Humor.

Waikato Times, Volume XIX, Issue 1580, 19 August 1882, Page 6

Humor.

HOW THE METHODISTS CIIKISTIANISE THE CHINESE. It has been found, according to the New York Tribune, that a good old Methodist revival tune in G- flat, with a taking chorus, will bring a Chinaman into the heavenly camp, while long prayers will drive him back deeper into the mire of false and mystic belief of the ancient doctrines of Quan Chang Quee, Hong Guie, and the theological celebfitiea who nourished about 1,2008.0. jI T]he' -reporter recently attended a Snndey-scholdl meeting where several Chinamen were /taking part in the exercises,' and/ he said of I them : —'♦They sang hymns' < Bothnia . Chinese and English. 'When* the organ .struck up they were ■ evidently ' muohi pleased, and broad smiles their otherwise n impassive faces. They sang * Hold 'em Flort, We Comee, in good style, tout in> /an old familiar hymn they did remarkably well, as follows : There a lan him heep flairer 'em day, By flaith we all seekee afar, Jelus he stand by the way Makee allee Bamee housoe right there. ' ' The melody was sung with exquisite effect, one the odd transposition of the words when listening to their well-harmonised voices. They sang 'I Love Jelus, yeaser do,' ' Out on the oshlun ' (ocean), and closed with the benediction in Chinese. ' Oh, hung chung, oilo koyleekee,' the words and music blending with beautiful effect. The translation was made by Hu Chung, a young student whehas been but five years in America. The Chinese who have been converted have not only stuck by their change of heart, but are studiously engaged in the work of evangelising their fellow heathen who grope in darkness."

APOSTROPHE TO THE STATUE OF A GLADIATOR. Cold, pulseless fragrant of the long ago, who sittest calm and passionless through scooting years ; Thy busted snoot, awry, amort, besmoiled with dust of pasiing feet, thy fractured bugle looming 'neath the twinkling stars, a gloomy wreck of former grandeur tells not of what hath thee betid. Across thy scarred cold breast no trouble rolls, and o'er thy brow yet frozen in dumb agony beatraugbt, the swif t and sable clouds of night do straggle like an aged dying joke in the dusc, of ancient amphitheatre. Little thou reckest, in thy broken state, that thou art clothed with udthing but the wailing wynd. Thy cold, hard oheek is still unclothed with shame, tho' in the chilly air at night thy marble fragments are exposed. Who, gazing at thy busted brow and panic-stricken features, now would ere surmise thy prowess in the days agone ! Who, looking o'er thy mansard intellect and cast-iron frame, knocked galley west by time's effacing fingers, ore would give a passing thought to what thou'stbeen in previous years. I trow, not one of all mankind would pick thee up to be the once proud snooker of the Roman ring. Misguided relic of an era past, when men were muscled like an angel hen, and brave men fought with cheese knives long and well, or gouged the lion's liver out and mixed it with the sand, while beauteous ladies smiled and munched the Roman caramel, he who would grudge thee pity now in this thy hour of need, would rob a pauper's grave to get the gold with which his teeth were filled. Proud fragment of heroic days, in dreamy no doubt thou livest on, and in the amphitheatre with quivering blade thou fightest still. Methinks I see thee in the dusty ring, straddling about and slashing right and left, filling the air with toe-nails and fresh gore. Again I hear thy new-laid joke as up against the galleries the fragments of thy foes are hurled. Dream on, thou fractured warrior of ye olden time, and reck, not one cold, careless claim that all thy limbs are knocked into a shapeless mass. Forget the present in thy glorious past. Live over still the days when in thy wondrous strength thou wast more deadly than the modern pie. Lose not thy grip, bold warrior of- the fly-blown past. Brace up with memories of forgotten years, thou busted' warrior of ,ye Roman time, for he who thus apostrophises < thee is busted too. — Laramie Boomerang.