be sure, is to convince, but more to persuade; and, most of all, to inspire with noble and generous passions. It is the cant of criticism, in all ages, to make a distinction between logic and eloquence, and to stigmatize the latter as declamation. Logic ascertains the weight of an argument, eloquence gives it momentum. The difference is between the vis inertiæ of a mass of metal, and the same ball hurled from the cannon's mouth. Eloquence is an argument alive and in motion, the statue of Pygmalion inspired with vitality. YARN OF THE "NANCY BELL."-W. S. GILBERT. "Twas on the shores that round the coast That I found alone, on a piece of stone, His hair was weedy, his beard was long, And I heard this wight on the shore recite “Oh, I am a cook and a captain bold, And he shook his fists and he tore his hair, Till I really felt afraid, For I couldn't help thinking the man had been drinking, And so I simply said: "Oh, elderly man, it's little I know "At once a cook and a captain bold, Then he gave a hitch to his trowsers, which And having got rid of a thumping quid, ""Twas on the good ship Nancy Bell, "And pretty nigh all of the crew was drowned, And only ten of the Nancy's men "There was me and the cook and the captain bold, And the mate of the Nancy brig, And the bo'sun tight, and the midshipmite, And the crew of the captain's gig. "For a month we'd neither wittles nor drink, Till a hungry we did feel, So we drawed a lot, and accordin' shot "The next lot fell to the Nancy's mate, Then our appetite with the midshipmite "And then we murdered the bo'sun tight, Then we wittled free, did the cook and me, "Then only the cook and me was left, of us two goes to the kettle?' arose, And we argued it out as sich. "For I loved that cook as a brother, I did, And the cook he worshipped me; But we'd both be blowed if we'd either be stowed In the other chap's hold, you see. "I'll be eat if you dines off me,' says Tom; 'Yes, that,' says I, 'you'll be, 'I'm boiled if I die, my friend,' quoth I, And 'Exactly so,' quoth he. "Says he, 'Dear James, to murder me For don't you see that you can't cook me, "So he boils the water, and takes the salt And the pepper in portions true, (Which he ne'er forgot,) and some chopped shalot, And some sage and parsley too. "Come here,' says he, with a proper pride, Which his smiling features tell, "Twill soothing be if I let you see How extremely nice you'll smell.' "And he stirred it round and round and round, And he sniffed at the foaming froth; When I ups with his heels, and smothers his squeals In the scum of the boiling broth. "And I eat that cook in a week or less, And as I eating be The last of his chops, why I almost drops, "And I never larf, and I never smile, "Oh, I am a cook and a captain bold, THE OLD MAN IN THE MODEL CHURCH.* JoHN H. YATES. Well, wife, I've found the model church—I worshipped there to-day! It made me think of good old times before my hair was gray. *See "The Old Man in the Stylish Church," No. 6, page 42. The meetin' house was fixed up more than they were years ago, But then I felt when I went in it wasn't built for show. The sexton didn't seat me away back by the door; He knew that I was old and deaf, as well as old and poor; I wish you'd heard that singin'-it had the old-time ring; The preacher said, with trumpet voice, “Let all the people sing! The tune was Coronation, and the music upward rolled, Till I thought I heard the angels striking all their harps of gold. My deafness seemed to melt away; my spirit caught the fire; I joined my feeble, trembling voice with that melodious choir, And sang as in my youthful days, "Let angels prostrate fall, Bring forth the royal diadem, and crown Him Lord of all.” I tell you, wife, it did me good to sing that hymn once more; I felt like some wrecked mariner who gets a glimpse of shore; I almost wanted to lay down this weather-beaten form, The preachin'? Well, I can't just tell all the preacher said; The sermon wasn't flowery, 'twas simple gospel truth; The preacher made sin hideous in Gentiles and in Jews; How swift the golden moments fled within that holy place! How brightly beamed the light of heaven from every happy face! RR* Again I longed for that sweet time when friend shail meet with friend, "Where congregations ne'er break up, and Sabbaths have no end." I hope to meet that minister-thát congregation too— In that dear home beyond the stars that shine from heaven's blue. I doubt not I'll remember, beyond life's evening gray, Dear wife, the fight will soon be fought, the victory be won; NOW. Arise! for the day is passing Arise from your dreams of the future, Arise! If the past detain you, Her sunshine and storm forget; Sad or bright, she is lifeless ever; |