I 
Written for Moore’s Bural New-Yorker. 
AT CROQUET, 
Ralph’s silver whistle is sounding, clear with the 
music of joy. 
Calling laziness out of the languor that drones on 
the summer breeze— 
And glad faces like nature's own beauty, soft eyes 
that dare aught to annoy. 
Seek lounging!)’ laughing and smiling, the sward 
’mid the whispering trees. 
Shadowed by drooping willow and thick castanea 
leaves 
That nestle in cool green edgings to the heart of 
the wooing day, 
God’s heaven is peacefully brooding—a spirit that 
sorrow ne’er grieves, 
Glinting sunshiny hopes through the branchlets 
that smile on our games of croquet. 
The faces are moulded in softness, the eyes coquet- 
tlehly bright, 
Are the hearts more livingly haunted, Janie, than 
yours and mine >— 
Mine which treasures a golden summer God knows I 
can never forget, 
When I drank those brimming goblets of love’s 
rich fiery wine. 
Yours would sink Ln oblivion's deepness the thoughts 
of something that’s done— 
A mocking demon’s memories of days that have 
passed away, 
Your face with lt& sparkling gladness is the mask you 
have dearly won— 
—You said— ? No, my green ball was clacking at 
merciless Nellie's croquet. 
O Janie, he never loved yon— the heart that he gave 
for yours 
Throbbed only with pelf’s bard pulses, beat only 
for him, not you: 
You were dazzled by dancing flashes that hid all the 
wiling lures— 
You thought the polished marble to be life that 
was good and true. 
But you found it colder than winter, aching only for 
Bonlless fame. 
And freezing your best aspirations till you wrench¬ 
ed its falseness away: 
Bid you live ln that flattering and feting of those so 
all-proud of his name?— 
Gon help us ’. the world can’t be driven as we drive 
the Italia at croquet. 
Ah, well: you were maddened with being all crushed 
to earth like this. 
To remember the wealth you had bartered for the 
husks of an empty life: 
The diamond that fettered yonr finger like a tell-tale 
lover’s kiss 
Seemed to sneer at your terrible heart-ache in that 
bitter, bitter strife, 
Gleaming fiercely on him you had trusted with the 
holy truth of trust— 
You are scarred with the searing story of that death- 
still summer day. 
The withering, blighting summer, that bowed you 
low in the dust,— 
Ah, to play with hearts earnest and loving is as 
easy as ploying croquet- 
Was the summer so blighting—so withering ?— to 
one ’t had been gladness and joy, 
And treasured ull sacredly precious were its dreams 
of a promised love: 
They were only the idlest visions—they dazed but to 
bring me annoy— 
’Twill have mattered little, it may be, when we 
greet one another above. 
O Janie, there's some one up yonder, walking the 
beautiful street, 
Yet so near in that infinite loving that holds us to¬ 
gether for aye— 
Let the soft breaths that w hisper of heaven, of her 
pure life that there is so sweet, 
Keep the soul strong that’s guiding the mallet where 
the bridges o’erarch our croquet. 
Wat. Seiigeant Lee. 
MEN AND WOMEN COMPANIONS. 
Women aud men for the first time in history 
arc really companions. Our traditions of the 
proper relations between them have descended 
from a time when their lives were apart, when 
they were separate in their thoughts because 
they were separate both in their amusements 
and in their serious occupations. The man 
spent his hours of leisure among men—all his 
friendships, nli his intimacies were with men— 
with man alone did he converse on any serious 
subject: the wife was either a plaything or an 
upper servant. 
All this among the educated classes Is changed. 
Men no longer give up their spare time to vio¬ 
lent outdoor exercises uud boisterous convivali- 
ties with male associates; the two sexes really 
pass their time together; the women of the fam¬ 
ily arc the man's habitual society—the wife is his 
chief associate, his most confidential frietid, and 
often his most trusted councellor. Now, does a 
man wish to have for his nearest eompauiou— 
linked so closely with himself, and whose wishes 
and preferences have so 6trong a claim upon 
him—one whose thoughts arc alien from those 
which occupy his own mind, one who can give 
neither comfort, nor support, to his noblest 
feelings and purposes ? 
Is this close aud almost exclusive companion¬ 
ship compatible with women being warned off 
all large subjects, taught that they ought not to 
care about what it is the man’s duty to care for, 
and that to take part in any serious interests 
outside their households is stepping beyond their 
province? Is it good for a man to pass his life 
in close communion of thoughts aud feelings 
with a person studiously kept inferior to him¬ 
self—whose earthly interests are forcibly re¬ 
strained within four walla—who is taught to 
cultivate as a grace of character ignorance and 
indifference about tbe most inspiring subjects, 
those among which his highest duties are east ? 
Does any one suppose that this can happen with¬ 
out detriment to his own character? 
The time is come when women, if not raised 
to the level of men, men will be pulled down to 
theirs. The women of a man’s family are either 
a stimulus and support to his highest aspira¬ 
tions, or a drag upon him. Men and women are 
1 
really companions. If the women are frivol¬ 
ous, the men will be frivolous. If women care 
for persona] interests and trifling amusements, 
men in general will care for littc else. The two 
sexes must rise and sink together.— John Stuart 
Mitts' Speech in British House of Commons. 
A SECOND EVANGELINE. 
Os a steamer which recently passed up to 
Montana was a girl scarce eighteen, who goes to 
the distant land of gold to meet her alllanced. 
Four years ago 6he met and loved a young stu¬ 
dent In a German University. Their tryeting 
place might not have been at“ Bingen on the 
Rhine, 1 ' but 'twas at just as romantic a spot not 
many leagues distant. Her attachment was re¬ 
ciprocated, and troth was plighted. Three years 
sinco the “bridegroom” came to America, and 
sought his fortune amid the placers of Montaua, 
shortly securing a lucrative position as superin¬ 
tendent of a successful mining company. A few 
weeks ago ft brief message darted across two 
continents, and three thousand miles of ocean In a 
day, and found this beautiful, unsophisticated girl 
surrounded by all the endearments of a home of 
wealth and reflnement. It told her that near the 
far off shores of the Pacifle some one awaited 
her coming. A few days later and she was rock¬ 
ing on the waves of the broad Atlantic, and 
later still she disembarked In a strange land, the 
language and customs of w hose people were new 
to her. She is now slowly and happily ascend¬ 
ing the Missouri, confidant that her “ bride¬ 
groom” is expecting her, having traveled alone 
from the banks of the Baltic to meet him. Sup¬ 
pose lie should have died during her journey ! 
What then ?—Western paper. 
WATCH MAKING. 
Twenty thousand Swiss women earn a com¬ 
fortable living by watch making. They make 
the movements, and even mostly put them to¬ 
gether. A few women are finishers. Tbe En¬ 
glish Woman’s Review says: — “Geneva has 
refused to employ women, and totally lost the 
watch trade. None of the so-called Geneva 
watches are made there, but in Neufrhatel, 
where women have always been employed.” 
Mr. Bennett of London, “ states facts relative 
to the mental culture of both sexes deemed requi¬ 
site in Switzerland to fit workers for watch¬ 
making, and refers to the salubrious dwellings 
of the operatives.” 
A traveler says“ We see women at the head 
of some of the heaviest manufactories of Swit¬ 
zerland and France, iu tbe watch and jewelry 
line.” Iu England women are employed in one 
London establishment, and in several principal 
towns. Five hundred women are employed at 
Christ Church in making interior chains for 
chronometers. 
American watches are made by machinery, 
while those imported are made by hand. The 
Waltham Watch Company employs two hundred 
artizans, of whom seventy-live are women. 
Some Swiss women ln Camden, New Jersey, 
make inside work for watches. In Boston 
women cut the teeth of chronometer and watch 
wheels, earning from 84 to 8b a week. Delicacy 
of touch, practice, and great care are needed. 
A Waltham overseer says men Cara double 
what women do, for they do more difficult work, 
are more thoughtful and contriving, more self- 
reliant and stronger; and beside it is the custom 
to pay women less lor the same work.— Employ¬ 
ment for Women. 
ELOQUENT TO SOME PURPOSE. 
The Hartford Post cites as proof of Miss 
Clara Barton’s influence as a lecturer, an inci¬ 
dent which occurred in New Britain, Connecti¬ 
cut. It says; 
“ There is a soldier boy in New Britain who 
lost an arm in the government service. Since 
his return home he has struggled hard against 
wind aud tide to support his family, but high 
prices involved him, and finally even the little 
property he owned was so mortgaged that there 
was danger of losiug it. During one of Miss 
Barton’s lectures at New Britain, he was pre-snt, 
and in the course of her touching appeals 
in behalf of the soldiers, telling of the hard¬ 
ships thdy endured, Ehe suddenly turned up¬ 
on the audience with the question: “Have 
you any returned soldiers among you, and do 
you show your gratitude by kindly caring for 
them ? ” The question went to the hearts of 
those who heard her. All eyes were soon fixed 
upon the maimed and needy soldier. A sub¬ 
scription was started, and enough money soon 
raised to clear off the mortgage and leave a nice 
balance besides. This is one of those touehiug 
incidents which prove the worth of Miss Bar¬ 
ton’s work. 
TWO HEROIC GIRLS. 
The Newburg Journal gives the following 
statement about the conduct of two young 
ladies at the disastrous boiler explosion, recent¬ 
ly, on the Newburg branch of the Erie railroad; 
“ Two daughters of Mr. Merritt—one of the in¬ 
jured men—hearing tbe explosion, ran from tbe 
house to the scene of the accident, finding the 
three men, McBurney, Merritt and Sears, buried 
in the rubbish, and entirely senseless from the 
concussion and injuries received from the explo¬ 
sion. They extracted Merritt and McBurney, 
und carried them into tbe house, and returning 
to Dr. Sears’ assistance, fonud u large iron bal¬ 
ance wheel, weighing eight hundred pounds, ly¬ 
ing directly across him, partially supported by 
rubbish, yet holding him securely as in a vice. 
The two girls raised the wheel, drew him out, 
aud carried him into the house also, providing 
for the injured men’s comfort with all the means 
at their command. When they had done this, 
one of them remained to take care of them, and 
the other mounted a horse and rode post haste 
for a physician.” 
dBoicd ^HisctHaiin. 
IN STRAWBERRY TIME. 
The garden gate as we two passed through, 
Swung slowly backward, then closed again; 
Over our heads the sky’s deep blue 
Parer Bhone for the last night's rain, 
And the milk-white clouds through the azure Bailed, 
And over the landscape cool shadows trailed. 
Throngh checkered sunlight and shadow we went, 
Ilettic and L that sweet Jnue day, 
When the odor of clover blooms was blent 
With the fravrant scent of the new-mown hay; 
And the voice of the bobolink sounded clear, 
As he called to his mate from the meadow near. 
Ilalf shy, half wanton, the light wind played, 
On the breezy uplands, with Hettie's curls, 
That over her shoulders Idly strayed. 
And kissed the cheek of IhU queen of girls. 
As we sauntered on by the path that led 
To the meadows where grew the strawberries red, 
Together we stopped in the tall green grass 
That day when the June soil shone so fair; 
But nay thonghts wore all of this village lass, 
And not of the Btrawberriea growing there: 
Of her cheek* where the rose its blushes shed, 
And her lips like the berries so ripe and red. 
Soon her basket was filled to the brim. 
When turnine on me her great brown eyes, 
From under her *traw-hat’* shadowy rim, 
She darted a look of quick snrprise; 
For you might have counted the berries that lay 
In the basket I carried that sweet June day. 
“Hettie," I said, as I rose—and she 
Withdrew her gazo in gentle alarm— 
“One banket’s enough for you and me;” 
And lifting hers, laden, across my arm, 
We sauntered back by the path that led 
From the meadow where grew the strawberries red. 
But long ere we reached the garden gate. 
She and I, on our homeward way. 
From her own sweet lips I ban learned my fate, 
Oh. happy the hour, and hajqiy the day) 
And happy my heart in its new-found bliss, 
As I eeaicd each vow with a lover’s kiss. 
Ah! many a year since then has gone by; 
But whenever the month of Jane draws near, 
And the clouds grow whiter that cross the sky, 
Or whenever the bobolink’s voice I hear, 
As the summer approaches her golden prime, 
Comes the thought to me of that strawberry I fine. 
[Ihnper'e Weekly. 
RAINY PAYE IN TH E COUNTRY. 
Some sentimental city body writes thus poeti¬ 
cally and descriptively of aud about rain and its 
effects in the God-made country : 
“ When I go off into tbe country to stay awhile, 
I like, of all things, on pulling tbe bed-clothes 
about me and settling my head in the pillows 
for the night, to hear the rain drip from the 
eavc 3 on the roof of the porch. The sound 
makes the sense of comfort and eozmess full 
and complete. 1 lie find let flow through my 
uiind unformed faneiy* of tall feathery brakes, 
pearly with rows of rain-drops, emptying their 
leafy buckets into my boot-tops; of drenched 
boughs iu the woods, slapping their showers in 
my neck and face; of mill-dams carried off bv 
rising floods ; of bridges gone, and deluges 
working down between the singing shingles 
into the room:—but the effort, somehow, is 
after a time too great, and I sink to slumber 
among the murmure of the rain as tranquilly 
as a child goes off, with its last plaything held 
tight in its little hand. 
They have no real rainy days in the city. What 
are so styled are only dark days — dirty days — 
days of mud, and slosh, aud soured tempers — 
days of soggy boots, saturated clothes, and 
spoiled hats. In the country, Nature makes 
nothing of showiug you her face; and it is not 
lower)’ and scowling, either — it is tearful, more 
or less “ blubbered,” as Spencer would say, yet 
altogether placid and calm underneath. The 
rain is no more than a changing mood there, 
which she comes out of all the happier for hav¬ 
ing submitted to its brief obscuration. 
But ah! it is so delicious, to the spirit that is 
at all sensitive, to hear the big drops pattering 
on the roof; the garret is the place to get true 
inspiration from the rain. What hidden realms 
of pleasure the boys and girls explore up there, 
rummaging the old place from end to end! 
Side-saddles and antique bonnets arc- dragged 
forth from their twilight domains, to do service 
once more for a generation undreamt of in the 
day of their origiual glory. Faded-out pam¬ 
phlets, aud hooks with half covers—perhaps u 
fragment of old Flavius Josephus, or the rem¬ 
nant of an odd volume of Colonial History, or, 
more likely, a pile of preserved almanacs, inlaid 
and overlaid with dust and diligently eaten of 
rats—fan the embers of the childish thought 
into a living flame, and the afternoon hours 
glide away as silently as the twilight owl sails 
off - into the mystery of a deeper darkness. The 
Saturday afternoons in old garrets are well-nigh 
sacred, for the memories that arc stored within 
them; aud the mere mention of them along with 
the rain is enough tu bring a lost man entirely 
to himself again. 
Rainy days at home are apt, likewise, to put 
in the head a vagabondish wish for a thoughtful 
ramble over the domestic premises. To stand 
idly at the back-door and listen to the water 
rilling into the hogshead at the corner, is a good 
deal better than Casta Diva; and the melodies 
stick faster in the heart. Around the back 
buildings and uuder the sheds huddle the poul¬ 
try, with drooping tails aud drowned feet, 
watching the sprinkle of the rain and listening 
to its sounds, till they fall asleep on foot, at 
last. The house dog walks from the bam to 
the shed, and from the shed to the kitchen, 
occasionally throwing up a weather-wise eye 
at the clouds. The cows are gone under the 
barn for a while, aud there they quietly rumi¬ 
nate and grow steamy. The horse looks cau¬ 
tiously out of his stall window, becomes dis¬ 
heartened with the prospect, and draws his 
long face in again. ’ 
MERCANTILE MAXIMS. 
The way to get credit is to be punctual. The 
way to preserve it i3 not to use it much. Settle 
often; have short accounts. Trust to no man’& 
appearance—it is deceptive—perhaps assumed 
for the purpose of obtaining credit. Beware of 
gaudy exterior. Rognes usually dress well. The 
rich are plain men. Trust him, if any one, who 
carries but little on his back. Never trust him 
who flies into a passion on being dunned; make 
him pay quickly, if there be any virtue in the 
law. Be satisfied, before you give a credit, that 
those you give it to arc safe men to be trusted. 
Sell your goods at a small advance, and never 
misrepresent them, or those whom yOu once de¬ 
ceive will beware of you the second time. Deal 
uprightly with all men, and they will repose 
confidence in yon, and soon become yonr perma¬ 
nent customers. Beware of him who is an office 
seeker. M en do not usually want an office where 
there is anything to do. A man’s affairs are 
rather low when he Becks oflice for support. 
Trust no stranger. Your goods are better than 
doubtful charges. What is character worth, if 
you make it cheap, crediting all alike ? Agree 
beforehand with every man about to do a job, 
and, If large, put it into writing, if any decline 
then, quit—or he cheated. Though you want a 
job ever so much, make all sure at the onset; 
and in cases at all doubtful make sure of a guar¬ 
antee. Be not afraid to ask it, it is the best of 
responsibility: for, if offence be taken, you have 
escaped a loss. 
TIME TO LIVE. 
One great affliction of Americans iu this gen¬ 
eration is that God did not put more than 6Lxty 
seconds into a minute; and that, in our haste to 
get a living we have not time to live. We have 
not time to eat, to sleep, to wash, to read Sbak- 
speare, to play with our children, to get passably 
acquainted with our wives, or articulate our 
mother tongue. If we could but add to the na¬ 
tional time as easily as we can to the natioual 
domain; if we could hut have nine days iu the 
week, or thirty-six hours in the day, would we 
not-what? Attend to some of these lit¬ 
tle neglected matters? Bah! Ab the German 
proverb salth, “ Who believes it goes to heav¬ 
en?” No. We should make a little more 
money, run a little more rapidly into consump¬ 
tion, build a few more mad-houscs for the pub¬ 
lic. convenience, and settle down a few years 
sooner into the tranquil retirement of a soften¬ 
ing brain. Alas, that honored and sagacious fowl, 
the American eagle, will become even more bald 
than he is at present before he consents to 
screech over this continent the mild motto, in a 
dead and buried language, which President Wol- 
sey gave to us boys when he sent us forth into 
the world —Festina lente. — Independent. 
THE UNCHANGEABLE LAND. 
In the East things do not change. As Abra¬ 
ham pitched his tent in.Bethel, so docs an Arab 
sheik now set np his camp; as David built his 
palace on Mount Zion, so would a Turkish pasha 
now arrange his house. In every street may be 
seen the hairy children of Esau, squatting on the 
ground devouring a mess of lentils like that for 
which the rough hunter sold his birthright. 
Along every road plod the sous of Rachab, whose 
fathers, one thousand years ago, bound them¬ 
selves and theirs to drink no wine, plant no 
tree, enter within no door, and their children 
have kept the oath; and at every khan arc young 
men around the pan of parched corn dipping 
their morsel into the dish. Job’s plow is still 
used, and the seed is still trodden into the 
grouud by asses aud kino. Olives are sbakcu 
from tbe bough as directed by Isaiah, and the 
grafting of trees is unchanged since tbe days ol 
Saul. The Syrian house Is still, as formerly, 
only a stone tent, as a temple was but a marble 
tent. What is seen now in Bethany may be 
taken as the exact house of Lazarus, where 
Mary listened and Martha toiled, or as the house 
of Simon, the leper, where the box of precious 
ointment was broken, and whence Judas set out 
to betray his master. — Dickens' All the Year 
Round. 
How to Grow Old. —You will need to dress 
warmer. Your blood will circulate slower, and 
not so much ou the surface of the body. You 
will chill easy, and have little power to resist 
the cold or the changes of the weather. Very 
lew old people dress as they should. Keep this 
iu mind. Keep active—not uuder a heavy bur¬ 
den of business or duties on you, but enough to 
employ yonr thoughts and strength—aud yet 
you must not overdo; the old mill cannot grind 
as fast nor as long as it once could. Rest when 
you are weary, and make a busiuess of resting. 
Don’t try to be old nor young, but take all qui¬ 
etly as it comes. 
Bores. —Old gentlemen who sit down iu the 
editor’s sanctum and read exchanges to him. 
A youDg gentlemen fresh from college. 
A man that reads his poetry to you. 
Creditors of every description. 
A man who wants to borrow money from you. 
Tbe man who reads copy over the ccmposi* 
tor’s shoulder. 
The man who reads all the newspapers but 
never buys one. 
This whole life is but one great school. From 
the cradle to the grave we are scholars. The 
voices of those we love, and the wisdom of past 
ages, and our experience, are our teachers. 
Afflictions give us discipline. The spirits of the 
departed saints whisper to us, “come up higher.” 
As flowers wear their spotless raiment and ex¬ 
hale their odor every day, so let your life, free 
from strain, ever give forth the fragrance oi 
the love of God. 
c 
Written for Moore’* Rural New-Yorker. 
WHEN LIFE’S TOIL IS O’ER. 
ET T. R. BKADNACK. 
“ Two hands upon the breast, and labor is past ” 
Russian Proverb 
i. 
Two hands across the bosom laid, 
And all life’s toll is o’er; 
Two weary feet, their wandering stayed 
Upon life’s utmost shore; 
Two eyes, closed for their last long sleep, 
Their fountain sealed and dry; 
Two lips, a solemn silence keep,— 
Thus we in death shall lie. 
it. 
We, what oar hands now find to do, 
Should do it with our might; 
Our feet, the way of life pursue— 
“We walk by faith,—not sight.” 
Our eye be fixed, O Christ, for aye 
On thee, in life—in death, 
And may our lips Thy praise essay 
With their expiring breath! 
Cambria Parsonage, June, 1S6T. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
JOY AFTER GRIEF. 
“Thus ever in the step* of grief 
Are sown the precious seeds of joy, 
Each fount of Marah hath a leaf 
Whose healing balm wo may enjoy.” 
That joy and sorrow, pleasure and pain, are 
intermingled in every life is a truth acknowl¬ 
edged and proven by each Individual history. 
Every human life enriched by year* of experi¬ 
ence, lias fdt, at times, the waters of Marah 
rising and burying in darkness their fairest 
hopes and treasures, and imparting its own bit¬ 
terness to their sweetest pleasures until exist¬ 
ence itself seemed a weary thing. Each heart 
must have its seasons of fasting — its sad 
Gethsemanc. 
These constant changes from light to darkness 
in the inner world are not ac cidental or the result 
of circumstances merely, but arc. necessary to the 
perfecting of a plan, the wisdom of which it be¬ 
comes us not to question. Wo are so consti¬ 
tuted, physically, mentally and spiritually that 
the full development of our powers requires 
these transitions, though we may not discern at 
the time the hand of Providence thus dealing 
with us. Sorrow and suffering are common to 
mankind, and are ordained of God for the work¬ 
ing out of good iu us. They are the agents em¬ 
ployed for developing onr character, for enlarging 
our powers, for subduing our passions, for 
purifying aud refining the heart. With these 
holy ministries, for they ore such rightly con¬ 
sidered, the heart is pressed down and soft¬ 
ened and its sweetest juices are pressed out 
and flow iu deeds of love and kindness towards 
all, and then return to us bearing precious seeds 
of joy which find lodgment in onr hearts and 
ripen Into perfect fruit. 
Without such influences those sympathies 
which lead us out of ourselves, and up step by 
step until we can almost take hold of the Divine 
hand, were never awakened to life and activity. 
A life solely of pleasure or contentment, with no 
thought of the morrow, or for others’ weal or 
woe, is not life at all , as God designed when he 
bequeathed unto us these noble powers of heart 
and mind. 
Those heavenly aspirations which lift us higher 
and still higher iu the scale of gradation — those 
longings to l)e, to do, aud to suffer if need be, 
for the right aud good of mankind—those tender 
feelings gushing forth aud embracing all the 
human family, rejoicing with them in joy, and 
sorrowing with those in tears, spring forth from, 
and are cultivated only in a heart rendered plia¬ 
ble and rich by the visitation of pain aud grief. 
Lena, 
“NAE STRIFE UP HERE.” 
It is related that an old Scotch elder had once 
a serious dispute with his minister at an elders’ 
meeting. He said some hard things, and almost 
broke the minister’s heart. Alterwards he went 
home, aud the minister went home, too. The 
next morning the elder came down, and his wife 
said to him: 
“Ye look sad, Jan; what is the matter 
with ye?” 
“Ah!” he replied, “you would look sad, 
too, if you had such a dream as I have. I 
dreamed that I had been at the elders’ meeting, 
and 6aid some hard things, and grieved the min¬ 
ister; and when he went borne l thought he 
died aud went to heaven, and thought afterward 
I died, too, and went to heaven; andw-hen I got 
to the gates of heaven, out came the minister 
aud put out his hands to take me, saying: 
‘ Come along, Jan, there’s nae strife up here—I 
am happy to see ye.’ ” 
The elder went to his minister directly to beg 
his pardou and found he was dead. The elder 
was so stricken with the blow that two weeks 
after he also departed: “ Aud I should not won¬ 
der," said he who reflated the incident, “if he 
meet the minister at heaven’6 gate, and hear 
him say — ‘Come along, Jan, there’s nae strite 
np here.’”— Presbyter. A 
Sanctified Affliction. — The blessings ot 
sanctified affliction are not confined to the suf¬ 
ferer alone. From the east and from the west, 
from the north and from the south, shall arise 
witnesses to this truth. Many a mourner maj 
learn with glad surprise, that the balm which 
soothed her sorrow, refreshed a fellow sufferer 
in some comer of the earth. The sun exhales 
the dew drop and carries it In a cloud to water 
some fainting, far-distant flower. The tear sbed 
iu silence by one suffering Chr istian, is refracted 
in the bow- of promise that cheers another.— Ad¬ 
vocate and Guardian. 
