tariff on all terrestrial things. Jonathan's feet were not exactly "made fast in the stocks," but were many a time made fast in the mud. His fast horse was made faster. Railroads had sunk in the mud-ties, iron, and all. Locomotives stalled in the mud, and cars rolled and wallowed in the mud. Mud came up into the houses and roused the petulance of housekeepers. It had rained for nearly a month with all imaginable variations of rapidity. Clouds were incessantly dripping on the earth, the earth was dripping into the ditches and valleys. Men were dripping, and so were horses, dogs, chickens, umbrellas, and all creation was on the drip.

But Jonathan determined to reach his appointment. He took the cars for Mudfog, hoping to borrow or hire a horse at the last-mentioned town with which to reach his destination. The cars jerked, rocked, and reeled their slow length along, and at eight o'clock at night the brakeman of the train called out, "Mudfog." Jonathan gathered his saddle-bags and rushed for the door. All without was as dark as midnight underground and as wet as the "Cave of the Winds" at the falls of Niagara. Jonathan gave a leap into the dismal abyss. He landed, allfours, in a sea of mud, his boots and right arm penetrating the same about thirteen inches. The railroad was without a platform and depot at that day.

After slipping, straining, and staggering around a few steps, Jonathan ran against a fellow-man and began to inquire:

"Hellow, Mr.

fog?"

"No."

in Mudfog. The said light was in Mr. Leedum's kitchen; but Jonathan being a stranger to the town, and the darkness preventing him from discerning a kitchen from a corn-crib, and in his persevering efforts to make a straight line for the light he climbed a worm-fence nine rails high and was soon blundering about the well and clothes-lines of the back-yard. The clothes-line knocked off his hat, and he tramped on it three times before he was enabled to pick it up. He also ran against the coop of an old hen and brood of chickens, and the squall of poultry roused the dogs, which were very numerous and exceedingly loud, and Jonathan says he thought of Daniel in the lions' den. He hastily climbed the nine-railed worm-fence again and got over into the front-yard. He knocks at the front door and one of Uncle Shobek's younger children opens the door.

"Does Mr. Leedum live here?" "Yas."

"Is he at home?" (Dogs yelling at no great distance.)

"Yas." (Jonathan still standing in the mud.) "I would like to see him."

"He's sick-won't you come in?"

Jonathan is conducted into the room where Uncle Shobek is lying on a bed before the large, old-fashioned fireplace.

"Good evening. Is this Mr. Leedum?" "Yes, sir, that's my name."

ings for the night?"

"Do n't know of any."

"Who made this town?"

"Uncle Shobek Leedum."

"Where does he live?"

"D'ye see that two-story house over yonder?" "See! How could a man see such a night as this?"

"Well, come here," and the stranger laid his right arm up by the side of Jonathan's face and turned his head in the direction of a light; "d' ye see that light thar?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, you jis make for that light, that's whar Uncle Shobe Leedum lives; mebby he'll keep ye, but do n't think he will."

Jonathan kept the aforesaid light in view, thanked his informant, and started. But he declared that he ran over nearly all the loose building timber, stumbled over piles of brick, sand, and also waded the most prominent mud-holes

"What is your name? What do you follow? Where are you from?"

"My name is Molers; I am a preacher; and I am going over to Bingtown to hold a meeting, and it is a matter of considerable importance that I reach there early to-morrow morning."

"What kind of a preacher are you, Mr. Molers?"

"I am a Methodist preacher, sir."

"Well, Mr. Molers, I think I've heard tell of you. I guess you can stay all night at my house; but as for a horse, ye see, to go to Bingtown, such a thing can't be found in all Mudfog. But guess you can stay all night with me; but I've no horse for ye, ye see, to go to Bingtown, Mr. Molers."

"Thank you, Mr. Leedum, I will stay with you with great pleasure, provided you can accommodate me with supper, for I have eaten nothing since morning."

Aunt Lucy was standing with one hand on the bed post and holding up her check apron with

the other during this hurried conversation, and at the mention of supper she remarked, "We 've just et supper, and if ye can eat at the second table, why, jiss walk in t'other room."

Jonathan walked in, and twelve hours' fasting enabled him to make a considerable destruction of victuals. Having ended his supper with alacrity and delight, he walked back and seated himself by the bedside of Uncle Shobek and stuck his feet close to the fire.

"How long have you been sick, Mr. Leedum?" "Been sick about a month, haint it, Lucy?" "Yes, jist about four weeks yesterday since we called the doctor," answered the old lady.

"Do you find it difficult to be contented and patient confined to your bed for so long a time?" "I do that, Mr. Molers. I've always been an active man, ye see; never know'd what it was to be sick a day in my life before this. Can't tell what it's for; but may be it's all right. I used to be tolerable religious, ye see; but these railroads make a man worldly-minded. I've been prospered, Mr. Molers, and it did n't make me any better man," and the old man groaned and straightened his pillow and said, "Lucy, hand me a little water, my lips are so dry. Now, Mr. Molers-I ought to call you brother-I used to do that way; but as I was telling ye, prosperity did n't make me any better man. Set a little closer to the bed, I can't talk very loud. I used to go to meeting regular and had prayers at home, but, brother, I got off the track running so much after business. I got wealth, and wealth got my heart away from the right way. I got blind; I see now, brother, I got proud of my money and property-I haint proud now, brother. Ye see, I've nothing now but this old suffering body. Them things I used to call mine are all the Lord's; I see it now, brother. I was like Nebuchadnezzar, I gloried in 'em-nothing to glory in now, brother. O if I could feel like I once did I would n't begrudge any thing." Here the "old man" wiped the full tears from his eyes and seemed to grow restless and troubled. "Do n't expect I'm going to stay here long. I know the doctors say I'm better, Lucy. I'd like to stay a little longer for her sake, brother, and the children's. My way's dark, brother; the track looks all tore up, and it seems I can't raise a hand to fix it. I know, brother, the Lord is merciful, as you say; but I've been so ungrateful. I tried to forget him all the time he was doing so much for me. It was hard work, brother, getting back where I am; but I'm afraid I'll never get on where I once was. I'm like an old tree branches all gone and ready to fall. Seems like I've no life in my heart. Like an old car shattered to pieces, laying off the track, fit

for nothing but kindling wood, I am, brother. O I don't want to die this way. I can't bear it. Worse than all, it's my own doings. I would have things my own way. What a fool I was! I was just like the man in the Scriptures, who wanted so many barns. Ah me! I see it now. How bad I feel! Do n't cry, Lucy; 't a'nt your fault; she always was a good woman, brother; she told me many a time that we was n't doing right, throwing off religion so. She used to put the Bible on the stand, brother, when I came in nights. She kept on doing it long after I had no heart to pray. When I told her I did n't want to have prayers any more she looked like her heart would break. I tried to not notice it, I was so full of business; but it was hard work, brother. She talked religion to the children, brother, when I was thinking of nothing but money and land. I know you did, Lucy; I know you prayed for me, Lucy; that makes it worse, Lucy. I trampled on your prayers and the Lord's mercy. I would n't do it again, Lucy. I would n't treat you so any more, if I could live my life over. Now, brother Molers, I want you to read a chapter in the Bible and pray with us before you go to bed."

Aunt Lucy handed down the old Bible; the chapter was read. Jonathan then took the old hymn-book, which was considerably mutilated about the first hymns and the index, and turned to some old, familiar hymns and sung them. The old lady, Uncle Shobek, and one of the daughters joining in made grand music. The "old man's" voice seemed to gain strength in his efforts to keep with the tune. When they came to the good old hymn commencing,

"How firm a foundation ye saints of the Lord," before it was concluded Uncle Shobek was rejoicing and praising at the top of his voice. At the conclusion of the prayer he thanked the Lord that the preacher had called at his house that night.

After resting quietly for a moment he turned his face around on his couch and said, "Jonas!" "Sir."

"Is old 'Kit' in the stable?" "Yes, sir."

"Is she fit to ride?"

"I think she is; she ha' n't done any thing for a week."

"Well, you bring her out in the morning, and put on the new saddle for brother Molers to ride over to Bingtown, ye see?"

"Yes, sir."

Jonathan reached his appointment. Uncle Shobek recovered, and it is said that there is a great improvement in his religious habits.

A LEGEND.

BY EMILY C. HUNTINGTON.

I MOURNED because the work my hands had wrought Was in a moment unto ruin brought;

When one whose perfect faith no doubts could shake,
Unto my soul these words of courage spake:

"In the quaint records of the cloister cell,
The ancient monks this simple legend tell;
Ponder it well, and learn how God o'erthrows
The keenest malice of his crafty foes.

When the great voice first broke the ancient night,
The empty earth came naked to the light;
O'er her bare meadows, and her uplands cold,
No living robe of tender green was rolled.
Then spake Jehovah-be his name adored!-
Unto the angels, waiting for his word,
'Go scatter seeds upon the world below,
From all the plants that in my garden grow.'
Swift as the light they bore, at his command,
The germs of beauty to the barren land;
The Rose of Sharon and the trees that rise
Around the golden gates of paradise.

Satan beheld the work, and proudly thought
To bring the counsels of the Lord to naught;
So when the angels winged their homeward flight,
He hid the seeds beneath the ground from sight.
Next morn, behold, a miracle was seen-
On every plain uprose the living green;
The roses clustered where the fields were bare,
And fragrant lilies scented all the air.
Rank after rank the mighty forests stood,
And the great voice pronounced it very good;
While angels bowed adoring, with the song,
'Honor and majesty to God belong.'

O ye who sow with patient, toiling hand,
The seeds of virtue and truth through the land,
Though in the furrow tears may fall like rain,
They shall but haste the springing of the grain.
The powers of darkness for a time may try
To hide the treasure from your watchful eye,
Yet all our human blindness counts for ill,
Shall work for good to those who do His will."

JUNE.

BY WAIF WOODLAND.

I LOVE, O how I love to watch

The milk-white lambs at play, Where beams of golden sunlight bathe The bright-green hills to-day: Far from the noisy, clamoring world, Of empty pomp and pride, To sit and hear the brooklets sing Adown the mountain's side;

And gaze upon the outstretched fields,
Where tiny blossoms raise

Their radiant faces heavenward,
In attitude of praise.

I love the wild bird's gushing hymn
Of untaught melody,

The soft south wind, the rustling leaves, The grand old forest-tree:

And more than these, the deep-blue sky, Which God's own hand hath spread; With here and there a crystal path

For angels' feet to tread.

And yet this sweet June morning wakes A thought of other years;

A deathless love, a memory

That fills mine eyes with tears.

It speaks of one whose cup of life
From the same flowing fount
Was filled as mine-of a great heart,

Whose philanthropic beats are stilled. Four years ago this morn we stood Together-he and I!

The dew-drops on the meadows gleamed, The winds went whistling by:

Joy palpitated in the flowers

And in the sun's soft glow, And halleluiahs rose from bird,

And beast, and brooklet's flow.
Absorbed in thought awhile he seemed,
Then asked, most earnestly,
"If this is poor, sin-stricken earth,
O what can heaven be?"

The breezes blow as bland as then,
The flowers as gently wave,
But ah! this blessed sunlight falls
In ripples on his grave!

The vail, the vail, his feet have passed,
And now instinctively

My heart takes up his yearning cry,
"O! what can heaven be?"
That land, untrod by mortal feet,
Unseen by mortal eye,
Unfathomed depths, hights unattained,

Realms unexplored, reply,

"Vain questioning: to man, nor saint, Nor angel is it given; Infinity alone can tell

The blessedness of heaven."

PRAISE FOREVER.

BY E. L. BICKNELL.

METHOUGHT as I gazed on the pallid brow,
Whence the light of life had fled,

On the closed, silent lip, and fast-shut eye,
Of a sister, cold and dead-

She, who had gathered wild flowers by my side,
And our love, which naught could sever-
If I proved faithful, death's storm to outride,
We would then praise God forever.

'T will be a full theme and an endless song,
Untiring and varied hymn,

To be tuned with harps by a white-robed throngRedemption from death and sin.

There are other notes which I long to hear,

And to part again, O never!

But for them, and the love I bore them here,
We will then praise God forever.

WHAT

TRES.

BY THRACE TALMON.

WHAT is belles-lettres? The student replies, that department of literature which treats of æsthetic discourse. The plain truth is, belleslettres is the study of the beautiful, whether in nature or art. Every one is more or less interested in the beautiful, for this is natural. Even the infant early recognizes something which touches this perception of nature. From the lowest to the highest in the scale of intelligence there is some consciousness of a harmony and fitness of things which generally may be termed beauty. God saw that this little planet of ours, when it was finished, was very good, which signified that its beautiful adaptation to future use was perfect. "He hath made every thing beautiful in his time."

As all spontaneous emotions require culture for development into high attainment subservient to best uses, it is a matter of no slight importance that this taste for the beautiful should receive proper direction. While ethics, metaphysics, mathematics, and the sciences receive due attention, the department of belles-lettres has been too much overlooked by the ordinary student and thinker as too nearly allied to a higher scope of liberal culture, or as too unpractical to require any degree of attention by those whose chief concern is with common life. But every one may with profit study those laws which govern the world of the beautiful, by which is signified whatever is the expression of the philosophy of taste, in order to appreciate the most elevated demonstrations of the outer and inner world, and to make personal progress in thought and its expression. This will assist in the appreciation of the element of harmony and fitness which may be extracted from every branch of knowledge.

hills," and fair, odorous blooms in the wild and solemn forests. An eminent poet describes this element of beauty in the wood in these impressive words:

"Grandeur, strength, and grace

Are here to speak of thee. This mighty oak,
By whose immovable stem I stand and seem
Almost annihilated-not a prince

In all that proud old world beyond the deep
E'er wore his crown as loftily as he
Wears the green coronal of leaves with which
Thy hand has graced him. Nestled at his root
Is beauty, such as blooms not in the glare
Of the broad sun. That delicate forest flower,
With scented breath, and look so like a smile,
Seems, as it issues from the shapeless mold,
An emanation of the indwelling life,
A visible token of the upholding love,
That is the soul of this wide universe."

Another reason which may be assigned to prove that God especially designed the exercise of this culture of the beautiful is, that the first abode of man, which he distinguished with his visible presence, was made by him infinitely lovely in all perfections of beauty. The very word Eden signifies a place of supreme felicity and delight. And in his direct commands to Moses for the building and finishing of the tabernacle for his worship he said: "And thou shalt make two cherubims of gold, of beaten work shalt thou make them, in the two ends of the mercy-seat. And the cherubims shall stretch forth their wings on high, covering the mercyseat with their wings, and their faces shall look one to another," etc. He then gives express commands concerning the candlestick of pure gold, flowered and of beaten work, the curtains of fine twined linen of blue, and purple, and scarlet, wrought with needle-work, with blue loops and golden taches or clasps, the sockets and fillets of silver, pillars of the rarest wood, and bars overlaid with pure gold, the ephod of precious stones united to the breastplate of cunning work in settings of gems, with ouches and wreathen chains of pure gold and blue lace, and the plate of pure gold, on which was to be graven, Holiness to the Lord. Thus we see that this display of art, according to the highest

where in the wildest and most isolated portions of the earth, as well as in those places evidently adapted for the especial attention of populations. But we now find gems of a most precious water hidden away in the bowels of the earth; far from the haunts of men the clearest silver streams winding in obedience to all the laws of grace, amid the dark boscage of the luxuriant meadows; delicate and exquisite traceries among

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by God as an acceptable sacrifice to his worship if all were solemnly consecrated to his name. This great example should warn us against permitting our love of the beautiful to degenerate into mere idolatry. When we unduly estimate the work of human hands, however rare and beautiful it may be, we sin greatly in his sight. On all should be inscribed, Holiness to the Lord.