Little Loo.

"He thinks, I believe, he can't treat me too rough, I am either too high, or not quite high enough;

3

Then such knocking, and squeezing, and thumping, but still
I can give no content do whatever I will.

"To complete my misfortunes, sometimes in a sally,
He throws me as hard as he can at his valet,
Who ventures to give him his honest advice,
To have nothing to do with the drink and the dice.

"T'other night he declared he would murder himself,
And took down a pistol which lay on the shelf;
But after he'd held it some time to his head,
He altered his mind, and thumped me in his stead!
If this is the way with your very fine fellows,
One had better be anything else than their Pillows!

S

LITTLE LOO.

T. H. EVANS.

EE! they are opening Heaven's gate!
Who's that they're letting through?
Stay, Death!-no use, it's shut, too late!
We've lost our little Loo.

That life, although so small a space,
Was filled with baby arts,
That made for her a nestling place
Within our heart of hearts!

She came with so much beauty fraught,
And grew so sweet each day,
We never for one moment thought
She had not come to stay.

Her face wore such a lovely hue,
As though some floweret rare
The open door had fluttered through
And left its kisses there.

But now of all that form so fair-
Since death hath smote her brow-

A baby-tress of silken hair

Is all that's left us now.

For oh! with her we've had to part;
She's now beyond our ken ;—
So little Georgie-bless his heart!—
Is "baby" once again.

4

Fair Work for Fair Wages.

FAIR WORK FOR FAIR WAGES.

FAI

MARTIN F. TUPPER.

AIR work for fair wages !-it's all that we ask,
An Englishman loves what is fair;—

We'll never complain of the toil or the task,

If livelihood comes with the care.

Fair work for fair wages! we hope nothing else

Of the mill, or the forge, or the soil:

For the rich man who buys, and the poor man who sells,
Must pay and be paid for his toil.

Fair work for fair wages!—we know that the claim
Is just between master and man;

If the tables were turned we would serve him the same,
And promise we will when we can!

We give to him industry, muscle, and thew,
And heartily work for his wealth;
So he will as honestly give what is due-
Fair wages for labour in health!

Enough for the day, and a bit to put by
Against illness, and slackness, and age;
For change and misfortune are ever too nigh,
Alike to the fool and the sage;

But the fool in his harvest will wanton and waste,
Forgetting the winter once more,

While true British wisdom will timely make haste
And save for the "basket and store!"

Aye, wantonness freezes to want, be assured;
And drinking makes nothing to eat ;

And penury's wasting by waste is secured,
And luxury starves in the street!

And many a father, with little ones pale,
So racked by his cares and his pains,
Might now be all right if, when hearty and hale,
He never had squandered his gains!

We know that prosperity's glittering sun
Can shine but a little, and then

The harvest is over, the summer is done,
Alike for the master and men.

If the factory-ship, with its captain on board,
Must beat in adversity's waves,

One lot is for all!-for the great cotton lord,
And the poorest of Commerce's slaves;

Fair Work for Fair Wages.

One lot! If extravagance reigned in the home,
Then poverty's wormwood and gall;

If rational foresight of evils to come,

A cheerful complacence in all:

For sweet is the morsel that diligence earned,
And sweeter, that prudence put by;
And lessons of peace in affliction are learned,
And wisdom that comes from on high!

For God, in his Providence ruling above,
And piloting all things below,

Is ever unchangeable justice and love
In ordering welfare or woe:

He blesses the prudent for heaven and earth,
And gladdens the good at all times-

But frowns on the sinner, and darkens his mirth,
And lashes his follies and crimes.

Alas! for the babes, and the poor pallid wife
Hurled down with the sot to despair!—

Yet God shall reward in a happier life
Their punishment, patience, and prayer.
But woe to the caitiff, who, starved by his drinks,
Was starving his children as well,—

O man, break away from the treacherous links
Of a chain that will drag you to hell!

Come along, come along, man! it's never too late,
Though drowning, we throw you a rope!

Be quick and be quit of so fearful a fate,
For while there is life there is hope!

So wisely come with us, and work like the rest,
And save of your pay while you can;

And heaven will bless you for doing your best,
And helping yourself like a man!

For Labour is money, and Labour is health,
And Labour is duty on earth,

And never was honour, or wisdom, or wealth,
But Labour has been at its birth!

The rich-in his father, his friend, or himself,
By head or by hand must have toiled,
And the brow that is canopied over with pelf,
By Labour's own sweat has been soiled!

5

[By kind permission of the Author.

6

"A Wrinkle or Two."

"A WRINKLE OR TWO."

ROBERT COLLYER.

I KNOW of nothing that ought to be said to a young man

before this: As you hope to be something, and to do something that you will not be ashamed of, get a clear purpose into your head and heart, and follow it as if that were the only thing in the universe to be done, and you were the only man to do it. Turn as soon as you can that dangerous corner on which so many suffer loss, and not a few ruin-the point of considering what you are going to do with yourself. Settle down steadily to something, no matter how poor it seem, if that is the only opening you see;—and if that opens the way to something better, very well; but if it does not, then stick to that until you see something better.

Carlyle says, in his life of Sterling, that when John was a boy, his father gave him a piece of garden all to himself, to cultivate as he thought best. So the boy planted potatoes; but when they had been in the ground a few days, he changed his mind, and thought he would like to grow roses; then when the roses were planted he changed his mind again and wanted gooseberries; and so he kept pulling up and planting all summer long, and in the fall had nothing but a harvest of barren regrets and a stick or two. So it was with him, poor fellow, when he grew to be a man, and all through his manhood. He never quite knew whether he wanted roses, potatoes, or gooseberries; and he raised nothing in the summer of his life at all worthy of his noble gift, because be planted nothing "for good and all" in the spring. So many young men of noble promise miss their way. They will not settle down sacredly on some one thing, and do it as the thing they must do and will do, whatever comes.

Smiles tells a good story in one of his books about a man named Evans, who, sometime in the last century, undertook to make a steam engine. He made an engine that was thought to be a very good thing indeed. It was elegant in its design and accurate in its motion-a capital engine in every respect,

"A Wrinkle or Two."

7

except that the moment you tackled anything to it the thing stood stock still. On its own account it would work beautifully, and turn its own wheels faultlessly; but the moment the maker wanted it to turn even a grindstone besides, then lever and piston and wheel struck work. And as that was an age and land in which to do nothing was the mark of a gentleman, the machine was called "Evans's gentlemanly engine." Now who has not seen young men whose action is exactly that of the gentlemanly engine !—who are faultless in their way of working, elegant and polished to perfection, but who only work for themselves, are one-man power, use that power for the one man in whom it is generated, and are not a mouse-power besides for anything! The true wisdom is not in finding out how little I can do, but how much; not what I can barely put through so that my employer will tolerate me about him, but how much will win his "Well done."

Then I wonder if young men begin to suspect even what blessing comes in twenty years through the windows of an ever active soul-what songs will sing themselves in the night, what sunshine flood the day? "Whatsoever I have done," says Prescott, the historian, "I have done by diligent hard work; and so worthful is work to me, that I consider it of far less moment that I should succeed in this or that thing than that I should be always diligent about what I have to do."

There is one thing more young men should know before they fairly begin to work in this spirit-and that is, that all earnest and honest work is sacred, and demands a correlative sacredness in the workman's heart and life. "I hope it is not true," a great man says, "that the youth must go through a mud bath before the real toga of manhood can be laid on him. Sin and remorse beset us easily, and are such indifferent company in every stage of our life that it seems hard that we should ever be forced and fated to yield to them and serve for any term in their leprous armada. But clear we are, at all events, that it cannot be the training we receive in this evil service, but only to desert from it, that fits us for true manly action." All young men must come to this before they can come to