The woman that in sin was ta'en,
Bowed down with guilt and shame,
Found pity in that breast divine
That knew no taint of blame.

The Pharisees all gathered round
To taunt, revile, and stone her;
Christ bade her "go and sin no more,"
His mercy would atone her.

He raised from death the widow's son,
Nor ask'd his trade, profession;
Enough for Him, a mother's faith
In His divine compassion.

He healed the palsied, halt, and blind,
Nor left one heart forlorner;
He never bade them go and find

A Doctor-"round the corner."

Some modern saints too dainty are
To walk in paths like these;
They'd lock the gates of heaven on woɛ,
If they but held the keys.

The widow's friends ask prayers o'er him From whom death's hand has torn her; The saintly man refers him to

"The small church round the corner."

What is there in the player's art
Should close the fount of love?

He who on earth plays well his part
May hope a seat above.

The lessons he has wreathed with smiles, The hearts his mirth made lighter

Shall plead like angels' tongues for grace, And make his record brighter.

And though not nearest to the Throne,
Yet sure the lowest born, or

The actor in the vericst bar,

May find in heav'n a corner.

All honor to the little Church,
And to its gracious Pastor,
Who in his heart the lessons kept,
Taught by his heav'nly Master!

And when this fleeting scene is past
To sinner, saint, and scorner,
Let's hope we ALL may find, at last,
A bright home round the corner.

MR. CAUDLE HAVING LENT FIVE POUNDS TO A FRIEND.--DOUGLAS JERROLD.

You ought to be very rich, Mr. Caudle. I wonder who'd lend you five pounds! But so it is: a wife may work and slave. Oh, dear! the many things that might - have been done with five pounds! As if people picked up money in the streets! But you always were a fool, Mr. Caudle! I've wanted a black satin gown these three years, and that five pounds would have pretty well bought it. But it's no matter how I go-not at all. Everybody says I don't dress as becomes your wife-and I don't; but what's that to you, Mr. Caudle? Nothing. Oh, no! you can have fine feelings for everybody but those that belong to you.. I wish people knew you as I do-that's all. You like to be called liberal-and your poor family pays for it.

All the girls want bonnets, and when they're to get 'em I can't tell. Half five pounds would have bought 'embut now they must go without. Of course, they belong to you; and anybody but your own flesh and blood, Mr. Caudle.

The man called for the water-rate to-day; but I should like to know how people are to pay taxes who throw away five pounds to every fellow that asks them.

Perhaps you don't know that Jack, this morning, knocked the shuttlecock through his bed-room window. I was going to send for the glazier to mend it; but, after you lent that five pounds, I was sure we couldn't afford it. Oh, no: the window must go as it is; and pretty weather for a dear child to sleep with a broken window. He's got a cold already on his lungs, and I shouldn't at all wonder if that broken window settled him: if the dear boy dies, his death will be upon his father's head: for I'm sure we can't now pay to mend windows. We might,

though, and do a good many more things, if people didn't throw away their five pounds.

Next Tuesday the fire insurance is due. I should like to know how it's to be paid. Why, it can't be paid at all. That five pounds would have just done it—and now insurance is out of the question. And there never were so many fires as there are now. I shall never close my eyes all night; but what's that to you, so people can call you liberal, Mr. Caudle? Your wife and children may all be burnt alive in their beds-as all of us to a certainty shall be, for the insurance must drop. After we've insured for so many years! But how, I should like to know, aro people to insure who make ducks and drakes of their five pounds?

I did think we might go to Margate this summer. There's poor Caroline, I'm sure she wants the sea. But no, dear creature, she must stop at home; she'll go into a consumption, there's no doubt of that; yes, sweet little angel. I've made up my mind to loose her now. The child might have been saved; but people can't save their children and throw away five pounds too.

I wonder where little Cherub is? While you were lending that five pounds, the dog ran out of the shop. You know I never let it go into the street, for fear it should be bit by some mad-dog and come home and bite the children. It wouldn't at all astonish me if the animal was to come back with the hydrophobia and give it to all the family. However, what's your family to you, so you can play the liberal creature with five pounds?

Do you hear that shutter, how it's banging to and fro? Yes, I know what it wants as well as you: it wants a new fastening. I was going to send for the blacksmith to-day. But now it's out of the question: now it must bang of nights, since you have thrown away five pounds.

Well, things have come to a pretty pass! This is the first night I ever made my supper of roast beef without pickles. But who is to afford pickles when folks are always lending five pounds?

Do you hear the mice running about the room? I hear them. If they were only to drag you out of bed, it would be no matter. Set a trap for 'em? But how are people to afford the cheese, when every day they leso five pounds?

Hark! I'm sure there's a noise down stairs. It wouldn't surprise me if there were thieves in the house. Well, it may be the cat; but thieves are pretty sure to come some night. There's a wretched fastening to the back door; but these are not times to afford bolts and bars, when fools won't take care of their five pounds.

Mary Anne ought to have gone to the dentist's to-morrow. She wants three teeth pulled out. Now it can't be done. Three teeth, that quite disfigure the child's mouth. But there they must stop, and spoil the sweetest face that was ever made. Otherwise she'd have been the wife for a lord. Now, when she grows up, who'll have her? Nobody. We shall die, and leave her alone and unprotected in the world. But what do you care for that? Nothing; so you can squander away five pounds.

And now, Mr. Caudle, see what a misery you've brought on your wretched family! I can't have a satin gown-the girls can't have new bonnets-the water-rate must stand over-Jack must get his death through a broken window-our fire insurance can't be paid, so we shall all be victims to the devouring element—we can't go to Margate, and Caroline will go to an early gravethe dog will come home and bite us all mad-that shutter will go banging forever-the mice never let us have a wink of sleep-the thieves be always breaking in the house-and our dear Mary Anne be forever left an un protected maid-and all, all, Mr. Caudle, because you will go on lending five pounds!

THE PUREST PEARL.

BESIDE the church door, a-weary and alone,
A blind woman sat on the cold door-stone,
The wind was bitter, the snow fell fast,
And a mocking voice in the fitful blast
Seemed ever to echo her morning cry,
As she begged an alms of the passers-by,
"Have pity on me, have pity, I pray;
My back is bent, and my hair is gray."

The bells were ringing the hour of prayer,
And many good people were gathered there;
But covered with furs and mantles warın,
They hurried past through the wintry storm.

Some were hoping their souls to save,
And some were thinking of death and the grave,
And, alas! they had no time to heed
The poor soul asking for charity's meed;
And some were blooming with beauty's grace,
But closely muffled in veils of lace;

They saw not the sorrow, nor heard the moan
Of her who sat on the cold door-stone.

At last came one of noble name,

By the city counted the wealthiest dame,
And the pearls that o'er her neck were strung,
She proudly there to the beggar flung.

Then followed a maiden, young and fair,
Adorned with clusters of golden hair;
But her dress was thin, and scanty, and worn,
Not even the beggar's seemed more forlorn ;
With a tearful look and a pitying sigh,
She whispered soft, "No jewels have I,

But I give you my prayers, good friend," said she,
"And sure, I know, God listens to me.

On the poor white hand, so shrunken and small,
The blind woman let a tear-drop fall,

Then kissed it, and said to the weeping girl,
"It is you who have given the purest pearl."

THE BATTLE OF IVRY.-T. B. MACAULEY.

Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all glories are! And glory to our Sovereign Liege, King Henry of Navarre! Now let there be the merry sound of music and the dance, Through thy corn-fields green, and sunny vales, O pleasant land of France!

And thou, Rochelle, our own Rochelle, proud city of the waters,

Again let rapture light the eyes of all thy mourning daughters; As thou wert constant in our ills, be joyous in our joy,

For cold and stiff and still are they who wrought thy walls

annoy.