are ambitious in a laugh. Thomas Moore used to write down his jokes, and read them before going out to dine. Have we not all known men whose reputation for levity was so great that their very rising in a public assembly set going a ripple of laughter before they had opened their lips. Well, there are worse things in the world than a laugh, but no earnest man will make a business of it. Again the Christian ideal of a manly life involves the consecration of life to great designs.

One of the merchant princes of Philadelphia, in the latter and prosperous period of his life, made it a rule to build at his own cost one church every year. When he began his career he was a mechanic, engaged in making trinkets such as are sold in fancy stores. He was an expert workman, and well-to-do at his trade. But one day, as he bent over his work-bench, the thought came to him: "This is a small business; I am manufacturing little things, and things useless to the world." It was no sin, but it did not seem to him a man's work. It made him restless till he changed his trade, and became as expert in the manufacture of locomotives, as he had been before in that of ear-rings and gewgaws.

That was one way in which Christianity put into a man a spirit of aspiration to do great things. It made a man of him, to think that the product of his hand and brain would race over a continent, and develop the civilization of an empire.

Christianity has bestowed on the world a magnificent gift in the single principle of the dignity of labor. It is a sublime thing to work for one's living. To do well the thing a man is created for is a splendid achieveA rich fool once said to a rising lawyer: "I remember the time when you had to black my father's

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boots, sir." "Did I not do them well?" was the reply, and it spoke inborn greatness. Our Lord disclosed the same spirit when in His early boyhood He said to grayheaded and reverend men: Wist ye not that I must be about my Father's business?" Every Christian young man has his Father's business to attend to, and he is not a full-grown man till he gets about it.

From this aspiring spirit springs another element of Christian earnestness. It is the resolve to give life to the same objects for which Christ lived. In this the Christian theory of life culminates. There is no such thing as a Christian life which is not in this respect Christ-like. Trades and professions, and recreations even, can be made Christ-like. He was a mistaken and untrained Christian who gave up a large practice at the bar, because, he said, a man could not be a Christian lawyer. A man can be a Christian anything that is necessary to the welfare of mankind.

Let a man once get thoroughly wrought into and through his whole being the fact that this world is to be converted to Jesus Christ, and that his own business here is to work into line with God's enterprise in this thing, and he cannot help realizing in his own person the Christian theory of living. He will meditate on it, he will study it, he will inform himself about it, he will talk of it, he will work for it, he will dream of it, he will give his money to it, if need be he will suffer for it and die for it. Such a life of active, thoughtful sympathy with Christ will make a man of anybody. No matter who or what he is, no matter how poor, how ignorant, how small in the world's esteem, such a life will make him a great man. Angels will respect him; God will own him. AUSTIN PHELPS, D. D.

ELL

THE BISHOP'S VISIT.

you about it? Of course, I will!

I thought 'twould be dreadful to have him come,
For Mamma said I must be quiet and still,
And she put away my whistle and drum-

And made me unharness the parlor chairs,
And packed my cannon and all the rest
Of my noisiest playthings off up-stairs,
On account of this very distinguished guest.

Then every room was turned upside down,

And all the carpets hung out to blow; For when the Bishop is coming to town, The house must be in order, you know.

So out in the kitchen I made my lair,
And started a game of hide-and-seek;
But Bridget refused to have me there,

For the Bishop was coming-to stay a week

And she must make cookies and cakes and pies,
And fill every closet and platter and pan,
Fill I thought this Bishop so great and wise,
Must be an awfully hungry man.

Well, at last he came; and I do declare,

Dear grandpapa, he looked just like you, With his gentle voice and his silvery hair, And eyes with a smile a-shining through.

And whenever he read, or talked, or prayed,
I understood every single word;

And I wasn't the leastest bit afraid,

Though I never once spoke or stirred;

Till, all of a sudden, he laughed right out
To see me sit quietly listening so;
And began to tell us stories about
Some queer little fellows in Mexico.

All about Egypt and Spain-and then
He wasn't disturbed by a little noise,
But said that the greatest and best of men
Once were rollicking, healthy boys.

And he thinks it no matter at all

If a little boy runs and jumps and climbs;
And Mamma should be willing to let me crawl
Through the banister-rails, in the halls, sometimes

And Bridget, sir, made a great mistake,
In stirring up such a bother, you see,
For the Bishop-he didn't care for cake,
And really liked to play games with me.

But though he's so honored in words and act-
(Stoop down, for this is a secret now)—
He couldn't spell Boston! That's a fact!
But whispered to me to tell him how.

EMILY HUNTINGTON NASON.

THE ENGINEERS' MAKING LOVE.

T'S noon when "Thirty-five" is due,

IT'S

An' she comes on time, like a flash of light,

An' you hear her whistle, "Toot-tee-too!"

Long 'fore the pilot swings in sight.

Bill Maddon's drivin' her in to-day,

An' he's callin' his sweetheart, far away—
Gertrude Hurd-lives down by the mill-
You might see her blushin'; she knows it's Bill
"Tu-die! Toot-ee! Tu-die! Tu!"

Six-five A. M. there's a local comes

Makes up at Bristol, runnin' east ;
An' the way her whistle sings an' hums
Is a livin' caution to man an' beast.

Every one knows who Jack White calls-
Little Lou Woodbury, down by the Falls;
Summer or winter, always the same,
She hears her lover callin' her name-
"Lou-ie! Lou-ie! Loo-iee!"

At six-fifty-eight you can hear "Twenty-one"
Go thunderin' west, and of all the screams
That ever startled the rising sun,

Jehu Davis sends into your dreams;

But I don't mind it; it makes me grin-
For just down here, where the creek lets in,
His wife, Jerusha, can hear him call,

Loud as a throat of brass can bawl-
Jece-rooo-shee! Jehoo!"

But at one-fifty-one old "Sixty-four"-
Boston Express runs east, clear through-
Drowns her rattle and rumble and roar
With the softest whistle that ever blew;
An' away on the furthest edge of the town,
Sweet Sue Winthrop's eyes of brown
Shine like the starlight, bright an' clear,
When she hears the whistle of Abel Gear-