On the evening in question, the little village-church was filled to overflowing. For the three hours previous to the time when he was to open his address, Agnew had been repeating it over and over again, in order to have every word perfect in his memory. But as the period drew near, he felt more and more nervous. There was a weight on his breast, and a dry, choking sensation in his throat. On entering the church, and finding it so crowded with spectators, Agnew's knees began to tremble; and when he searched about in his mind for the opening portion of his address, it was no where to be found.

Seating himself on the platform temporarily erected for the purposes of the evening, he awaited, in a state of nervous anxiety, the conclusion of the preliminary ceremonies, still searching, but in vain, for the clue to his oration. Not a single portion of his intended speech could he remember, try as he would to recall it.

At last the time came. tation through the assembly. ing, in the trembling hope speech would come, he said, with as steady a voice as he could assume,

There was deep hush of expec

All eyes were upon him. Risthat, at the last moment, his

Just at that moment, the door of the church opened, and a man who sold liquor and had done more to corrupt and demoralize the young men of the village than any one in it, entered, and, with a look of defiance, walked boldly down the aisle, and took his seat just in front of the young speaker. As he did so, he perceived Agnew's embarrassment, and gave a chuckle of enjoyment.

"Mr. President," said the speaker, as the liquor-seller thus noted his confusion. His voice was steadier than before. "It is related, that, in old times, when the sons of the Lord came up to worship, Satan came also."

He paused, looking steadily at the tavern-keeper; and the eyes of the whole congregation followed his gaze.

"It is also said," he continued, "that there is joy in heaven over one sinner that repenteth. Happily, Satan cannot now appear among us in bodily form. Many who have served Satan, however, are here, but I sincerely trust as the repentant sinners over whom heaven rejoices."

Thus opening, extemporaneously, he continued, turning his reference to the liquor-seller to such good account as tc disarm his resentment, while he deeply interested both him and the whole audience. His address was most admirable, yet not a line of what he had prepared was uttered.

When he sat down and the pledge was presented, the old liquor-seller was the first to sign. So much for Agnew's first oration. He has made many since; but none that will be remembered in Lyonville as long as his maiden speech.

S. A.

WHY DON'T HE COME.

WHY don't he come ?-the morning light,

In amber rays, break from the east; He said he would come back last night, Nor tarry at the midnight feast.

Ah, that the revel and the song

Should lure him from my smiles away,

The vigil why did he prolong
In politician's idle fray?

When the last evening's hymn was sung,
My babes a wondering silence kept,
And with his name upon its tougue,
Each little innocent has slept.

Until the waning moon was high,
A silent watch I here did keep;
But slow, the long, long hours went by,
And I retired, alone to weep.

I see him not-he little knows

The pain this faithful heart must feel ;
Oh, that his own may find repose,
Nor be consumed by party zeal.

The sun is up-yet he comes not,
To light with joy our peaceful home;
These revels are with ruin fraught—

I wonder why he does not come !

MIMOSA

BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS.

FROM MISS BREMER.

CHRISTMAS IN SWEDEN.-How cold, how gloomy it is! The window-panes are covered with ice; the morning twilight extends its hand to the evening twilight, and the dark night entombs the day. In Norland, however, the mid-day has a few bright moments; the sun sheds still a few feeble beams, then he quickly disappears and it becomes dark. Farther up in the country people know nothing more of day-the night endures for months.

They say in the North, that "Nature sleeps," but this sleep resembles death; like death, it is cold and ghastly, and would obscure the heart of man, did not another light descend at the same time—if it did not open to the heart a warmer bosom and animate it with its life. In Sweden they know this very well, and while every thing sleeps and dies in nature, all is set in motion in all hearts and homes for the celebration of a festival. Ye know it well, ye industrious daughters of home, ye who strain your hands and eyes by lamplight quite late into the night to prepare presents. You know it well, you sons of the house, you who bite your nails in order to puzzle out "what in all the world" you shall choose for Christmas presents. Thou knowest it well, thou fair child, who hast no other anxiety than lest the Christ

man should loose his way and pass by thy door. You know it well, you fathers and mothers, with empty purses and full hearts; ye aunts and cousins of the great and immortal race of needlewomen and workers in wool-ye welcome and unwelcome uncles and male cousins, ye know it well, this time of mysterious countenances and treacherous laughter! In the houses of the rich, fat roasts are prepared and dried fish; sausages pour forth their fat, and tarts puff themselves up; nor is there any hut so poor as not to have at this time a sucking-pig squeaking in it, which must endeavor, for the greater part, to grow fat with its own good humor.

It is quite otherwise with the elements at this season. The cold reigns despotically; it holds all life fettered in nature; restrains the heaving of the sea's bosom; destroys every sprouting grass blade; forbids the birds to sing and the gnats to sport; and only its minister, the powerful north wind, rolls freely forth into gray space, and takes heed that every thing keeps itself immoveable and silent. The sparrows only those optimists of the air-remain merry, and appear by their twittering to announce better times.

The

At length comes the darkest moments of the year, the midnight hour of nature; and suddenly light streams forth from all habitations and emulates the stars of heaven. church opens its bosom full of brightness and thanksgiving, and the children shout, full of gladness, "It is Christmas! it is Christmas!" Earth sends her hallelujah on high!

And wherefore this "A Child is born!" a lowly manger, he has sung, "Peace on earth!"

light, this joy, this thanksgiving? A child! In the hour of night, in been born; and angels have also

This is the festival which shall be