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68

The Caliph and the Cripple.

Next morning the Cadi came into the court,
And sat himself down at his ease;
And thither the suitors and people resort
To list to the Judge's decrees.

First calling the scholar, who sued for his spouse, His Honour thus settled the doubt:

"The woman is yours; take her home to your honse, And don't let her often go out."

Then calling before him Ben Akas, whose cause
Stood next in the calendar's course,
He said: "By the Prophet's inflexible laws,
Let the merchant recover his horse!

"And as for the beggar, I further decide
His villany fairly has earned

A good hundred lashes well laid on his hide;
Meshallah! The court is adjourned!"

Ben Akas that night sought the Cadi's abode,
And said: "Tis the Caliph you see!
Though hither, indeed, as a merchant I rode,
I am Abou Ben Akas to thee!"

The Cadi, abashed, made the lowest of bows,
And, kissing his majesty's hand,

Cried: "Great is the honour you do to my house;
I wait for your royal command!"

"I fain would possess," was the Caliph's reply, "Your wisdom; so tell me, I pray,

How your Honour discovered where justice might lie In the causes decided to-day."

"Why, as to the woman," the Cadi replied, "It was easily settled, I think;

Just taking the lady a moment aside,

I said, 'Fill my standish with ink.'

"And quick, at the order, the bottle was taken,
With a dainty and dexterous hold;

The standish was washed; the fluid was shaken;
New cotton put in for the old—”

A Word to the "Moderate" Drinker.

"I see!" said the Caliph; "the story is pleasant;
Of course it was easy to tell

The scholar swore truly,-the spouse of a peasant
Could never have done it so well.

"And now for the horse?"

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"That was harder, I own,

For, mark you, the beggarly elf

(However the rascal may chance to have known)
Knew the palfrey as well as yourself!

"But the truth was apparent, the moment I learned
What the animal thought of the two;

The impudent cripple he savagely spurned,
But was plainly delighted with you!

Ben Akas sat musing and silent awhile,
As one whom devotion employs;

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Then, raising his head with a heavenly smile,
He said in a reverent voice:

"Sure Allah is good and abundant in grace!
Thy wisdom is greater than mine;

I would that the Caliph might rule in his place
As well as thou servest in thine!"

A WORD TO THE "MODERATE" DRINKER. REV. EDWARD HAYTON.

YOU "pity the drunkard," but will not abstain

From the drink that enslaves him and maddens
his brain:

You bid him be temperate, and check the desire
That rages and burns within him like fire.

You speak of his home, of his children, his wife :
And you point to the fearful results of his life:
You tell him of duty, and urge him to be
No longer a slave to the bottle-but free:

You read out time's worth as it flies hour by hour:
He trembles, and feels that you reason with power;
He tries becomes sober-but stumbles again,
And falls by your side, for you will not abstain.

70

Come, Labour on!

He walks by the very example you set,

And finds himself snared in the eneiny's net :
Nor listens he now to your words as before,
But bids you be silent! and mock him no more.

Be silent forever! The drunkard is dead,

And the chance that you had to redeem him is fled !
You stand by him still, 'tis his body alone,
For his soul to its sad hereafter is gone!

COME, LABOUR ON!

Come, labour on:

Who dares stand idle on the harvest plain,
While all around him waves the golden grain,
And every servant hears the Master say,
"Go work to day!"

Come, labour on:

The labourers are few, the field is wide;

New stations must be filled and blanks supplied:
From voices distant far, or near at home,
The call is "Come."

Come, labour on:

The enemy is watching, night and day,
To sow the tares, to snatch the seed away:
While we in sleep our duty have forgot,
He slumbereth not.

Come, labour on:

Away with gloomy doubt aud faithless fear!
No arm so weak but may do service here;
By hands the feeblest can our God fulfil
His righteous will.

Come, labour on:

The toil is pleasant and the harvest sure;
Blessed are those who to the end endure;
How full their joy, how deep their rest shall be,
O Lord with Thee!

The Twins' Mishaps.

THE TWINS' MISHAPS.

IN

form and feature, face and limb,
I grew so like my brother,
That folks got taking me for him,
And each for one another.
It puzzled all our kith and kin,
It reached an awful pitch,
For one of us was born a twin,

Yet not a soul knew "which."

When quite a little infant child
My trouble did begin,

For when I called for nourishment
'Twas given to the other twin;
They gave "me" Godfrey's cordial
When he kicked up a shine,
And when his nose was troublesome
They took to wiping mine.

One day to make the matter worse,
Before our names were fixed,
As we were being washed by nurse,
We got "completely mixed;"
And thus you see by fate-decree,
Or rather nurse's whim;

My brother John got christened "me,"
And I got christened "him."

This fatal likeness even dogged
My footsteps when at school,
For I was always being flogged
'Cause he turned out a fool.
But once I ha i a sweet revenge,
For something made me ill;
The doctor came and gave poor Jack
A black draught and a pill.

This close resemblance turned the tide
Of my domestic life,

For somehow my intended bride

Became my brother's wife.

Year after year, and still the same

Absurd mistakes went on;

And when I died the neighbours came
And buried brother John.

71

72

SA

Saved!

SAVED!

G. LINNEUS BANKS.

AVED from the streets! Saved from the streets!
So many Arabs saved from the streets;
Saved from the reeking filth, and sin

Of the city's haunts, where death-worms spin
Coils for the body, and coils for the soul,
Dragging it down to destruction's goal!
Saved from the rack of heart and brain!
Saved, perchance, from the crime of Cain.

So many Arabs saved from the streets,
Where the pulse of humanity slowly beats!
Saved from each poisonous stream and breeze
That steals through our courts with fell disease!
Saved! The sick, and the blind, and lame,
From the tempter's arts, and the brand of shame!
Saved from themselves! And O! to think
How near they were to perdition's brink!

So many Arabs saved from the streets!
"So many Arabs!" echo repeats—
Saved from the slum's blaspheming throng,
To a perfect knowledge of right and wrong!
Saved from the cuffs of brute and fool!
Saved from the Devil's training-school;
Saved from misery, want, and tears;
And a hope in the heart for future years!
What are merchant-treasures, and fleets,
To so many Arabs saved from the streets?
Tutored, and trained, and made to feel
The joy of earning an honest meal!
Healthy of limb, and inwardly blest—
A legion of fiends laid all to rest—

And the free, glad spirit mounting on high,
With a thought of the God who rules the sky!

Saved from the streets! Saved from the streets!

So many Arabs saved from the streets!

Not by the parish, or pauper's fare

Not alone by the power of prayer—

Not by politic creed, or saw

Not by the fangs, or the curse of the law

Saved! saved! by the labour of Love,

And the blessings sent down from the courts above!

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