ever since, I've lost my enjoyment for singing. I can't sing my favorite hymr with a good conscience any longer.

66 This:

"What is that?"

"No foot of land do I

possess,

Nor cottage in the wilderness,
A poor wayfaring man.

I dwell awhile in tents below,
Or gladly wander to and fro,
Till I my Canaan gain.

Yonder's my house and portion fair,

My treasures and my heart are there,

And my abiding home.'

"There!" said Strange, "I'd rather sing that hymn than own America. I'd trust the Lord to take care of my wife and children."

He continued singing and preaching, and preaching and singing; and the Lord, said the lecturer, did take care of him, and his shildren after him.

NOTHING is more easy than to grow rich. It is only to trust nobody, befriend none; to heap interest upon interest, cent upon cent; to destroy all the finer feelings of nature and be rendered mean, miserable, and be despised for some twenty or thirty years, and riches will come as sure as disease, disappointment, and a miserable death.

FARMER'S BOYS.

Our in every tempest,
Out in every gale,
Buffeting the weather

Wind, and storm, and hail;
In the meadow mowing,

In the shady wood,

Letting in the sunlight

Where the tall oaks stood.

Every fitting moment,

Each skillful hand employs

Bless me! were there ever

Things like farmers' boys?

Though the palm be callous,
Holding fast the plow,
The round cheek is ruddy,

And the open brow
Has no lines and furrows

Wrought by evil hours,

For that heart keeps wholesome,
Trained in Nature's bowers,
Healthy, hearty pastime,
The spirit never cloys
Heaven bless the manly
Honest farmers' boys!

At the merry husking,
At the apple bee,
How their hearts run over
With genial harmless glee;
How the country maidens,

Blush with conscious bliss,

At the love-word whispered,
With a parting kiss;
Then the winter evenings,
With their social joys!
Bless me! they are pleasant
Spent with farmers' boys.

ADDRESS TO LAKE ERY.

Mity stream. How your bosom swells and pants,
And how you rip things. How wet you look, eh!
What "airs" you put on when you get to blow-
Ing! Yes-in September, how proud you are
'Cause you can raise the wind, and kick up rows
And fight the shore, and tear away lumber
Yards! (that is you used to onct.)
How do you like that breakwater, you old fluid ?

But you're stopt.

Doesn't that keep you respectable, and put

Straps on your pants. Don't that stick in your crop.

Didn't they give you "piles" when they put that there.

Why don't you try to fill up the canal,

I should think you would catch cold bein made

Of such damp stuff.

Who are you. any how?

What's going to come of you? You're found out-
You are going to leak out over the Falls.

That's it! You needn't be uppish cause you're
Nothing but rain water, in spite of your bars
You have to borry from other Lakes to keep
Yourself from gettin dry. Hey-you old bankrupt,
Mity stream-adoo!

THE MERRY HEART

"TIs well to have a merry heart,
However short we stay;
There's wisdom in a merry heart,
Whate'er the world may say.
Philosophy may lift its head
And find out many a flaw,
But give me the philosopher
That's happy with a straw.

If life but brings us happiness,
It brings us, we are told,

What's hard to buy, though rich ones try
With all their heaps of gold;
Then laugh away, let others say
Whate'er they will of mirth,
Who laughs the most may truly boast
He's got the wealth of earth.

There's beauty in the merry heart,
A moral beauty, too;

It shows the heart's an honest heart,
That's paid each man his due ;
And lent a share of what's to spare,
Despite of wisdom's fears,

And makes the cheek less sorrow speak,
The eye weep fewer tears.

The sun may shroud itself in cloud,
The tempest wrath begin ;

t finds a spark to cheer the dark,
Its sunlight is within ;

Then laugh away, let others say

Whate'er they will of mirth;

Who laughs the most may truly boast
He's got the wealth of earth.

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