So she didn't take it; but what fetched me was to think how many times I'd done such mean, onreliable little things to turn a penny, and all the time sayin' and prayin' that I wanted to be like Christ. I kep' a-trippin' of myself up all day jest in the ordinary Business, and I was a peg lower down when night come than I was a Thursday. I'd ruther, as far as the hard work is concerned, lay a mile of four-foot stone wall than undertake to do a man's livin' Christian duty for twelve workin' hours; and the heft of that is, it's because I ain't used to it, and I ought to be. "So this mornin' come around, and I felt a might more cherk. 'Twas missionary mornin', and seemed as if 'twas a sight more easier to preach than to practice. I thought I'd begin to old Mis' Vedder's. So I put a Testament in my pocket and knocked to her door. Says I, ‘Good-mornin', ma'am,' and then I stopped. Words seemed to hang, somehow. I didn't want to pop right out that I'd come over to try 'n convert her folks. I hemmed and swallered a little, and fin'lly I said, says I, 'We don't see you to meetin' very frequent, Mis' Vedder.'" 666 'No, you don't!' ses she, as quick as a wink. 'I stay to home and mind my business.' 66 Well, we should like to have you come along with us and do ye good," says I sort of conciliatin'. "Look a here, deacon!' she snapped; I've lived alongside of you fifteen year, and you knowed I never went to meetin'; we ain't a pious lot, and you knowed it; we'er poorer'n death and uglier'n sin. Jim he drinks and swears, and Malviny do'no her letters. She knows a heap she hadn't ought to, besides. Now, what are you a-comin' here to-day for, I'd like to know, and talkin' so glib about meetin'? Go to meetin'! I'll go or come jest as I please, for all you. Now get out o' this!' Why, she come at me with a broomstick. There wasn't no need on't; what she said was enough. I hadn't never asked her or hern to so much as think of goodness before. Then I went to another place jest like that—I won't call no more names-and sure enough there was ten children in rags, the hull of 'em, and the man half drunk. He giv' it to me, too; and I don't wonder. I'd never lifted a hand to serve nor save 'em before in all these years. I'd said consider'ble about the heathen in foreign parts, and give some little for to convert 'em, and I looked right over the heads of them that was next door. Seemed as if I could hear Him say, 'These ought ye to have done, and not have left the other undone." I couldn't face another soul to-day, brethren. I come home and here I be. I've been searched through and through and found wantin'. God be merciful to me a sinner!" He dropped into his seat, and bowed his head; and many others bent, also. It was plain that the deacon's experience was not the only one among the brethren. ROSE TERRY COOKE. THE FLAG'S BIRTHDAY. THE sails were out that morning for Independence Day, The air was mad with music, and every masthead gay With straining flags and pennants that fluttered to be free, And cast a bright reflection upon the sunny sea. Up spoke the lad beside me, with brave, brown eyes aflame: "O, mother! can you tell me the gallant hero's name Who flung this starry banner from ship or fortress wall Full in the face of tyrants, the very first of all ?" My boy, do you remember how many a cloudless night You've watched the vaulted heaven flash, star by star, alight, The Pole-star's steady beacon, the Pleiad's mild accord, Or fierce Orion gleaming with fiery belt and sword? So the old patriot fathers, up to the same far skies, Raised in the sleepless midnight their weary, anxious eyes Fain with the God of nations in silent prayer to speak, Who fights with proud oppressors the battles of the weak. And when in grave assemblage, beneath that storied tower Whose throbbing bell had sounded the nation's natal hour, The care-worn Congress gathered, in faith that reached sublime, To hear the march of freedom adown the field of time. "Choose we," they said, "a standard, that, till the sun grow pale, And summer time and winter and seed and harvest fail, Red, for the price of freedom bled from the patriot's heart, White for his soul and honor, which life nor death could part, Across the virgin banner the thirteen stripes they drew, And left above, unsullied, a field of heavenly blue. 66 Now, as the stars above us together show His praise Who set them in their courses and marked their track less ways, Let thus upon our banner our states united shine, And a new constellation proclaim the Hand divine !" This said they in the council-these men of faith and deed And bade the scribe record it that friend and foe might read; The waiting west wind answered and waves that beat in tune, In seventeen seventy-seven, in the pleasant month of June. Spoke Paul Jones of the Ranger—a gallant captain he"To-day, my valiant comrades, our good bark puts to sea. This be her boast forever while keel shall cut the wave That first she wore these colors-the flag-ship of the brave!" He sailed adown the harbor while from the mast-head flew The Stars and Stripes untarnished-the red and white and blue! "God smite him," cried the captain, "with all the blasts that blow, Who dares to strike that banner in face of any foe!" On o'er the broad Atlantic he caught the trade-wind fair, And braved the angry Lion within his island lair; Up the blue Firth of Solway, on the bright river Dee, Lord Selkirk's proud retainers before him bent the knee. High soared the flag as backward he turned his prow again To meet the host of Britain upon the open mainWhere 'mid the roar of battle, the billows' foam and surge, Went down before that banner the standard of St. George! Loud rang the shouts of welcome the people raised that day They saw the gallant cruiser come beating up the bay, Her conquering colors tattered and rent by shot and gale Sign of a storm-tossed Union whose cause should vet prevail ! The fathers of the nation sleep in their honored graves; The Ranger's dauntless captain no more may sail the waves; Yet o'er the land of freemen, unvexed by foreign foe, Still floats the flag they lifted a hundred years ago! O Thou whose hand almighty throughout the ages holds The hands that bear that standard may never bribe allure, The lips that swear it fealty with Thine own truth be pure! So shall it wave, the symbol of love that knows not race, But in each human brother's discerns the Father's face! MARY A. P. STANSBURY, In Our Youth. A RUSSIAN COURTSHIP. "BE mine," said the ardent young Sawmilegoff, In a voice with emotion quite husky, "My fondest devotion, oh, please do not scoff, Katinka Pojakaroulski !" 66 Techernyschevsky, my friend," the shy maiden replied, "Your people are noble and rich. Would a Golgusoff's granddaughter be a fit bride For a nephew of Maximovitch ?" "I care not a kopeck!" he said. "In my droshky At the wealth of a Klitkin or Overhauloshk', |