And to win the glittering prize,
Paddle your own canoe.

Would you wrest the wreath of fame
From the hand of fate,

Would you write a deathless name,

With the good and great;

Would you bless your fellow men?

Heart and soul imbue

With the holy task, and then
Paddle your own canoe.

Would you crush the tryant wrong
In the world's fierce fight?
With a spirit brave and strong,

Battle for the right;

And to break the chains that bind

The many to the few

To enfranchise slavish mind,

Paddle your own canoe.

Nothing great is lightly won,
Nothing won is lost;

Every good deed nobly done

Will repay the cost.

Leave to heaven, in humble trust,

All you will to do;

But if you succeed, you must

Paddle your own canoe.

MRS. SARAH T. BOLTON.

POPPING CORN.

And there they sat, a popping corn,
John Styles and Susan Cutter-

John Styles as fat as any ox,

And Susan fat as butter.

And there they sat and shelled the corn,
And raked and stirred the fire,

And talked of different kinds of care,
And hitched their chairs up nigher.

Then Susan she the popper shook,
Then John he shook the popper,
Till both their faces grew as red
As saucepans made of copper.

And then they shelled, and popped, and ate,
All kinds of fun a-poking,

While he haw-hawed at her remarks,
And she laughed at his joking.

And still they popped, and still they ate-
John's mouth was like a hopper-
And stirred the fire, and sprinkled salt,
And shook and shook the popper.

The clock struck nine-the clock struck ten,
And still the corn kept popping;

It struck eleven, and then struck twelve,
And still no signs of stopping.

And John he ate, and Sue she thought-
The corn did pop and patter-
Till John cried out, "The corn's a fire!
Why, Susan, what's the matter?"

Said she, "John Styles, it's one o'clock;
You'll die of indigestion,

I'm sick of all this popping corn

Why don't you pop the question?”

ANONYMOUS.

SPEECH OBITUARY.

Nothing could more thoroughly impress us with the fact, that it is pretty impossible to communicate to others those ideas "whereof

we ourselves are not possess-ed of," than the following funeral discourse, which was recently delivered in the Florida House of Repre sentatives. The duty of making it was voluntarily assumed, and even insisted upon, by the speaker, to the no small wonder of the House, his utter incompetency being notorious:

"Mr. Speaker: Sir! Our fellow citizen, Mr. Silas Higgins, who was lately a member of this branch of the Legislature, is dead, and he died yesterday in the forenoon. He had the brown-creaters (bronchitis was meant), and was an uncommon individual. His character was good up to the time of his death, and he never lost his voice. He was fifty-six year old, and was taken sick before he died at his boarding-house, where board can be had at a dollar and seventy-five cents a week, washing and lights included. He was an ingenus creetur, and in the early part of his life had a father and mother. He was an officer in our State militia since the last war, and was brave and polite: and his uncle, Timothy Higgins, belonged to the Revolutionary war, and was commissioned as lieutenant by General Washington, first President and commander-in-chief of the army and navy of the United States, who died at Mount Vernon, deeply lamented by a large circle of friends, on the 14th of December, 1799, or thereabout, and was buried soon after his death, with military honors, and several guns were bu'st in firing salutes.

"Sir! Mr. Speaker: General Washington presided over the great continental Sanhedrim and political meeting that formed our constitution: and he was indeed a first-rate good man. He was first in war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of his countrymen: and, though he was in favor of the United States' Bank, he was a friend of edication: and from what he said in his farewell address, I have no doubt he would have voted for the tariff of 1846, if he had been alive, and hadn't ha' died some time beforehand. His death was considered, at the time, as rather premature, on account of its being brought on by a very hard cold.

"Now, Mr. Speaker, such being the character of General Washington, I motion that we wear crape around the left arm of this Legislature, and adjourn until to-morrow morning, as an emblem of our respects for the memory of S. Higgins, who is dead, and died of the brown-creaters yesterday in the forenoon."

352

THE LOST CHORD.

Seated one day at the organ,
I was weary and ill at ease,
And my fingers wandered idly
Over the noisy keys.

I do not know what I was playing,
Or what I was dreaming then ;
But I struck one chord of music,
Like the sound of a great Amen.

It flooded the crimson twilight,

Like the close of an Angel's Psalm,
And it lay on my fevered spirit
With a touch of infinite calm.

It quieted pain and sorrow,

Like love overcoming strife;
It seemed the harmonious echo
From our discordant life.

It linked all perplexed meanings
Into one perfect peace,
And trembled away into silence
As if it were loth to cease.

I have sought, but I seek it vainly,
That one lost chord divine,

That came from the soul of the Organ,

And entered into mine.

It may be that Death's bright angel

Will speak in that chord again;

It may be that only in Heaven

I shall hear that grand Amen.

ADELAIDE A. PROCTER.

DON'T RUN IN DEBT.

Don't run in debt-never mind, never mind
If the clothes are faded and torn;

Fix 'em up, make 'em do, it is better by far,
Than to have the heart weary and worn.
Who'll love you more for the set of your hat,
Or your ruff, or the tie of your shoe,
The style of your vest, or your boots or cravat,
If they know you're in debt for the new?

There's no comfort, I tell you, in walking the street
In fine clothes if you know you're in debt,
And feel that perchance you some tradesman may meet,
Who will sneer, “They're not paid for yet.”

Good friends, let me beg of you, don't run in debt;

If the chairs and the sofa are old,

They will fit your backs better than any new set,
Unless they are paid for with gold;

If the house is too small, draw the closer together;
Keep it warm with a hearty good-will;

A big one unpaid for, in all kinds of weather,
Will send to your warm heart a chill.

Don't run in debt-dear girls, take a hint,

If the fashions have changed since last season,

Old nature is out in the very same tint,

And old nature, we think, has some reason.

But just say to your friend that you cannot afford
To spend time to keep up with the fashion;
That your purse is too light, and your honor too bright,
To be tarnished with such silly passion.

Gents, don't run in debt-let your friends, if they can,
Have fine houses, and feathers and flowers,

But, unless they are paid for, be more of a man
Than to envy their sunshiny hours.