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THE TALKING TOWN PUMP.

resorted to purify their visages, and some to gaze at them afterwards in the mirror which it made. One generation after another cast their waxing and waning shadows into its glassy bosom, and vanished from the earth, as if mortal life were but a fitting image in a fountain. Finally, the fountain vanished also. Cellars were dug on all sides, and cart loads of gravel were flung upon its source, whence oozed a turbid stream, forming a mud puddle at the corner of two streets. In the hot months, when its refreshment was most needed, the dust flew in clouds over the forgotten birthplace of the waters, now their grave. But, in the course of time, a town pump was sunk into the source of the ancient spring; and, when the first decayed, another took its place, and then another, and still another, till here stand I, ladies and gentlemen, to serve you with my iron goblet. Drink, and be refreshed. The water is as pure and cold as that which slaked the thirst of the red Sagamore, beneath the aged boughs; though now the gem of the wilderness is treasured under these hot stones, where no shadow falls, but from the brick buildings. And be it the moral of my story, that, as this wasted and long-lost fountain is now known and prized again, so shall the virtues of cold water, too little valued since your father's days, be recognized by all.

Your pardon, good people. I must interrupt my stream of eloquence, and spout forth a stream of water, to replenish the trough for this teamster and his two yoke of oxen, who have come from Topsfield, or somewhere along that way. No part of my business is pleasanter than the watering of cattle. Look! how rapidly they lower the water mark on the sides of the trough, till their capacious stomachs are moistened with a gallon or two apiece, and they can afford time to breathe it in, with sighs of calm enjoyment. Now they roll their quiet eyes around the brim of their huge drinking vessel. An ox is your true toper.

But I perceive, my dear auditors, that you are impatient for the remainder of my discourse. Impute it, I beseech you, to no defect of modesty, if I insist a little longer on so fruitful a topic as my own multifarious merits. It is altogether for your good. The better you think of me, the better men and women will you find yourselves. I shall say nothing of my all-important aid on washing days. Far be it from me also to hint at the show of dirty faces which you would present, without my pains to keep you clean. Nor will I remind you how often,

THE TALKING TOWN PUMP,

when the midnight bells make you tremble for your combustible town, you have fled to the town' pump, and found me always at my post, firm amid the confusion, and ready to drain my vital current in your behalf. Neither is it worth while to lay much stress on my claims to a medical diploma, as the physician whose simple rule of practice is preferable to all the nauseous lore which has found men sick, or left them so, since the days of Hippocrates. Let us take a broader view of my beneficial influence on mankind.

Yes; these are trifles, compared with the merits which wise men concede to me-if not in my single self, yet as the representative of a class- of being one of the grand reformers of the age. From my spout, and such spouts as mine, must flow the stream that shall cleanse our earth of the vast portion of its crime and anguish, which has gushed from the fiery fountains of the still. In this mighty enterprise, the cow shall be my great confederate. Milk and water! The town pump and the cow! Such is the great copartnership that shall tear down the distilleries. Then shall poverty pass away from the land, finding no hovel so wretched where her squalid form may shelter itself. Then sin shall lose half its strength. Until now, the frenzy of hereditary fever has raged in the human blood, transmitted from sire to son, and rekindled in every generation by fresh draughts of liquid flame. When that inward fire shall be extinguished, the heat of passion cannot but grow cool, and war—the drunkenness of nations-perhaps will cease. At least, there will be no war of households. The husband and wife, drinking deep of peaceful joy, a calm bliss of temperate affections, shall pass hand in hand through life. To them the past will be no turmoil of mad dreams, nor will the future reveal such moments as follow the delirium of the drunkard,

Ahem! dry work this speechifying, especially to an unpractised orator. I never conceived till now what toil the lecturers undergo for my sake. Hereafter they shall have the business to themselves. Do, some kind creature, pump a stroke or two, just to wet my whistle. Thank you, sir. My dear friends, when the world shall acknowledge my claims, you will collect your useless vats and liquor casks into one great pile, and make a bonfire in honour of the town pump. And when I shall have decayed, like my predecessors, then, if you revere my mamory, let a marble fountain, richly sculptured, take my place upon this spot. Such monuments should be erected

POETRY.

everywhere, and inscribed with the names of the distinguished champions of my cause. Now listen; for something very important is to come next.

There are two or three honest friends of mine (and true friends I know they are) who, nevertheless, by their fiery pugnacity in my behalf, do put me in fearful hazard of a broken nose, or even of a total overthrow upon the pavement, and the loss of the treasure which I guard. I pray you, gentlemen, let this fault be amended. Is it decent, think you, to get tipsy with zeal for temperance, and take up the cause of the town pump, in the style of a toper fighting for his brandy bottle ? Or can the excellent qualities of cold water be no otherwise exemplified than by plunging splashdash into hot water, and wofully scalding yourselves and other people? Trust me, they may. In the moral warfare which you are to wage, (and, indeed, in the whole conduct of your lives,) you cannot choose a better example than myself, who have never permitted the dust, and sultry atmosphere, the turbulence and manifold disquietudes of the world around me, to reach the deep, calm well of purity within.

One o'clock! Nay, then, if the dinner bell begins to speak, I may as well hold my peace. Here comes a young girl of my acquaintance, with a large stone pitcher for me to fill. Hold out your vessel, my dear. There it is, full to the brim; so now run home, and forget not, in a glass of my own liquor, to drink—“Success to the Town Pump!"

From an American Publication,

Poetry.

A CALL TO THE CARELESS.
WAKE, slumberer, wake! repent, repent! Destruction reigns above, beneath,
Yet a few fleeting hours remain;

In noontide's bcam, in midnight's shade. One day for mercy still is lent;

Wake, slumberer! wake-the day that That day may never dawn again,

breaks, O waste it not-'tis thine-'tis all

Twilight shall never dim--nor thou All that remains of earth or heaven; Find aught but wo in all that makes Hark-how its fitting spirits call —

Thy miserable pleasures now. Seize-sanctify the moment given,

To Jesus the Great Saviour fly; Thou treadst on tombs, thou breathest! His blond can cleanse thee from thy sin, death,

Refuse, and death eterual die The stars go out the forests fade,

Haste, and a crown immortal win!

ANECDOTES, SELECTIONS, AND GEMS.

Anecdotes, Selections, and Gems.

Anecdotes. The Indian CHIEF.-In no instance did the Word of Salvation reach the consciences of the wild Indians with greater power, or more strikingly display its saving efficacy, than in the case of Tschoop. Before his conversion he was distinguished by every act of outrage and sin, and had even crippled himself by his debaucheries; but now the lion was tamed, and the slave of sin and the devil, became the child of God, and a preacher of righteousness to his countrymen. The account he once gave of his conversion will best elucidate the striking change wrought in him. “Brethren," said he, “I have been a heathen, and have grown old amongst them; therefore I know how heathens think. Once a preacher came, and began to explain to us that there was a God :—We answered, “Dost thou think us so ignorant as not to know that ? Return to the place from whence thov camest.' Then, again, another preacher came and said, “You must not get drunk, nor steal, nor lie.' We answered, •Thou fool, dost thou think us ignorant of this ? Learn first thyself, and then teach the people to whom thou belongest to leave off these things : for who steal, lie, or are more drunken than thine own people?' and thus we dismissed him. After some time, Brother Rauch came into my hut, sat down, and spoke nearly as follows:—'I am come to you in the name of the Lord of heaven and earth: He sends to let you know that he will make you bappy, and deliver you from the misery in which you lie at present. For this end He became a man, gave his life à ransom, and shed His blood for sinners. When he had finished his discourse, he lay down, fatigued with his journey, and fell into a sound sleep. I thought, What kind of man is this? There he lies and sleeps: I might kill him, and throw him into the wood, and who would regard it ?—but this gives him no concern. However, I could not forget his words, they constantly recurred to my mind. Even when asleep, I dreamt of the blood of Christ shed for us. I found this to be widely different from any thing I had heard before, and I interpreted Rauch's words to the other Indians. Thus, through the grace of God, an awakening commenced among us. I say, therefore, brethren, preach Christ our Saviour, and His sufferings and death, if you would wish your word to gain entrance among the heathen."

AN INDIAN'S GIFT TO CHRIST.-In a portion of the southern territory from which the red man has now been driven, I once attended a large protracted meeting held in the wild forest. The theme on which the preacher dwelt, and which he illustrated with surpassing beauty and grandeur, was “Christ and him crucified." He spoke of the Good Shepherd who came into the world to seek and to save the lost. He told how this Saviour met the rude ANECDOTES, SELECTIONS, AND GEMS.

buffetings of the heartless soldiers. He drew 'a picture of Gethsemane and the unbefriended Stranger who wept there. He pointed to Him as he hung bleeding upon the cross. The congregation wept. Soon there was a slight movement in the assembly, and a tall son of the forest, with tears on his red cheeks, approached the pulpit and said,-"Did Jesus die for me—die for poor Indian ? Me have no lands now to give to Jesus, the white man take them away; me give him my dog and my rifle.” The minister told him Jesus could not accept such gifts. “Me give Jesus my dog, my rifle, and my blanket; poor Indian, be got no more to give-he give Jesus all.” The minister replied that Christ could not accept them. The poor, ignorant, but generous child of the forest, bent his head in sorrow and meditated. He raised his noble brow once more, and fised his eye on the preacher while he sobbed out, Here is poor Indian, will Jesus have him." A thrill of unutterable joy ran through the souls of minister and people, as this fierce son of the wilderness now sat, in his right mind, at the feet of Jesus. The Great Spirit had done his work, and he who had been so poor, received the earnest of an inheritance which shall not fade when the diadems of earth have mouldered for ever. Reader, have you given up the world have you given yourself to Christ?' Why not? He gave himself for you!

Selections. THE WORLD versus THE CAURCH.—In the first ages of christianity, the world was at open war with the church of Christ. There now seems, comparatively speaking, to be peace. How is this? The world is still what it was: still bitter, still fierce, still fixed in its purpose and declaration, "We will not have this man to reign over us.” How then can there be peace ? Must not some change have taken place in the church? Such is the world, that it would never be at peace with us, unless there were something different on our part. The world has never given up the contest: the world has never retreated a single step: we have left the field. The world still keeps the field. It rests with us to renew the conflict, whensoever we will : in other words, whensoever we have courage to do 80. We boast of our peace; but we proclaim our condemnation; we publish our shame. Let the church return to her proper character when she will, the world is ready for her : the world will return to its old practice, of blaspheming, persecuting, imprisoning, hanging, sawing asunder, burning; children betraying their parents, and parents betraying their children, as in the days of the apostles and the reformation; for yet it is true, that “they who will live godly in Christ Jesus must suffer persecution."

We Most SEE OUR SINS.-It appears from the scriptures to be the will of God to make every man see his own depravity. Now this is more than any person can see at one time, and therefore the discovery must be gradual. The view may, indeed, break upon

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