I met him next day, and I met him again, In melting weather and pouring rain, When stocks were up, and when stocks were down; But a smile somehow had replaced the frown. It puzzled me much; and so one day I seized his hand in a friendly way, And said: “Mr. Horner, I’d like to know What can have happened to change you so!” He laughed a laugh that was good to hear, For it told of a conscience calm and clear, And he said, with none of the old-time drawl, “Why, I’ve changed my residence, that is all!” “Changed your residence?” “Yes,” said Horner, “It wasn’t healthy on Grumble Corner, And so I moved—’twas a change complete— And you’ll find me now on Thanksgiving Street!” Now, every day, as I move along The streets so filled with the busy throng, I watch each face, and can always tell Where men and women and children dwell; And many a discontented mourner Is spending his days on Grumble Corner, Sour and sad, whom I long to entreat To take a house on Thanksgiving Street. —_Josephine Pollard._ A Bible for a Pistol A True Story “See, mother, see what I have brought you!” exclaimed a young Brazilian, holding up to view a well-bound, gilt-edged book. “Antonio Marques told me that the priest ordered him to burn it, but he did not like to destroy so good a book, and was afraid to displease the priest by keeping it, so I offered to trade my old double-barreled pistol for it. I thought you might like to have the book, for they say it is all about religion, and you are so religious. It might be of some use when you go to repeat your prayers for people who are dying.” The mother took the book from her son’s hands, and slowly reading the title, “A Santa Biblia,” said: “Ah! this is good; this is the ‘Rule of Life,’ I am glad to have it.” Then beginning at the first of Genesis, she glanced over several chapters until she reached the tenth. “Yes, you are right, my son; here is just the kind of prayer I want. Here is a long list of names, and as they are all in the Bible, they must all be of saints, and some of them will surely help the poor creatures.” The youth frequently found his mother with the book before her when he came in from his work, and had he taken the trouble to look over her shoulder he would have found her always reading the tenth chapter of Genesis. The woman, who had the fame of knowing by heart a great many prayers, was often sent for to go even long distances to repeat them for the hope and comfort of the dying; and she was faithfully trying to master the long names, so as to say them off glibly to serve as a prayer.