HKe i4l0^1ies , Stored feaikiiet tm 3 Sictoried Jlome iaompmuaii. 
“ COME UNTO ME.” 
A sweeter song than e’er was sung 
By poet, priest, or sages— 
A song which thro’ all heaven has rung. 
And down thro’ all the ages. 
A precious strain of sweet accord, 
A note of cheer from Christ our Lord : 
List as it vibrates full and free, 
Ohl grieving heart, “Come 
unto Me.” 
Oh! wise provision, sweet 
command, 
Vouchsafed the weak 
and weary ; 
A friend to find on either 
hand, 
A night for prospect 
dreary; 
A friend who knows em¬ 
bitter need. 
Of each endeavor taking- 
heed ; 
Who calls to every soul op- 
prest, 
‘ ‘ Come unto Me, I’ll give 
you rest.” 
“Come unto Me.” The 
way’s not long, 
His hands are stretched 
to meet thee : 
Now still thy sobbing, list 
the song 
Which everywhere shall 
greet thee. 
Here, at His feet, your bur¬ 
den lay ; 
Why ’neath it bend an¬ 
other day, 
Since one so loving calls to 
thee, 
“ Oh ! heavy laden, come 
to Me ”? 
A sweeter song than e’er 
was sung 
By poet, priest, or sages— 
A song which through all 
heaven has rung 
And down thro' all the 
ages. 
How can we turn from 
such a strain, 
Or longer wait to ease our 
pain ? 
Oh! draw us closer, Lord, that we 
May find our sweetest rest in Thee. 
Eleanor Kirk. 
STORY OE A KIND-HEARTED OLD 
MAN. 
A pianist was giving concerts through the provin¬ 
ces of Germany for her support, and to enhance her 
reputation she advertised herself as a pupil of Liszt. 
In a little town in the interior of Germany, where 
ments and suggestions as she played, and when she 
had finished he added: “ Now, my child, I have 
given you a lesson ; you are a pupil of Liszt.” Be¬ 
fore she could find words to express her gratitude 
Liszt asked: “ Are your programmes printed ?” 
“ No, sir,” was the answer, “ not yet.” “ Then say 
that you will he assisted l>y your master, and that 
the last piece on the programme will be played by 
the Abbe Liszt .”—Springfield Republican. 
A Robin’s JEsthetie Taste.— Some good ladies, 
living in a quiet, suburban street, had exposed some 
lace on the grass to whiten 
in the sun. On searching 
for it it -was gone, and no 
diligence could find it. 
The fickle breeze was ac¬ 
cused of the theft, but no 
corner could reveal the 
secret. Finally, the search 
was almost abandoned 
when a member of the 
household caught a glimpse 
of a white shred dangling 
from the nest which a 
robin redbreast was build¬ 
ing in a neighboring ever¬ 
green. Here, with true 
assthetic taste and no small 
sense of physical comfort, 
the bird had placed the lost 
lace as a lining for its 
nest .—Providence (R. I.) 
Journal. 
Cheerfulness in old 
Age. —“ Isn’t Aunt Char¬ 
ity a darling old lady "? ” 
said one of Aunt Charity’s 
nieces. She was indeed a 
sunbeam. The strong, 
resolute, brave face; the 
white hair under the plain 
cap; the sweet, smiling 
mouth, were all winning:. 
We could depend on the 
motherly woman who was 
so jolly, so full of fun and 
frolic, so ready to join in 
whatever mirth was afloat. 
Everybody came to her 
with their joys and their 
griefs, sure of sympathy. 
An hour with her was a 
tonic. 
A Mother’s Devotion.— Emma, a promising 
young Indian girl at the school at Red Lake, died 
on the 22d. A. runner was sent to tell her mother, 
who was making sugar thirty miles away, and she 
started in the evening on her lonely march to the 
agency through forests of pine—whose- dark tops 
seemed to chant a requiem to the departed—through 
swamps, over deep unbridged rivers, in the darkness 
of night, without food, without sleep or rest, and she 
reached the agency soon after light. 
Mamma’s Picture and Picture-Frame. 
and with many tears told her story : how she had been 
left an orphan and poor, with only her one gift of 
music with which to support herself; the difficulties 
she had encountered, until the fraudulent use of his 
great name had filled her rooms and her purse. 
“ Well, well,” said the great man, gently raising her 
up, “ let us see, my child, what we can do. Perhaps 
it is not so bad as you thought. There is a piano ; 
let me hear one of the pieces you expect to play to¬ 
morrow evening.” 
Tremblingly she obeyed, the maestro making com¬ 
shc had announced a concert, she was confounded 
the day before the concert was to take place by see¬ 
ing in the list of arrivals and at the very hotel where 
the concert was to be given, “ M. I’Abbd Liszt.” 
Here was a dilemma, and what to do she knew not. 
Her fraud would be discovered; she would be ex¬ 
posed; she could never give another concert; she 
was ruined. 
Tremblingly she sought the presence of the great 
maestro, determined to make a clean breast of it and 
cast herself on his mercy. Coming into his room 
with downcast eyes, she knelt at the old man’s feet 
