And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurses arms.

Then the whining school-boy, with his satchel,
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then, a soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation

Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part; the sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness, and mere oblivion,-
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

GIVE ME BACK MY HUSBAND.

Nor many years since, a young married couple, from the far, "fast-anchored isle," sought our shores with the most sanguine anticipations of prosperity and happiness. They had begun to realize more than they had seen in the visions of hope, when, in an evil hour, the husband was tempted "to look upon the wine when it is red," and to taste of it, "when it gives its color in the cup." The charmer fastened round its victim all the serpent spells of its sorcery, and he fell; and at every step of his degra dation from the man to the brute, and downward, a heartstring broke in the bosom of his companion.

Finally, with the last spark of hope flickering on the altar of her heart, she threaded her way into one of those shambles where man is made such a thing as the beasts

of the field would bellow at. She pressed her way through the bacchanalian crowd who were revelling there in their own ruin. With her bosom full of "that perilous stuff that preys upon the heart," she stood before the plunderer of her husband's destiny, and exclaimed in tones of startling anguish, "Give me back my husband."

"There's your husband," said the man, as he pointed toward the prostrate wretch. "That my husband! What have you done to him? That my husband! What have you done to that noble form that once, like the giant oak, held its protecting shade over the fragile vine that clung to it for support and shelter? That my husband! With what torpedo chill have you touched the sinews of that manly arm? That my husband! What have you done to that once noble brow, which he wore high among his fellows, as if it bore the superscription of the Godhead? That my husband! What have you done to that eye, with which he was wont to 'look erect on heaven,' and see in his mirror the image of his God. What Egyptian drug have you poured into his veins, and turned the ambling fountains of the heart into black and burning pitch? Give me back my husband! Undo your basilisk spells, and give me back the man that stood with me by the altar!"

The ears of the rumseller, ever since the first demijohn of that burning liquid was opened upon our shores, have been saluted, at every stage of the traffic, with just such appeals as this. Such wives, such widows, and mothers, such fatherless children, as never mourned in Israel at the massacre of Bethlehem; or at the burning of the Temple, have cried in his ears, morning, night, and evening, "Give me back my husband! Give me back my boy! Give me back my brother!"

But has the rumseller been confounded or speechless at these appeals? No! not he. He could show his creden. tials at a moment's notice, with proud defiance. He always carried in his pocket a written absolution for all he had done and could do in his work of destruction. He had bought a letter of indulgence. I mean a license! a precious instrument, signed and sealed by an authority stronger and more respectable than the Pope's. He conCounded! Why, the whole artillery of civil power was

ready to open in his defence and support. Thus shielded by the Egis of the law, he had nothing to fear from the enemies of his traffic. He had the image and superscription of Cæsar on his credentials, and unto Cæsar he appealed; and unto Cæsar, too, his victims appealed and appealed in vain.

THE OLD YANKEE FARMER.

WAL, Mr. Brown, how's things goin on with y' there daown below? I s'pose Boston don't look much as't did fifty year ago. I was tellin-I was tellin Miss Pillsbury tother day, ef she felt smart enough, we'd take a little jant daown and look raound a little. But she's got the rumatiz so luk all possest, she can't stir raound much. She's e'en a most discouraged sometimes, but I tell her I guess it'll all wear off arter a spell, ha! ha! ha! I doant git raound much myself. I'm a gittin suthin inter years -but I tell 'em I'm better'n half the young folks naow.

Folks doant live now-a-days as they used ter when I was a boy. Why, they've all got the indisgeestion, or some plaguey thing or nuther-ha! ha! ha!-Taint no wonder, for they eat every thing under the Heavens. In my day, I never heerd uv no such thing as chickin saliit-and dev'ld crabs and tarry pin-why 'ts enough ter kill the old Harry. I happened to be daown ter Concord tother day, un abaout noon I tell ye, I got putty hungry. I was lookin raound for suthin ter eat, un see'd the sign uv "Restyrunt." I went in un sot daown to a little table bacut's big's yer hand, un putty soon a black feller come along, un sez he, wot'l yer have? I looked at him considable sharp, un said,-sez I, wal, vittles, I guess! ha! ha! ha! I dunno wot under Heavens he thought I was there arter, 'thout 'twas for suthin ter eat.

Ef I should live till next Jinnywary, I spose I shall be eighty-three year old,-un I can git from bed ter ure putty handy yit, with a little piece er carpet on the foor. Hi! hil hi!-But I tell 'em I aint goin ter do much

more hard work. The young folks can do the work naow -I guess I've done abaout my sheer-ha! ha! ha!Miss Pillsbury sez sometimes, she's moast afraid we shall hev ter go to the poor-house-but I tell her I guess we shall manage ter keep aout somehow or nuther.

Yes, I calculate ter take things putty easy. I doant do much but walk raound and look at the boys a little. They was a mowin the old Spring-piece tother day, and I said ter my oldest son, Isaiah-Isaiah sez I-I'll bate yeou the best caow in the barn, I ken mow raound the old Spring-piece quicker'n you can ter save yer gizzard.— Wal, he didn't take me up-not ret away, ha! ha! ha! I think's jes like as not, I sh'd a gin aout by the time I got to the lower bars, but I'd a gin him a pull at the start, by Jehewkabus. Ha! ha! ha!-I was daown ter the store tuther day lookin raound, and I sez to Mr. Jones, sez I, what are you a taxin for your merlassis? Wal, he said he had some good for twenty-eight cents a garlon-but the best, sez he, is thirty-cents. Sez I, you may give me a quart uv the best-the best is good enough for me-ha! ha-He ask'd me ef I chawed as much terbacker as I used ter? I told him I guessed-I guessed I chawed a leetle more ef anything-hi! hi! hi!-He said he had some thet be could reecommend. I told him I ginerally-I ginerally got the caum'n pigtail terbacker, and soaked it in a leetle whiskey un merlassis, un one thing another, un it was as good terbacker as I want ter chaw-hil hil hi!

LEARNING TO PRAY.--MARY E. DODGE.

KNEELING, fair in the twilight gray,

A beautiful child was trying to pray;

His cheek on his mother's knee,
His bare little feet half hidden,
His smile still coming unbidden,

And his heart brimful of glee.

"I want to laugh. Is it naughty? Say,
O mamma! I've had such fun to-day
I hardly can say my prayers.

I don't feel just like praying;

I want to be out-doors playing, And run, all undressed, down stairs.

"I can see the flowers in the garden-bed,
Shining so pretty, and sweet, and red;
And Sammy is swinging, I guess,
Oh! everything is so fine out there,
I want to put it all in the prayer,-
Do you mean I can do it by Yes?'

"When I say, 'Now I lay me -word for word,
It seems to me as if nobody heard.
Would 'Thank you, dear God,' be right?

He gave me my mammy,

And papa, and Sammy

O mamma! you nodded I might."

Clasping his hands and hiding his face,
Unconsciously yearning for help and grace,
The little one now began;

His mother's nod and sanction sweet
Had led him close to the dear Lord's feet,
And his words like music ran:

"Thank you for making this home so nice, The flowers, and my two white mice,

I wish I could keep right on;

I thank you, too, for every day-
Only I'm 'most too glad to pray,
Dear God, I think I'm done.

"Now, mamma, rock me-just a minute-
And sing the hymn with 'darling' in it.
I wish I could say my prayers!

When I get big, I know I can.

Oh! won't it be nice to be a man,

And stay all night down stairs !"

The mother, singing, clasped him tight,
Kissing and cooing her fond "Good-night."
And treasured his every word.

For well she knew that the artless joy
And love of her precious, innocent boy,
Were a prayer that her Lord had heard.

Hearth and Home.