“Go back!” she cried, and waved her hand, And grief was in her eye: “Go, tell the King,” she sadly said, “That I would rather die.” They brought her message to the King; Dark flash’d his angry eye; ’Twas as the lightning ere the storm Hath swept in fury by. Then bitterly outspoke the King, Through purple lips of wrath— “What shall be done to her who dares To cross your monarch’s path?” Then spake his wily counsellors— “O King of this fair land! From distant Ind to Ethiop, All bow to thy command. “But if, before thy servants’ eyes, This thing they plainly see, That Vashti doth not heed thy will Nor yield herself to thee, “The women, restive ’neath our rule, Would learn to scorn our name, And from her deed to us would come Reproach and burning shame. “Then, gracious King, sign with thy hand This stern but just decree, That Vashti lay aside her crown, Thy Queen no more to be.” She heard again the King’s command, And left her high estate; Strong in her earnest womanhood, She calmly met her fate, And left the palace of the King, Proud of her spotless name— A woman who could bend to grief, But would not bow to shame. THANK GOD FOR LITTLE CHILDREN. Thank God for little children, Bright flowers by earth’s wayside, The dancing, joyous lifeboats Upon life’s stormy tide. Thank God for little children; When our skies are cold and gray, They come as sunshine to our hearts, And charm our cares away. I almost think the angels, Who tend life’s garden fair, Drop down the sweet wild blossoms That bloom around us here. It seems a breath of heaven Round many a cradle lies, And every little baby Brings a message from the skies. Dear mothers, guard these jewels, As sacred offerings meet, A wealth of household treasures To lay at Jesus’ feet. THE MARTYR OF ALABAMA. [The following news item appeared in the newspapers throughout the country, issue of December 27th, 1894: