One wintry night when the sun had set,

A blind old man by the way he met;

66

Now, good Sir Knight, for our Lady's sake,
On the sightless wanderer pity take!

The wind blows cold, and the sun is down;
Lead me, I pray, till I reach the town."
"Nay," said the knight, "I cannot wait;
I ride in haste to do something great."

So on he rode in his armor bright,

His sword all keen for the longed-for fight.
"Laugh with us-laugh!" cried the merry crowd.
"Oh, weep!" wailed others with sorrow bowed.
'Help us!" the weak and weary prayed.

66

But for joy, nor grief, nor need he stayed.
And the years rolled on, and his eyes grew dim,
And he died—and none made moan for him.

He missed the good that he might have done;
He missed the blessings he might have won:
Seeking some glorious task to find,
His eyes to all humbler work were blind.
He that is faithful in that which is least
Is bidden to sit at the heavenly feast;
Yet men and women lament their fate,

If they be not called to do something great.

NEW YORK TRIBUNE.

FARMER STEBBINS AT OCEAN GROVE. DEAR BROTHER JOHN:

We got here safe-my worthy wife an' me

An' pitched our tents within a grove contig'us to the

sea;

We've harvested such means of grace as growed within our reach;

We've 'tended all the mornin' talks, we've heard the Bishop preach;

An' everything went pleasantly, until we had a whim My wife and I-one breezy day, to take an ocean swim.

We wouldn't ha' vent'red on't, I think, if Sister Sunny

hopes

Hadn't urged us over an' ag'in, an' said she knew the

ropes,

An' told how safe an' sweet it was in ocean rills to

lave,"

An' "sport within the foaming surf," and "ride the crested wave;"

An' so we went along with her-my timid wife an' meTwo inland noodles, for our first acquaintance with the

sea.

They put me in a work-day rig, as us'ally is done-
A wampus and short overhauls all sewed up into one.
I had to pull an' fuss an' jerk to make the things go
'round

(You are aware my peaceful weight will crowd three hundred pound).

They took my wig an' laid it up-to keep it safe, they said

An' strapped a straw-sack of a hat on my devoted head.

They put my wife into a dress too short by full a third'Twas some'at in the "Bloomer" style, an looked a bit absurd.

You know she's rather tall an' slim-somewhat my opposite―

An' clothes that are not cut for her are likely not to fit; But as we was we vent'red in-my faithful wife and

me

An' formed our first acquaintance with the inconsistent

sea.

Miss Sunnyhopes she went ahead, a-lookin' trim an'

sweet;

She'd had her bathin' suit all fixed an' trimmed from head to feet;

An' I went out an' grabbed the rope, just as she told

me to;

An' wife come next, a-lookin' scared, scarce knowin' what to do.

But Sister Sunnyhopes to me a smile o' sweetness gave, An' said: "Now watch your chance, an' jump-here comes a lovely wave!"

I must ha' jumped, I ruther think, the wrong time 'a the moon;

At any rate, the lovely wave occurred to me too soon.
It took me solid, with a rude an' unexpected shock;
It beat the stoutest pair 'o horns there is in all iny flock,
An' then, to top the circus out, an' make the act more
fine,

I tried to kick the lovely wave, relinquishin' the line.

On county fair an' 'lection days, in walkin' through a crowd,

I'm rather firm to jostle 'gainst-perhaps it makes me proud;

But if it does, that wave discoursed how sureness never

pays;

An' seemed to shout: "How small is man, no odds how much he weighs!"

It sat on me, it jumped on me, in spite of right or law, An' whisked and whirled me all about as if I'd been a

straw.

An' then it laid me on the beach, right thankful for my

life;

An' scramblin' up, I gave a gaze to find my faithful

wife;

But she had sort o' cut the wave, with all the edge she

had,

An' stood a holdin' to the rope, uncommon moist and

sad;

While Sister Sunny hopes, with smiles, was lookin' proud and gay,

A-floatin' on her dainty back, some several rods away.

She looked so newish-pretty there (an' knowed it too, the elf),

The crowd was all admirin' her, an' so was I myself.
An' while again I grasped the line beside my wife of

truth,

My eyes would rove to Sister S., her beauty an' her

youth;

When all at once another wave, tremendous, broad, and

deep,

Come smashin' down on wife an' me, an' tossed us in a heap.

Heels over head, all in a bunch, my wife across o' me, An' I on some unlucky folks who happened there to be My hat untied an' floated off, an' left my bald head

bare.

;

When we got out, if I'd ha' spoke, it would ha' warmed the air.

We drank a good part of the sea-my gaspin' wife

an' I

While Sister S. still floated soft, a-gazin' at the sky.

We voted that we'd got enough, an' crawled out of the

way

Before another wave arrived, an' bid the sea good day. We looked as like two drowned rats as ever such was called,

With one of 'em a mighty fool, particularly bald.
But, like a woman true, she said-my watchful wife-

to me:

"We will not mind; there's others here that looks as bad as we.'

Now Sister Sunnyhopes, by-'n'by, came back into our

tent,

As sleek or sleeker than before, and asked us when we

went.

Says I: "My dear good Sister S., please do not now

pretend

You did not see our v'yage through, an' mark its dole

ful end.

If you would play the mermaid fair, why, such I'd have you be;

But we're too old to take that part-my faithful wife

an' me."

WILL CARLETON,

In Harper's Weekly.

TOUSSAINT L'OUVERTURE.

IF I were to tell you the story of Napoleon, I should take it from the lips of Frenchmen, who find no language rich enough to paint the great captain of the nineteenth century. Were I to tell you the story of Washington, I should take it from your hearts-you, who think no marble white enough on which to carve the name of the Father of his Country. But I am to tell you the story of a negro, Toussaint L'Ouverture, who has left hardly one written line. I am to glean it from the reluctant testimony of his enemies, men who despised him because he was a negro and a slave, hated him because he had beaten them in battle.

the

Cromwell manufactured his own army. Napoleon, at age of twenty-seven, was placed at the head of the best troops Europe ever saw. Cromwell never saw an army till he was forty; this man never saw a soldier till he was fifty. Cromwell manufactured his own armyout of what? Englishmen-the best blood in Europe. Out of the middle class of Englishmen-the best blood of the island. And with it he conquered what? Englishmen-their equals. This man manufactured his army out of what? Out of what you call the despicable race of negroes, debased, demoralized by two hundred years of slavery, one hundred thousand of them imported into the island within four years, unable to speak a dialect