The Critic paused to rest from his labor, tipped back in
his chair, lit his pipe and began musing.
"Is there then;" he questioned, "nothing but verse that
can be clipped 'from the Exchanges? Let me see." And.
picking up an old Miwningside he found,—
ONCE upon a time' the breakers tossed a Little Stone out
f upon the sand of the sea-side. When the morning sun
had dried its eyes and it had recovered its senses, the Little
Stone , discovered, on looking around it, that it was lying close
beside a Big Boulder. "Ah," said the Little Stone, addressing
its huge neighbor, "you are not the only pebble on the beach I"
"No," replied the Big Boulder, smiling benignantly upon the
Little Stone, "roll are the only pebble."
Perusing. still further in the pile of old college maga
zines. The Critic found a clipping in The Wesleyan
which reminded him so of his New Year's meditation that
he decided it worth requoting.
Clasped in the rugged arms of Tittle,
Last night the year lay down to rest:
Aye, wearily his earth-worn child
Sank on the father's longing breast;--
In purple peace the western hills
Prayed that the passing soul be blest.
A cross of stone—gaunt memory
Of bygone pain, and loss and woe—
Stood sharp against the twilight gold:
To-day to sun-rise joy I go
With unsheathed sword: a shadowed cross
May dim the way, I do not know.
A BIABLi4.
TO-DAY.