* JOHN H. YATES.

HE plain, homely ballad has always been popular. Of late, the most popular newspaper poetry has taken form in the ballads of old people-that verse being oftenest copied which, in the assumed character of an old man or woman, most tenderly and pathetically recited the wrongs, the observations, or the reflections of age. Within two or three years past the name of John H. Yates has appeared in connection with such ballads oftener than any other, and the popularity his productions have enjoyed fairly entitles him to a place in this series of sketches.

The first to win wide recognition among Mr. Yates' ballads, if we remember rightly, was

THE OLD MAN IN THE NEW CHURCH.

They 've left the old church, Nancy, and gone into a new;
There 's paintings on the windows, and cushions in each pew;
I looked up at the shepherd, then around upon the sheep,
And thought what great inducements for the drowsy ones to

sleep.

Yes! when I saw the cushions, and the flowers fine and gay
In all the sisters' bonnets, I could n't help but say

"Must I be carried to the skies on flowery beds of ease,

While others fought to win the prize, and sailed through bloody

seas?"

The preacher read the good old hymn sung in our youthful

days

"Oh, for a thousand tongues to sing my great Redeemer's praise !"

And, though a thousand tongues were there, they did n't catch

the fire,

And so the good old hymn was sung by a new-fangled choir.

I doubt not but the people called the music very fine,

But if they heard a word they said they 've better ears than

mine;

For the new tune in the new church was a very twisting thing, And not much like the tunes of old that Christians used to

sing.

Why, Nancy, in the good old times, the singing sounded more
Like the noise of many waters as they beat upon the shore;
For everybody knew the tunes, and everybody sang,

And the churches, though not quite so fine, with hallelujahs

rang.

Now I'm not an old fogy, but I sometimes want to scold, When I see our people leave good ways simply because they're

old.

I've served the Lord nigh forty years, and till I 'm neath the

sod

I shall always love the simple, good old ways of serving God. "The Lord's ear is not heavy. He can hear a sinner's cry In a church that is not painted like a rainbow in the sky; The Lord s arm is not shortened." He will save a sinner now, Though he may in lonely hovel, on a cold earth-altar bow.

But they 've left the old church, Nancy, and gone into a new, And I fear they 've gone in more for style than for the good and true

And from what little I heard said, I fear that sadder yet,
In beating other churches, they 've got badly into debt.

We did n't think of lotteries and grab-bags, years ago,
As a means of raising money to make a better show!
When the church demanded dollars we all with one accord,
Put our hands down in our pockets and gave them to the Lord.

While I sat there at the meetin, looking 'round from pew to

pew,

I saw no familiar faces for the faces all were new;

When the services were ended, all the members passed me by, None were there to greet the old man with gra; hairs and fail

ing eye.

Then I knew that God had taken to the temple in the skies
All the soldiers that with you and I fought hard to win the

prize :

I some doubt if Christians now-a-days will reach the gates of

gold

Any better in the new ways than others did in the old.

For the Lord looks not on tinsel, His spirit will depart
When the love of earthly grandeur takes possession of the

heart;

Oh! I know the Lord of glory will pass through a hovel door Sooner than through temple por als where are no seats for the

poor.

In a little while, dear Nancy, we will lay our armor down,
And from the King Eternal we 'll receive our starry crown n;
Then we 'll meet the blessed pilgrims that we worshiped with

of old,

And we 'll worship there, together, in the city built of gold.

This, originally published in the Rochester Democrat and Chronicle, was generally copied by the press, but usually without credit, and of the many who have read it, few know even the author's name. It was followed by another depicting the New Church, and the worship in it, in detail, and entitled

THE OLD MAN IN THE STYLISH CHURCH.

Well, wife, I 've been to church to-day-been to a stylish one-And seein' you can't go from home, I'll tell you what was done.

You would have been surprised to see what I saw there to-day! The sisters were fixed up so fine they hardly bowed to pray.

I had on these coarse clothes of mine--not much the worse for

wear

But then they knew I was n't one they call a millionaire ; So they led the old man to a seat away back by the door; 'T was bookless and uncushioned-a reserved seat for the poor.

Pretty soon in came a stranger with gold ring and clothing

fine:

They led him to a cushioned seat far in advance of mine.
I doubted whether it was right to seat him up so near,
When he was young, and I was old, and very hard to hear.

But then, there's no accountin' for what some people do ;
The finest clothing now-a-days oft gets the finest pew.
But when we reach that blessed home, all undefiled by sin,
We'll see wealth beggin' at the gate, while poverty goes in.

I could n't hear the sermon, I sat so far away,

So through the hours of service, I could only "watch and

pray;"

Watch the doin's of the Christians settin' near me 'round

about;

Pray that God would make them pure within as they were pure

without.

While I set there, lookin' all around upon the rich and great ;
I kept thinkin' 'bout that rich man and the beggar at his gate :
How, by all but dogs forsaken, the poor beggar's form grew
cold,

And the angels bore his spirit to the mansions built of göld.
How at last the rich man perished, and his spirit took its flight
From the purple and fine linen to the home of endless night;
There he learned as he stood gazin' at the beggar in the sky,
"It is n't all of life to live, nor all of death to die."

I doubt not there were wealthy sires in that religious fold
Who went up from their dwellings like the Pharisee of old;
Then returned home from worship with a head uplifted high,
To spurn the hungry from their door with naught to satisfy.
Out, out, with such professions! they are doin' more to-day
To stop the weary sinner from the gospel's shinin' way
Than all the books of infidels; than all that has been tried
Since Christ was born in Bethlehem-since Christ was crucified.
How simple are the works of God, and yet how very grand ;
The shells in ocean caverns, the flowers on the land;

He gilds the clouds of evenin' with the gold-light from His throne

Not for the rich man only, not for the poor alone.

Then why should man look down on man because of lack of gold?

Why seat him in the poorest pew because his clothes are old?
A heart with noble motives, a heart that God has blest,
May be beatin' Heaven's music 'neath that faded coat and vest.