relish, and pronounced it excellent. As his first experiment had been so successful he resolved to persevere in his plan, and pointed out the second article to the garçon, who soon supplied him with a potage Julienne-Julienne soup. This, too, he devoured with satisfaction, but thought he was getting rather too much soup. He, however, still persevered, and ordered the third article in the long list, and was provided with a potage purée aux pois-pea soup. This soon disappeared before the eager voracity of the unsatisfied diner; but though he could not complain of its quality, he felt that he had now decidedly too much soup. He therefore resolved upon making a skip from the top to the bottom of the copious bill of fare, and fell upon curedents, thinking that having got well out of the latitude of the sea of soups he would be sure to reach some more substantial landing-place. Having pointed out the word, his order was immediately followed by the obedient garçon, who brought him the cure-dents, or tooth-picks. Our Western friend now jumped up from the table in a rage, and cried out, with infinite disgust: "Three soups and a tooth-pick! That's what they call a French dinner, is it? By jingo! I'll make tracks for old Kentuck, and live for the rest of my days on bacon and chicken fixins!" Two tailors, whose bills had been paid with unusual promptitude, resolved upon spending their unexpected profits in a tour to Paris. As they had naturally provided themselves with the best their shops could afford, they saw no reason why, with their exteriors done up according to the latest style, they should not present themselves as men of fashion and rank. They accordingly determined to sink the shop and pass in the gay capital as two English milords. On arriving in Paris and entering a restaurant they managed to make known to the waiter that they wanted dinner. "Tout à l'heure" (which sounds very like, when pronounced by a French tongue, two tailor), immediately answered the garçon. Thinking that their disguise was penetrated, the would-be milords left the restaurant at once and entered another, with the hope of better luck. On ordering their dinner they were a second time met with the ordinary response: "Tout à l'heure" (two tailor). They now gave up all further designs upon the - supposed credulity of Parisian waiters, and hurried back to their shops in Broadway. of the garçon, who, though his infinite complacency would have undertaken to supply almost any thing else, found his powers of compliance suddenly arrested by this extraordinary order. CONTRAST. ELEN was rich, nineteen, and beautiful. abruptly; a generous heart and intellect of no mean order had been added. Aspirations noble and lovely, if somewhat vague, filled her spirit. To be, to do, to suffer, if need were, in defense of truth, in service to her kind—this was her theory of life. She stood at her window one perfect summer morning, the soft air freshening her peachy cheeks, and let all the beauty of the time sink slowly into her soul. A calm ecstasy possessed her; her eyes filled with tears of gratitude and delight. As through this mood she seemed to view the burdened, suffering millions of earth, her heart went out to them in tenderest compassion. The roll of wheels aroused her from this trance of feeling. Looking in the direction of the sound, she saw a rude establishment advancing down the street-a one-horse wagon of the homeliest pattern, drawn by an ancient steed, whose halting gait and high development of bone were quite unmatched in her experience. On the hard seat, bringing the springs well together, sat a stout pair, in whom she recognized Mr. Bowen, the Methodist minister, and his wife. Just opposite her window they paused. “Good-morning, Brother Porter!" said the pastor's cheery voice to an acquaintance on the sidewalk. "Good-morning, Sir! And how do you do, Sister Bowen?" responded the person addressed, as he came to the side of the wagon and shook hands with its occupants. "Oh, I'm always well, you know," said Mrs. Bowen, heartily. "And how's Sister Porter and Luransy?" Singing-class "Usually well, thank you. meet to-night, Brother Bowen ?" "Yes-at early candle-light; and that's why I stopped you. You'll be down?" "I'll try my best to." "Well, don't forget those tunes-' Delight' and The Love Feast.' They'll be the very thing for the children." And with cordial farewells the friends departed on their separate ways. Another traveler, who had not made much progress in his Ollendorf, and had left his French dictionary at home, was taking his dinner in a This Vandal irruption of the commonest life French eating-house, when he thought he would put to flight all Helen's high, enthusiastic musfancy a pigeon. Having forgotten the French ings. "I wonder where they are going," she for the word, and seeing upon the painted walls thought, looking after the crazy vehicle-"to a bird which looked like the one he wanted, he spend the day somewhere, I suppose. What an asked, pointing it out to the garçon, "Qu'est ce, endless round of visiting some people do keep que c'est ça en Français ?" "Un St. Esprit, Mon- up!" This aimless, profitless intercourse was sieur," replied the man, for it happened to be a her particular abhorrence. She wasted a few dove, emblematical of the Holy Ghost. "Don- conjectures as to what could be its object-what nez-moi deux St. Esprits," rejoined the uninten- food could be found in it for any thing except tionally-profane diner, much to the confusion the body. Then, taking a handsome volume from the book-case filled with such, forgot her invested with shawl and bonnet and placed in own thoughts in those of some master mind. the buggy. While she read the ancient steed moved on, and the cheery pair behind him took counsel together concerning a hundred little interests. Almost of a height they were as they sat there side by side, and so like that you could hardly tell them apart. The same round, solid face, the same substantial rosiness, the same big blue eyes and happy smile were under hat and bon net. "I guess we had better just look in at Sister Sayres's," said Mrs. Bowen; "she wasn't out to meeting Sunday, and I'm afraid she's got one of her poorly spells. We've a good early start, and can spend a long day at Brother Franklin's after that." Rosinante was brought to a not unwilling halt before a dilapidated little brown house, and the twain dismounted. No one responding to their knock, Mrs. Bowen went around to the back of the dwelling, where she discovered its mistress in the midst of preparations for washing. The boiler was steaming on the stove, and a heap of soiled clothing lay by the side of the tub. "I'm ashamed to have you come and catch me washing Tuesday, and so late in the morning too," spake Mrs. Sayres-a tall spectre of a woman, with hectic cheeks and eyes of feverish brightness. "But I was too sick yesterday to lift my head off the pillow, and to-day I'm so weak that I can't accomplish nothing to signify." "I should think not!" said Mrs. Bowen. "Why, Sister Sayres, you are im-prew-dent! You don't look fit to be off the bed this minute!" "That's true enough," said the poor woman, deprecatingly; "but what could I do? The children hain't many changes, and I can't bear to have them go to school looking so. I can't tell what they'd be like before another Monday came round. It's so hard, you know, to keep children out of the dirt; they take to it as a duck does to water." "And now," said Mrs. Bowen, "if you'll just tell me where to find some old thing to put on, for it would never do to spot my new delaine!" The needful directions given, she duly arrayed herself in a blue spotted calico, which refused to meet about the waist, and trailed a quarter of a yard upon the floor. "The most fashionably-made dress I've had on this long time," she thought, as she pinned up the superabundant length; and then, carefully hanging up the new delaine, proceeded to her task. How Helen would have smiled at that carefulness! Just a common delaine, cotton one way, and not particularly nice, even of its kind. But then she would not have known how long Mrs. Bowen had wanted it, how many times she had felt the need of it, before it had seemed right to make the purchase. She could never have guessed the economy and contrivance that went to its getting up-how the back breadths of a worn-out calico had furnished the facing, and an old gingham apron the sleeve-liningshow much ingenuity was expended in elaborating the garment from a scanty pattern-in the interval of what numerous labors it had been put together. Done it was at last, and very tidy did Mrs. Bowen's plump form appear in it, spite of the plain material and total absence of trimming; and very comfortable did she feel. Indeed, her eye went complacently toward it more than once as she bent over the foaming tub. It was a pleasure to see the good woman at that washing; she went into it with such a cheerful, whole-hearted energy. As a clever writer said a while ago, "She rubbed away as if the health and cleanliness of the whole Army of the Potomac depended on her individual efforts." Her strong white arms plunged into the suds and emerged again with wonderful rapidity, and all traces of soil retired at a corresponding pace from the objects she attacked. The shortened calico displayed her sturdy ankles and the rolledup sleeve revealed a muscular development that Dr. Dio Lewis would have gloried in. somewhere, Sister Bowen must have had, we may presume, but no external sign of them was visible unless the deep dimples in her wrists and hands afforded such indication. Ever as she wrought she sang-not loudly, but in a clear, distinct voice, and with an earnestness as if her own heart were speaking "To be sure they do!" said Mrs. Bowen, laughing. "You've no need to tell me that when I've six of my own to teach me. It's healthy for them, that's one comfort. But I've got a plan in my head. Mr. Bowen," she called, stepping to the door, "will you just come round here? Now, Sister Sayres," she continued, "I know the air'll do you good; it always does; and I'll put some pillows in the wagon to make you comfortable; and, Mr. Bowen, you must just give her a little ride. Don't drive fast, to jolt her" (as if he could have done it with that horse!); "but just jog along, easy and pleas-"Come, sinner, to the Gospel Feast, ant, and while you're gone I'll get out this washing." "Oh, Sister Bowen, you mustn't!" cried the invalid. "I can't think of letting you." 'Tis mercy bids you come! Bones, Declares there yet is room, declares there yet is room!" Meanwhile the minister and his charge jogged "I guess you'll have to," said the minister, leisurely along as they had been directed. It showing a set of milk-white teeth in the broad- was not every morning that Mr. Bowen could est of smiles. "We're two to one, you see, take a drive; he kept no horse, and the kindness and you don't look as if you could make much of a parishioner had furnished him the means fight." of the present excursion. He enjoyed it with a So, spite of all opposition, Sister Sayres was zest proportioned to its rarity. The clear sky, the buttercup-enameled fields, the depth of shady woods, the gushes of perfume as stray winds stirred the clover, all the sweet picture of summer beauty and content moved him as it had moved Helen an hour before. "Oh," said he, turning to his companion with a beaming face, “isn't it enough to praise the Lord for that we're alive on such a day?" But Sister Sayres's countenance betrayed no answering gleam; a deeper sadness, rather, settled on it. "I'm glad you feel so, Brother Bowen," she replied; "it's the right way, I know, and I'd rejoice to. But somehow most every thing makes my heart sink instead of rise. It's partly poor health, I suppose-and then there's other things, you know." "Other things!" The minister was well aware of all that summary included. One who should have been a help and stay but was now a grief and shame; poverty growing deeper every year; children coming up without a father's care or guidance; prospects bad almost beyond the hope of brightening. "Yes, I know," he answered, with a sigh; "and it's not much to the purpose that I do. I can't help you except with my prayers and a few friendly words. But I'll tell you who else knows, and it's every thing to have him-it's the Lord Jesus. There isn't a time you feel downhearted and discouraged that He isn't sorry for you; and if you can only look to Him with faith He'll surely send you comfort. He can change all these things that trouble you, or, if He doesn't see fit to do it, He can turn every one of them into a blessing. Only look to Him and lean upon Him, Sister Sayres." "I try to," she said, humbly. I the poor soul drew from them new strength and comfort. Gradually he turned the conversation to other topics, but with a skillfulness that avoided painful ground. So that Sister Sayres in talking of her Johnny was led to dwell upon his quickness at his book rather than on his abounding lack of every sort of clothing; on Juley Ann's helpful ways and voice for singing instead of her scanty prospects for the future. Calmed and refreshed in body and spirit she drew near home. "If there ain't the clothes on the line already!" she exclaimed. "What a master-hand Sister Bowen is to turn off work!" "She has such good health, you see," said the minister. "It's only when I meet some one like you, Sister Sayres, that I realize what a blessing it is to be strong and able for any thing that comes along. But you're right about Mary," he added, aiding his charge's descent from the wagon; "she will do more, and make less fuss about it, than any one I ever set eyes upon." Going in they found the subject of this eulogy in the last stages of mopping up and putting away. The boiler had already retired to its shelf in the wood-shed, and in its place the teakettle was singing merrily. "Do you expect the children home at noon?" asked Mrs. Bowen. "No. They took their dinner-baskets, and he's over to Mr. Longworth's farm for the day." "Then you won't do much cooking, I suppose. I'll just make you a cup of tea and a bit of toast, and then, Sister Sayres, I advise you to lie down and nap a while. Don't try to work to-day, and you'll be all the smarter for it tomorrow." A few finishing touches given, the worthy pair "Don't rest there," said the minister, with departed, and soon arrived at Brother Franklin's. his kindest smile. "Do it. Venture upon A contrast, this, to the dwelling they had left. Him; don't be afraid. Why, Sister Sayres, IA great white house, rich in green blinds and think we lose half our birth-right through our cowardice. We feel as if 'twas inconsistent for such a mighty God to care about our little daily matters, except as they affect our state toward Him. I know how it used to be with me. had a kind of feeling as if the Lord was away off upon a throne, surrounded with glory and majesty; and I used to go to Him at stated times and make my little offering of worship among the myriads. But I found that wasn't enough; I wanted something with me, around me, all the time. And the more I read His promises the more convinced I grew that He was ready to be so to every soul that wanted Him. I learned to look to Him any where, every where, and to feel that He concerned Himself about all that interested me. Not only about His glory and my salvation, but about my little wants and comforts and occupations. It's our privilege to have the Lord for our dear friend as well as our Saviour, if we will only take Him." Sister Sayres listened earnestly; the thoughts, it is true, were no strangers to her, but there was such a heartiness of faith in the minister's tones, his happy life seconded his words so well, that VOL. XXXI.-No. 181.-E piazzas, trim fences bounding its domain, great She was fond Two o'clock drew near, and fresh visitors were seen advancing up the graveled path to the front door. A resounding bell-peal was heard, and one of those gatherings ensued which Helen had so deprecated. What a perfect hail-storm of "sisters" flew about! It was, "How do you do, Sister Meigs?" "How's your health, Sister Beecher ?" "Glad to see you, Sister Stun" (Stone). "Sister Franklin, let me make you acquainted with Sister Stun, from Checkerville, Sister Meigs's niece." "You here, Sister Bowen! -well, I am pleased. And how's Brother Bowen and the children?" "Sister Bowen," of course, responds with cordiality, while Fanny Franklin, helping the ladies take off their things in the best bedroom, wonders why people will so pronounce the pastoral name. The company was presently distributed among the various comfortable seats of the parlor. Sister Meigs was an elderly dame of the plainest type of speech and person; she wore an aged satin levantine and no hoops, and knitted away vigorously with a sheath pinned to her waist. Sister Stone, who was young and pretty, shone in a neat checked silk and sundry bright-hued ribbons of a surety not recommended in "the discipline," but highly becoming nevertheless. Sister Beecher and the hostess were nice-looking middle-aged women; with the rotund form and pleasant smile of our dear Sister Bowen we are already familiar. What an amount of talking five women can accomplish between two o'clock and tea-time! How many subjects are brought up, canvassed, and dismissed; what traits of character are exhibited, how fully human nature is displayed! The present company had at least a thousand themes of converse. Some were denominational, as the meeting of Conference and the appointment of Presidin' Elder; the "location" of various preachers; how Father Graves was about to "superannooate," and Brother Lloyd was on a "station;" when camp-meeting would be held, and so on. There was farm-talk and dairy-talk, neighborhood-news and village - news. Mrs. Bowen by-and-by brought up, as she had all the time intended, the case of Mrs. Sayres; she spoke of the ill-health she knew about and the lack of comfort she suspected. "Sister Sayres would get along a great deal better if she hadn't so much ambition," remarked Mrs. Franklin. "She hurts herself working when she ain't fit for it." and Sister Sayres can't bear to keep her out. She wants her to do what she can toward getting an education now, for by-and-by she may not have the chance." And every one agreed that this was well. "What a shame that her husband drinks and goes on so!" exclaimed Sister Beecher. "He might get good wages and make his family comfortable." "Never did amount to nothing!" spoke up Sister Meigs from behind her knitting-sheath. "A poor, shif'less stick he always was, even before he took to drink!" "And yet there must be something good about him," said Mrs. Bowen. "She thinks a deal of him, even yet; and she told me once what a mercy it was that nothing he took ever made him cross, as it does some. He's always kind and pleasant with the children; they're fond of him, though they can't help seeing what the trouble is. And even now he has times of being sorry and promising that he'll reform." "And I suppose she believes him," said Mrs. Beecher, scornfully. "Well, she would naturally wish to, you know." "She's "That's it," said Sister Beecher. been too easy! A regular up-and-down woman that wouldn't stand being abused would have had a great deal better chance with him." "I don't know," replied Mrs. Bowen. "Long habit is a powerful thing. I'm afraid nothing but grace can reach it. Somehow I never can help hoping that his time will come; "he is so respectable-looking when he's sober, and has such a pleasant way with him. I feel so sorry and ashamed sometimes when we meet and I see what ails him. At any rate, whatever he is, we know that Sister Sayres is worthy; and I'm afraid she's very much in need of comforts." There was a pause. "We killed a veal yesterday," said Mrs. Franklin, breaking in upon it. "I'll take her over a nice piece to-morrow. Those was good cutlets, didn't you think, Sister Bowen ?" That lady acquiesced. "Yes, I'll take her a bitand a roll or so from my last churning—and a bowl of currant jelly, too, I guess. It'll make her a good drink if she's feverish." "I could let her have some pork just as well as not," said Miss Beecher, in a relenting tone; "Perhaps so," said Mrs. Bowen. "But you "but then I dare say she's got plenty." know how hard it is to keep quiet when there's every thing to be done." "It's dret-ful!" exclaimed Sister Beecher. "There ain't no such trial in this world as to lie by and see hired help a-slammin' round and wastin' every thing." "Sister Sayres doesn't have much of that sort of trial," said Mrs. Bowen, half smiling. "Whatever there is, she must do it or it goes undone." "I should think her Juley Ann was big enough to help some," observed Mrs. Franklin. "She does all she can, poor child; but there's school, and a mile and a half to walk each way, "Good pork will keep, you know," said Mrs. Bowen; "and yours is always so sweet and solid," she added, with a touch of serpent wisdom. "Well, I don't care if I take her half a dozen pounds or so; and maybe she'd like a little cheese. I cut one a day or two ago, and Mr. Beecher said it was about the best he ever ate." Sister Meigs promised a quantity of dried apples and some maple sirup, while Sister Stone took a gold dollar from a pretty pearl portemonnaie and asked the pastor's wife to expend it in some little matter for the invalid-whatever she thought best. Our friend's heart 'sung for joy" at the success of her appeal. smiling. "How much do you suppose my income amounts to in a year, Brother Franklin ?" "Well, I couldn't just say-you get a good deal in kind, of course?" 66 A more audible singing soon succeeded. Fanny Franklin bad but just "graduated" from the Conference Seminary, where she was supposed to have acquired an untold stock of accomplishments, music among the rest. Her piano, a "I can tell you then. Since I entered the real Chickering, which had cost Brother Frank- ministry, fourteen years ago, I never have relin nobody knew how many hundreds, stood in-ceived four hundred dollars any year." vitingly open, and she was urged to give the company a tune. She played a Quickstep or two; then, being asked for a song, performed the Irish Emigrant's Lament and the Blue Juniata with great applause. This inspired her to go through the Bridge of Sighs, a favorite of her own, though considered by her mother "most too solemn." It was received in ominous silence, broken at last by Sister Meigs, who recounted how she had once known a child drowned in a tub of bluing water which its mother had neglected to empty when the washing was over. Whereupon the young musician, more amused than she ought to have been by a circumstance so tragic, made her escape to the kitchen to oversee the tea-arrangements. Soon after she left Mr. Bowen and his host came in. They had gone leisurely over the farm, admiring the luxuriant growth of timothy, almost ready for the scythe, and the waving promise of wheat and oats; strolling through the well-timbered wood-lot, or viewing the sleek cattle who chewed the cud placidly beneath the shade and turned a mild, observant eye on the intruders. Coming home they paused in the orchard, and the owner pointed out his favorite trees laden with choice fruit. "This is nice!" said the minister, with enthusiasm, as he took in the many evidences of thrift and plenty around him; "this is what I call nice! The Lord has prospered you, Brother Franklin." "Well-yes," admitted his friend, with a little seeming reluctance. "But I work for it, I tell you! I work for it! You ministers live easy; you don't know much about what 'tis to carry on a farm." "We have our own labors, which we sometimes think severe. But you find your work pays, don't you?" "Why, I suppose it does; but nothing nigh what you'd imagine. There's hired help-and fences-and a hundred other things. And then the taxes! Taxes do eat up a farm these days. I get 'most sick of it sometimes." "Now, to me," said Mr. Bowen, "this place looks the very picture of comfort and abundance." "I dare say. You just see the outside, and that's pleasant enough. But I'd be glad to swap with you, Brother Bowen, I would indeed." "You think so?" said the minister, with a curious smile. It was not the first time by many that he had heard a thriving parishioner "talk poor." "Yes, I would. You haven't such a great deal round you; but then you've the less to see to; you know what you've got, and can live on it snug and comfortable." "Pretty snug, to be sure," said the minister, "You don't say so!" exclaimed the farmer, taken aback. And then recovering himself, "Oh! you mean you never had that much in cash; but ministers get such sights of presents." No, no," replied Mr. Bowen; "I mean that I never, reckoning every thing at its full market valuc, received the worth of four hundred dollars any year since I began to preach." Mr. Franklin looked puzzled. 66 do you manage it ?" he asked. of you altogether." "To be sure. Why, how "There's eight And I hope there'll never be any less, please God." "Well, I hardly see, myself. We never could if I hadn't been blessed with such a helpmeet. Mrs. Bowen will make sixpence do the work of a shilling any day. One thing we're both agreed upon; the children must have an education whatever we do without. We've managed so far; but you can see it hasn't been done without denying ourselves a great many things that it's pleasant to have. What we shall do as our expenses grow larger I can't just tell; but I don't borrow trouble. The Lord will provide, as He always has done;" and the minister's blue eyes glowed with new cheerfulness. "I don't commonly make a practice of talking over my affairs," he added, with a laugh, "but you seemed to think I was in such very affluent circumstances that I was tempted to state the facts." Mr. Franklin remained quite thoughtful for some time after these disclosures, and he piled the minister's plate at tea-time with every good thing upon the table; whether they produced any more permanent result I can not say. But what would Helen's astonishment have been could she have heard them! She had denied herself a ribbon or a jewel often for the sake of others; indeed in the gay circles of the city where much of her time was spent she had been accustomed to feel that her attire was plain. Yet there was never a year when her personal expenses did not reach a larger sum than served this family of eight for their entire maintenance. Soon after tea the company dispersed; Helen saw the pastor and his wife drive homeward through the rosy twilight. Her own day had been pleasant and not devoid of profit. She had taken a long ride over the hills-she had read and digested a good portion of a valuable work she had given liberally to a deserving object. But she did not guess as she watched the two stout figures fade into the distance that the reality of many of her fairest dreams was passing in that humble guise; that the Faith, the Hope, the Charity, to which she longingly aspired were that day, and every day, made manifest in such prosaic lives. |