Then go to your hovel-no raven has fed The wife that has suffered too long for her bread; And bless, while it smites you, the chastening rod; DARKEY'S COUNSEL TO THE NEWLY MARRIED. EDMUND KIRKE. My chil'ren, lub one anoder; bar wid one anoder; be faithful ter one anoder. You hab started on a long jour ney; many rough places am in de road; many trubbles will spring up by de wayside; but gwo on hand an' hand togedder; lub one anoder, an' no matter what come onter you, you will be happy-for lub will sweeten ebery sorrer, lighten ebery load, make de sun shine in eben de bery cloudiest wedder. I knows it will, my chil'ren, 'case I'se been ober de groun'. Ole Aggy an' I hab trabbled de road. Hand in hand we hab gone ober de rocks; fru de mud; in de hot burning sand; been out togedder in de cole, an' de rain, an' de storm, fur nigh onter forty yar, but we hab clung to one anoder; an' fru ebery ting in do bery darkest days, de sun ob joy an' peace hab broke fru de clouds, an' sent him bressed rays inter our hearts. We started jess like two young saplin's you's seed a growin side by side in de woods. At fust we seemed 'way part fur de brambles, an' de tick bushes, an' de ugly forns [dem war our bad ways]-war atween us; but lub, like de sun, shone down on us, an' we grow'd. We grow'd till our heads got above de bushes; till dis little branch, an' dat little branch-dem war our holy feelin'sput out toward one anoder, an' we come closer an' closer togedder. An' dough we'm ole trees now, an' sometime de wind blow, an' de storm rage fru de tops, an' freater ter tear off de limbs, an' ter pull up de bery roots, we' growin closer an' closer, an' nearer an' nearer togedder ebery day-an' soon de ole tops will meet; soon de ole branches, all cobered ober wid de gray moss, will twine roun' one anoder; soon de two ole trees will come toged. der, an' grow inter one foreber-grow inter one up dar in de sky, whar de wind neber'll blow, whar de storm neber'll beat; whar we shill blossom an' bar fruit to de glory ob de Lord, an' in His heabenly kingdom foreber! Amen. THE BALANCE WHEEL.-E. R. COATES. THE world, so full of talent, Will be nearer full of right, When people do the best they can, And, while we talk of doing, There's a point I would reveal; You make an even speed, if you Some folks are ever preaching, They'd have you practice what they say, You never see example Of the holy things they feel; They have no moral power, For they have no-balance wheel. Brown thinks, if he is social, That his wealth is sure to grow; He button-holes you just the time He's thick with all the sporting men, That Brown's a clever fellow, But he lacks-a balance wheel. Smith tries the game of dignity He needs a balance wheel. Tom vows he will be practical, Yet he works away with zeal, A scholar says that learning He studies morning, noon, and night, His head is full of wisdom That he never will reveal; So mark him down as nothing Bill forms a resolution; He is bound to make a sum," By "giving in" to ev'ry man, He's never slow with "Yes" and "No," And slip'ry as an eel: His neighbors say he is a flat, And lacks-a balance wheel. Sam hates the name of weathercock, If he should find his error, No wonder that so many fail They take the stuff for one great man Or venturing beyond their depth, The world, so full of talent, If we would run the engine With its whole effective might; And though we're doing wonders, We would greater things reveal, If on the apparatus Each would hang-a balance wheel. ON THE TOWN.-R. H. STODDARD. THE lamps are lighted, the streets are full, They jostle each other, but shrink from me. Women pass by with their eyes cast down, Even the children seem to know The shameless girl of the town. Hated and shunned, I walk the street, For this nightly shame is my daily bread ;- The world is cruel. It may be right What had I to gain by a moment's sin, To weigh in the scale with my innocent years, My womanly shame, my ruined name, My father's curses, my mother's tears? The love of a man! It was something to give Was it worth it? The price was a soul paid down, Did I get a soul-his soul-in exchange? Behold me here on the town! "Your guilt was heavy," the world will say, "And heavy, heavy your doom must be; For, to pity and pardon a woman's fall, You undervalue the virgin's crown, The spotless honor that makes her dear ;"But I ought to know what the bauble is worth, When the loss of it brings me here. HH But, pity and pardon! Who are you, Let both be punished or both go free. What is it in man, now? Come, be just; (Remember she falls through her love for him, He, through his selfish lust!) Tell me what is done to the wretch Who tempts and riots in woman's fall? His father curses, and casts him off? His friends forsake? He is scorned of all? Not he; his judges are men like himself, Or thoughtless women who humor their whim; "Young blood," "wild oats," "better hush it up," They soon forget it-in him! Even his mother, who ought to know The woman-nature and how it is won, Frames a thousand excuses for him, Because, forsooth, the man is her son. You have daughters, madam (he told me so), Fair, innocent daughters,-"Woman, what then P I saw his coach in the street to-day She was bought in the mart where hearts are sold; I gave myself away for his love, She sold herself for his gold. He lives, they say, in a princely way, Flattered and feasted. One dark night, I saw the windows a blaze of light; Back to my gaudy den I went, Marched to my room in grim despair, |