A sort of apostolic salt,
That popish parsons for its powers
exalt,

For keeping souls of sinners sweet,
Just as our kitchen salt keeps meat.

The knaves set off on the same day,
Peas in their shoes, to go and pray;
But very different was their speed,
I wot:

One of the sinners galloped on,
Light as a bullet from a gun;
The other limped as if he had been
shot.

One saw the Virgin, soon—peccati cried —

Had his soul whitewashed all so clever;

When home again he nimbly hied. Made fit with saints above to live for ever.

In coming back, however, let me say,

He met his brother rogue about halfway —

Hobbling with outstretched hands

and bending knees, Cursing the souls and bodies of the

peas:

His eyes in tears, his cheeks and brows in sweat,

Deep sympathizing with his groaning feet.

"How now!" the light-toed whitewashed pilgrim broke, "You lazy lubber!" "You see it!" cried the other, "'tis

no joke; My feet once hard as any rock, Are now as soft as blubber.

"But, brother sinner, do explain How 'tis that you are not in pain — What power hath work'd a wonder

for your toes — Whilst I, just like a snail, am

crawling

Now groaning, now on saints

devoutly bawling, Whilst not a rascal comes to ease my

woes?

"How is't that you can like a greyhound go, Merry as if nought had happened, burn ye?" "Why," cried the other, grinning, "you must know, That just before I ventured on my journey, To walk a little more at ease, I took the liberty to boil my peas!"

THE EGGS AND THE HORSES. A MATRIMONIAL EPIC.

John Donnins was so captivated By Mary Trueman's fortune, face, and cap,

(With near two thousand pounds the hook was baited),

That in he popped to matrimony's trap.

One small ingredient towards happiness,

It seems ne'er occupied a single thought;

For his accomplished bride Appearing well supplied With the three charms of riches, beauty, dress, He did not, as he ought, Think of aught else; so no inquiry made he As to the temper of his lady.

And here was certainly a great omission;

None should accept of Hymen's gentle fetter,

"For worse or better," [tion, Whatever be their prospect or condi

Without acquaintance with each other's nature; For many a mild and quiet creature

Of charming disposition, Alas! by thoughtless marriage has

destroyed it. So take advice; let girls dress e'er so

tastily,

Don't enter into wedlock hastily
Unless you can't avoid it.

Week followed week, and it must

be confest, The bridegroom and the bride had

both been blest; Month after month had languidly transpired, Both parties became tired: Year after year dragged on; Their happiness wi

Ah! foolish pair!
"Bear and forbear"
Should be the rule for married folks
to take.

But blind mankind (poor discon-
tented elves)!
Too often make
The misery of themselves.

At length the husband said, "This

will not do! Mary, I never will be ruled by you;

So, wife, d' ye see?
To live together as we can't agree,
Suppose we part!"
With woman's pride,
Mary replied,
"With all my heart!"

John Dobbins then to Mary's father

goes.

And gives the list of his imagined woes.

"Dear son-in-law!" the father said, "I see

All is quite true that you've been

telling me; Yet there in marriage is such strange fatality, That when as much of life You shall have seen

As it has been My lot to see, I think you'll own your wife

As good or better than the generality.

An interest in your case I really take.

And therefore gladly this agreement make:

An hundred eggs w ithin the basket lie,

With which your luck, to-morrow,

you shall try; Also my five best horses, with my

cart;

And from the farm at dawn you shall depart. All round the country go. And be particular, I beg; Where husbands rule, a horse bestow,

But where the wives, an egg. And if the horses go before the eggs.

I'll ease you of your wife,—I will..- l'fegs!"

Away the married man departed Brisk and light-hearted: Not doubting that, of course. The first five houses each would take a horse. At the first house he knocked, He felt a little shocked To hear a female voice, with angry roar,

Scream out, — " Hullo! who's there below? Why, husband, are you deaf? go to the door. See who it is, I beg." Our poor friend John Trudged quickly on, But first laid at the door an egg.

I will not all his journey through The discontented traveller pursue;

Suffice it here to say That when his first day's task was

nearly done. He'd seen an hundred husbands,

minus one. And eggs just ninety-nine had given

away.

"Ha! there's a house where he I seek must dwell,"

At length cried John: "I'll go and ring the bell."

The servant came, — John asked him, "Pray,

Friend, is your master in the way?"

"No," said the man, with smiling phiz, "My master is not, but my mistress is;

Walk in that parlor, sir, my

lady's in it: Master will be himself there — in

a minute." The lady said her husband then was

dressing,

And, if his business was not very pressing.

She would prefer that he should wait until

His toilet was completed; Adding, "Pray, sir, be seated." "Madam, I will." Said John, with great politeness; "but I own That you alone Can tell me all I wish to know; Will you do so? Pardon my rudeness And just have the goodness (A wager to decide) to tell me — do —

Who governs in this house, — your spouse or you?"

"Sir," said the lady, with a

doubting nod, "Your question's very odd; But as I think none ought to be Ashamed to do their duty, do

you see? On that account I scruple not to

say

It always is my pleasure to obey.
But here's my husband (always

sad without me);
Take not my word, but ask him,

if you doubt me."

"Sir," said the husband, "'t is most true;

I promise you, A more obedient, kind, and gentle woman Does not exist." "Give us your fist," Said John, "and. as the case is something more than common, Allow me to present you with a beast

Worth fifty guineas at the very least.

"There's Smiler, sir, a beauty, you
must own,
There's Prince, that handsome
black,

Ball the gray mare, and Saladin the
roan,
Besides old Dunn;
Come, sir, choose one;
But take advice from me,
Let Prince be he;
Why, sir, you'll look a hero on his
back."

"I'll take the black, and thank you too."

"Nay, husband, that will never do;

You, know, you've often heard
me say

How much I long to have a gray;
And this one will exactly do for
me."
"No, no." said he,
"Friend, take the four others
back,

And only leave the black."
"Nay, husband, I declare
I must have the gray mare:"
Adding (with gentle force),
"The gray mare is, I'm sure, the
better horse."

"Well, if it must be so. — good sir,

The gray mare we prefer; So we accept your gift." John made a leg:

"Allowme to present you with an egg; 'Tis my last egg remaining, The cause of my regaining, I trust the fond affection of my wife, Whom I will love the better all my life.

"Home to content has her kind father brought me;

I thank him for the lesson he has taught me."

DOCTOR DROLLHEAD'S CURE.

Three weeks to a day had old Doctor
Drollhead
Attended Miss Debby Keepill;
Three weeks to a day had she lain in
her bed
Defying his marvellous skill.

She put out her tongue for the twenty-
first time,
But it looked very much as it
should;

Her pulse with the doctor's scarce failed of a rhyme, As a matter of course, it was good.

To-day has this gentleman happened to see —

Very strange he's not done it before —

That the way to recovery simply must be

Right out of this same chamberdoor.

So he said, " Leave your bed, dear
Miss Keepill, I pray;
Keep the powders and pills, if you
must,

But the color of health will not long
stay away
If you exercise freely, I trust."

"Why, doctor! of all things, when I am so weak That scarce from my bed can I stir.

Of color and exercise thus will you speak?

Of what are you thinking, dear sir?"

"That a fright is the cure, my good lady, for you," He said to himself and the wall, And to frighten her, what did the doctor do. But jump into bed, boots and all!

And as in jumped he, why then out jumped she, Like a hare, except for the pother, And shockingly shocked, pray who wouldn't be? Ran, red as a rose, to her mother.

Doctor Drollhead, meanwhile, is happily sure, Debby owes a long life just to him;

And vows he's discovered a capital cure

For the bedrid when tied by a whim.

At any rate, long, long ago this occurred,

And Debby is not with the dead; But in pretty good health, 't may be

gently inferred. Since she makes all the family

bread.

Berkeley Aiken.

VNCROWNED KINGS.

O Ye uncrowned but kingly kings! Made royal by the brain and heart; Of all earth's wealth the noblest part,

Yet reckoned nothing in the mart Where men know naught but sordid

things — All hail to you, most kingly kings!

O ye uncrowned but kindly kings! Whose breath and words of living flame

Have waked slave-nations from their shame,

And bid them rise in manhood's name, —

Swift as the curved bow backward

springs — To follow you, most kingly kings!

O ye uncrowned but kingly kings! Whose strong right arm hath oft been bared

Where fire of righteous battle glared. And where all odds of wrong ye dared! —

To think on you the heart upsprings, O ye uncrowned but kingly kings!

O ye uncrowned but kingly kings! Whose burning songs like lava poured,

Have smitten like a two-edged sword Sent forth by Heaven's avenging Lord

To purge the earth where serfdom clings

To all but you, O kingly kings!

O ye uncrowned but kingly kings!
To whose ecstatic gaze alone
The beautiful by Heaven is shown.
And who have made it all your own;
Your lavish hand around us flings
Earth's richest wreaths, O noble
kings!

O ye uncrowned but kingly kings!
The heart leaps wildly at your

thought; And the brain fires as if it caught shreds of your mantle; ye have

fought

Not vainly, if your glory brings
A lingering light to earth, O kings!

O ye uncrowned but kingly kings!
Whose souls on Marah's fruit did sup,
And went in fiery chariots up
When each had drained his hemlock
cup, —

Ye priests of God, but tyrants' stings, Uncrowned but still the kingliest kings!

Annie R. Annan.

RECOMPENSE.

The summer coaxed me to be glad,
Entreating with the primrose hue
Of sunset skies, with downward calls
From viewless larks, with winds
that blew
The red-tipped clover's breast abroad,

And told the mirth of waterfalls; In vain! my heart would not be wooed

From the December of its mood.