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Ir doubtless is a noble thing

To serve the country and the king.
And should a great commander fall
By bayonet, or cannon ball,
Of such an one 'tis often said,
He bravely died in honour's bed,
And that it was a noble thing
To serve his country and his king.
I would not have a friend thus die,
For all the honours 'neath the sky;
And yet it is a noble thing

To serve the country and the king.
I've heard of some that bravely fell,
Who serv'd their king and country well;
Obedient to a high command,

They left their own-their native land,
And thus commissioned from above,
Their banner was inscrib'd with love;
Their magazine was richly stor❜d
With what the gospel truths afford,
And they were privileged to wield
The Spirit's sword in battle-field;
And heathen darkness put to flight
Before their eyes were closed in night.
Thus many a christian warrior died,
His country's honour, and its pride.-
And those should rank among the brave,
Who broke the shackles of the slave;
And such as pierce the dungeon's gloom,
And in a little narrow room,

Direct the trembling pris'ner there
To holy penitence and prayer.
But many thousands, scarcely roam
A furlong from their native home,

Who tend the shop, the school, the farm,
Or simply labour with the arm;

And yet, their histories plainly tell
They serve their king and country well:
For those who faithfully pursue
What Providence has bid them do,
Serve both their King and Country too.

Poetic Manual.

HERE is a picture of an Irish car. You have no such cars as this in England, I think. The driver you see sits on an elevated seat in front, with a whip in one hand, and the reins of the horse in the other. In the middle of the car is a hole for luggage, about eighteen inches wide, called a "well." The passengers, you see, sit back to back, and the "well" for their luggage is between them. The horse trots along in fine style, and the driver, with all the passengers, look happy.

Ireland is a beautiful country. Our lakes and mountains are very interesting to English visitors, and though many of the people are ignorant and very poor, yet they are always humorous and kind, especially to those who are kind to them.

But travellers on an Irish car must be careful. Sometimes the horses are bad, and the cars rickety; but the drivers are merry, and the passengers talkative. I was travelling on an Irish car once, across some very wild mountains, and, as we were jogging along, the horse fell down, the car broke, and we did not reach home till nearly midnight. But there was so much good humour in the company, that cheerfulness prevailed till we reached the end of our journey. A friend of mine was over here to visit us from England some time ago, and he was so seriously injured by the breaking down of the car on which he rode, that he nearly lost his life. But roads and cars are

improving in Ireland. We also have railways now, so that by and bye the people in Ireland will travel nearly as fast and as safe as the people in England. We should be thankful for every mercy, and especially for travelling mercies. It is a great blessing to be preserved during a long journey, and restored to our families in safety.

Only a few days ago I was riding on an Irish car with many passengers, and I soon found that most of them were on their way to America. We took up one young man on the road. As he gave the last shake of his hand to his friends they were much affected, and no wonder, for they loved each other, and their parting perhaps was for ever. He then

stepped up on the car with great glee, the driver smacked his whip, and the horse went swiftly on; but the young man stood up, and every now and then looked back towards his home, as if he felt deeply at leaving his friends behind him. They were all fine young men, and one of them said, "I have thirty full cousins in America." Ireland is like a bee-hive, and year after year thousands of her sons and daughters leave their homes to go and dwell in distant lands.

On this occasion a poor man and his wife sat quietly at my right hand. The poor woman looked cold, and I lent her a large cloak to keep her warm, for which she "thanked his honour," her husband at the same time, with a smile of satisfaction, putting it about her to the best advantage. Some things were said about the goodness of America and the badness of Ireland, to which I listened with attention, wishing there were more real "goodness" and less "badness" in each of these countries.

"Come-up," said the driver to the horse, smacking his whip, and we were rapidly taken round the corner of a street before the door of an hotel, at which the horse knew to stop, and we had to change cars. But we were soon mounted again, and after six hours

drive we had travelled twenty-five miles, which brought us to the end of our journey. What a long way a person might have travelled by steam during this time, but here, in some places, the roads are very bad, and the horses are poor.

Let my little reader remember that life is but a journey, and accident or no accident, we shall soon reach its end. Let us all look to Jesus, who is the way, the truth, and the life. The path to heaven is narrow and safe, and if you walk therein, God "will not suffer thy foot to be moved."

Ireland.

ALXANDER THE GREAT.

THE CHILD'S INQUIRY.

Child.-"How big was Alexander,
That people call him Great?
Was he like old Goliath, tall,
His spear a hundred weight?

Was he so large, that he could stand
Like some tall steeple high!

J. B.

And, while his feet were on the ground
His hands could touch the sky ?"

Father. "Oh no, my child, about as large
As I or uncle James,

'Tis not the stature makes men great,
But greatness of their names."

C.-"His name so great? I know 'tis long,
But easy quite to spell,

And more than half a year ago,

I knew it very well."

F.-"I mean, my child, his actions were

So great he got a name,

That every body speaks with praise,
And tells about his fame."

C.-"Well, what great actions did he do?
I want to know it all."

F. "Why he it was that conquered Tyre
And levelled down her wall;

And thousands of her people slew;
And then to Persia went,
And fire and sword on every side
Through many a region sent.

A hundred conquered cities shone
With midnight burnings red;
And strewed o'er many a battle ground
A thousand soldiers bled."

C.-"Did killing people make him great?
Then why was Abdel Young,
Who killed a man on training day
Put into jail and hung!

I never heard them call him great."
F.-" Why, no-'twas not in war:
And he that kills a single man,
His neighbours all abhor."

C.-"Well, then, if I should kill a man,
And kill a hundred more,

I should be great and not be hung,
Like Abdel Young before."

F.-"Not so, my child, 'twill never do;
The gospel bids be kind."

C. "Then they that kill, and they that praise,
The gospel do not mind."

F.-"You know, my child, the Bible says,
That you must always do
To other people, as you wish
To have them do to you."

C.-"But did great Alexander wish

That some strong man should come