"Jesus the Carpenter"--"same trade as me"--strikes a high note in favour of honest toil. (1848-.)

"Isn't this Joseph's son?"--ay, it is He; Joseph the carpenter--same trade as me-- I thought as I'd find it--I knew it was here-- But my sight's getting queer.

I don't know right where as His shed must ha' stood-- But often, as I've been a-planing my wood, I've took off my hat, just with thinking of He At the same work as me.

He warn't that set up that He couldn't stoop down And work in the country for folks in the town; And I'll warrant He felt a bit pride, like I've done, At a good job begun.

The parson he knows that I'll not make too free, But on Sunday I feels as pleased as can be, When I wears my clean smock, and sits in a pew, And has taught a few.

I think of as how not the parson hissen, As is teacher and father and shepherd o' men, Not he knows as much of the Lord in that shed, Where He earned His own bread.

And when I goes home to my missus, says she, "Are ye wanting your key?"

For she knows my queer ways, and my love for the shed (We've been forty years wed).

So I comes right away by mysen, with the book, And I turns the old pages and has a good look For the text as I've found, as tells me as He Were the same trade as me.

Why don't I mark it? Ah, many say so, But I think I'd as lief, with your leaves, let it go: It do seem that nice when I fall on it sudden-- Unexpected, you know!

CATHERINE C. LIDDELL.

LETTY'S GLOBE.

"Letty's Globe" gives us the picture of a little golden-haired girl who covers all Europe with her dainty hands and tresses while giving a kiss to England, her own dear native land. (1808-79.)

When Letty had scarce pa.s.s'd her third glad year, And her young, artless words began to flow, One day we gave the child a colour'd sphere Of the wide earth, that she might mark and know, By tint and outline, all its sea and land.

She patted all the world; old empires peep'd Between her baby fingers; her soft hand Was welcome at all frontiers. How she leap'd, And laugh'd and prattled in her world-wide bliss!

But when we turn'd her sweet unlearned eye On our own isle, she rais'd a joyous cry, "Oh! yes, I see it! Letty's home is there!"

And, while she hid all England with a kiss, Bright over Europe fell her golden hair!

CHARLES TENNYSON TURNER.

A DREAM.

Once a dream did wave a shade O'er my angel-guarded bed, That an emmet lost its way When on gra.s.s methought I lay.

Troubled, 'wildered, and forlorn, Dark, benighted, travel-worn, Over many a tangled spray, All heart-broke, I heard her say:

"Oh, my children! do they cry?

Do they hear their father sigh?

Now they look abroad to see.

Now return and weep for me."

Pitying, I dropped a tear; But I saw a glow-worm near, Who replied, "What wailing wight Calls the watchman of the night?

"I am set to light the ground While the beetle goes his round.

Follow now the beetle's hum-- Little wanderer, hie thee home!"

WILLIAM BLAKE.

HEAVEN IS NOT REACHED AT A SINGLE BOUND.

(A FRAGMENT.)

"We build the ladder by which we climb" is a line worthy of any poet.

J.G. Holland (1819-81) has immortalised himself in this line, at least.

Heaven is not reached at a single bound, But we build the ladder by which we rise From the lowly earth to the vaulted skies, And we mount to its summit round by round.

I count this thing to be grandly true: That a n.o.ble deed is a step toward G.o.d,-- Lifting the soul from the common clod To a purer air and a broader view.

J.G. HOLLAND.

THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM.

Have you been to Woodstock, near Oxford, England? If so, you have seen the palace of the Duke of Marlborough, who won the battle of Blenheim.

The main point of the poem is the doubtful honour in killing in our great wars. Southey, the poet, lived from 1774 to 1843.

It was a summer's evening, Old Kaspar's work was done, And he before his cottage door Was sitting in the sun; And by him sported on the green His little grandchild Wilhelmine.

She saw her brother Peterkin Roll something large and round, Which he, beside the rivulet, In playing there, had found.

He came to ask what he had found, That was so large, and smooth, and round.

Old Kaspar took it from the boy, Who stood expectant by; And then the old man shook his head, And, with a natural sigh, "'Tis some poor fellow's skull," said he, "Who fell in the great victory!

"I find them in the garden, For there's many hereabout; And often when I go to plow, The plowshare turns them out; For many thousand men," said he, "Were slain in that great victory!"

"Now tell us what 'twas all about,"

Young Peterkin he cries; And little Wilhelmine looks up With wonder-waiting eyes; "Now tell us all about the war, And what they killed each other for."

"It was the English," Kaspar cried, "Who put the French to rout; But what they killed each other for I could not well make out.

But everybody said," quoth he, "That 'twas a famous victory!

"My father lived at Blenheim then, Yon little stream hard by: They burned his dwelling to the ground And he was forced to fly; So with his wife and child he fled, Nor had he where to rest his head.

"With fire and sword the country round Was wasted far and wide; And many a childing mother then And new-born baby died.

But things like that, you know, must be At every famous victory.

"They say it was a shocking sight After the field was won; For many thousand bodies here Lay rotting in the sun.

But things like that, you know, must be After a famous victory.

"Great praise the Duke of Marlborough won, And our good Prince Eugene."

"Why, 'twas a very wicked thing!"

Said little Wilhelmine.

"Nay, nay, my little girl," quoth he, "It was a famous victory!