away in some hypothetical match-factory, calculating the imaginary wages somebody must get for making matches to sell at eighteen-pence a dozen, and not smell.

"Warranted to keep, and to burn freely," broke in the boy, who put his best foot forward, beginning to think his chance of a sale growing slim.

"But I do not want a dozen," our gentleman said, rousing himself; "1 am sure half the quantity is enough to set me on fire a dozen times. Give me a couple of boxeshere is sixpence for you;" and tendering the boy a shilling, asked him for the change.

The boy's countenance, which had begun to brighten, fell again; he had no change; he had not sold anything that morning.

"Never mind," said easy Mr. Green, "you can bring it me to-morrow; you will find me here at about this hour. What is your name ?"

The boy told him, Peter, departing joyfully, with professions of promptitude; and Mr. Green got up to saunter away, when his friend Smart, who had been a silent spectator of the scene, left off contemplating his boot-tips, and called after him: "I say, Jerry, what made you give that boy a shilling for two boxes? They are dear enough at sixpence."

"I gave him only sixpence," replied our easy friend; "he is to bring the change to-morrow."

"Surely you do not expect to see that boy again ?"

"I positively do," was the quiet reply. "I bet you a hat you don't." "Done !" and "done'!" followed in quick succession; and the friends parted.

We were standing that afternoon at the corner of X-street, staring across impassable Broadway, with a number of individuals, whose breasts were filled with the same wishes which agitated our own. We all wanted to cross Broadway, and accumulate as little mud, and break as few ribs, as possible. On the other side of the street stood our counterparts, lifting their umbrellas above their heads, and presenting a true picture of life; they would have given anything to stand where we stood, and we as eagerly desired to be where they

Did we say everybody got safely across? We are safely ashore on the side walk, and look round. No; everybody has not got across safely. Looking only at the big ships, the omnibuses, a poor little matchboy has neglected to dodge the schooners and sloops of this perilous element, and has been run over by a butcher's cart, and his modest wares scattered all over the street. The driver swears awfully, and goes on; a crowd assembles; a compassionate working man lifts the poor boy up, and carries him to the next druggist's shop. (We, with some other gentlemen, would have been glad to do it, but could not on account of our clothes.) The door closes; the crowd flattens its noses against the window; we cannot get in to help; we have not the time to wait; so we wend our way down town, thinking, Poor little fellow !

The following morning found Mr. Green in the same place and position we have described in the beginning; but being intently engaged upon the paper, he did not observe a very small boy, a very speck of a boy, eyeing him wistfully, evidently trying to attract his attention, but in vain, for he was so small, At last, the miniature edition of humanity made such a discordant noise with the creaking door, that somebody ordered him, in a stern voice, to "be off," when Mr. Green, thinking vaguely he had seen him before, beckoned to the child,for a child it was, such as ought to have been in a nursery, under the guardian care of a mother. What need to describe him? Was it not the reduced effigy of our friend Peter? The same blue toes, the same blue hands, and the same intelligent, honest eyes. But, alas! such woe looking out of a thin little face, on which tears had made channels in the incrustations. Mr. Green was making up his mind, to save further trouble, that the apparition before him must be the same Peter from whom he had bought the matches the day previous, who had shrunk and dwindled overnight-possibly from cold, probably from hunger— and who had now come back to bring the change. But this idea struck him as too for how could such a Tom Thumb absurd; sell anything, and where was his basket? While these reflections passed vaguely across the mirror of Mr. Green's mind, Peter, junior, had been diving diligently into the recesses of his garments, and finally, after sundry attempts, brought out of the side pocket of his jacket, which was

on a level with his calf, three distinct copper coins, which he tendered to Mr. Green. "Is you the gemman what Peter owes sixpence to ?"

"Yes, my lad; I am the man,' was the reply.

"Peter hasn't got sixpence, - Peter's gone, and was rund over by a buss,-and lost his basket and his cap,-and broke his leg, and broke his arm; and Peter-is80-0-0-0-0-ill-" (here the child broke out into an uncontrollable fit of crying); "and three--halfpence is all-he's got." "Where do you live?" exclaimed Mr. Green, jumping up.

"Little Rum street," sobbed the child. "Come along, then;" and not waiting to hear Mr. Smart's sneer of "a very likely story, my verdant friend," he was out of the room, had called a carriage, and was on his charitable mission with little Joe by the time Mr. Smart had finished his sentence.

The carriage stopped before one of those archways abounding in that part of the city, and always denoting filth, drunkenness, and abject poverty. The child led the way up the street, ascended a few broken steps, entered a doorless hall, passed through it to the yard, and descending into what appeared to be only a hole, but which had, on nearer inspection, some steps, opened the door of a low, dark cellar. When Mr. Green's eyes had become accustomed to the darkness, which a tallow candle, stuck in a bottle, just made visible, he saw in a corner, stretched upon a straw mattress, his little acquaintance of yesterday; but, oh, how changed: the pinched face nearly livid, with here and there a bit of a lock of matted hair glued to it by the cold perspiration; the little body, with its bandaged limbs, motionless, and a low groan now and then all the evidence of life. The furniture of this abode of human beings consisted of a broken table and a three-legged stool. Upon the latter sat a poor woman rocking herself to and fro with the peculiar motion of grief. She was a neighbour, she said, poor enough herself, the Lord knew. The parents of the children had come out a year ago from the old country, poor decent people, with three little ones,-and fine children they were: the mother never got over the ship-fever contracted on the passage, and soon left them for a better place, taking the baby with her, which was a mercy; and after the father, a hard-work

ing, steady man had been killed by a fall from a building, a neighbour proposed to take Peter, sending Joe to Randall's Island. But Peter had refused to leave little Joe, and scraping together a small sum by the sale of their few effects, had bought his humble wares, and manfully, with a big heart in his little body, through cold and heat, through hunger and thirst, pursued his calling, making just enough, with what help the poor neighbours could give, to keep body and soul together. He was a fine lad, indeed, a good lad, with senseabove his years; and now it was all over. The doctor,-good, kind gentleman, he had stayed with him and sent medicine,-said he could not be moved to the hospital, where they ought to have taken him at first; and, indeed, there was no use in moving him, for he was sinking fast since morning. Mr. Green had listened in silent horror to so much misery quietly told; and whether it was from the damp cold or the foul stifling atmosphere, he felt too sick at heart to speak. Just then the boy opened his sunken eyes, and our friend bending over him, a flicker of recognition passed over his face." I-had-not-got-themoney. I-lost-it-all," he muttered painfully, pushing out each word with an effort.

"Never mind the money, my poor boy," struggled out Mr. Green, something hard and dry in his throat choking him. "You must get better. I will take care of you and of little Joe, and you shall be cold, and hungry, and naked no more; and you shall get better if care can do it." Alas, little Peter was beyond the neglect of the hardened and the care of the kind of this world. A smile stole softly over his features, he seemed to comprehend. "Thank you-little Joe-thank you-Ihad-not-got-the "The smile faded, the eyes looked fixed and glassy; one deep sigh, followed by an unmistaken rigidness of features, told that the child's troubles were over. Mr. Green fairly burst into tears. He closed the eyes, and stood long and thoughtfully over the body, then leaving money and directions, he took little Joe's hand and left the place.

"What about the hat ?" cried Mr. Smart, meeting our friend a few days afterwards at the Universe. "Guess you may give me an order on Genin; suppose you won't see your match-boy and your sixpence any

more.'

"No," replied Mr. Green gravely; "I shall not see the boy any more,-he lies under the snow in Greenwood. His body was wretched, miserable, and neglected enough here below; but," he added with emphasis, "his little soul is now before God. Good morning, Mr. Smart; I am leaving town."-American Paper.

THE BETTER LAND.

FROM THE GERMAN.

A father and mother were living with their two children on a desert island in the midst of the ocean, on which they had been shipwrecked. Roots and vegetables served them for food; a spring supplied them with water, and a cavern in the rock with a dwelling. Storm and tempest often raged fearfully on the island.

The children could not remember how they had reached the island; they knew nothing of the vast continent; bread, milk, fruit, and whatever other luxury is yielded there, were things unknown to them.

There landed one day upon the island four dark-looking men in a small boat. The parents felt great joy, and hoped now to be rescued from their troubles; but the boat was too small to take them over together to the adjoining land, so the father determined to risk the passage first.

Mother and children wept when he embarked in the boat with its frail planks, and the four men were about to take him away. But he said, "Weep not! It is better yonder: and you will all follow soon."

When the little boat returned and took away the mother, the children wept still

more. But she also said, "Weep not! In the better land we shall all meet again."

At last came the boat to take away the two children. They were frightened at the men, and shuddered at the fearful sea over which they had to pass. With fear and trembling they drew near the land. But how rejoiced they were when their parents appeared upon the shore, offered them their hands, led them into the shade of lofty palm trees, and regaled them upon the flowery turf with milk, honey, and delicious fruits! "Oh, how groundless was our fear !" said the children; "we ought not to have feared, but to have rejoiced, when the men came to take us away to the better land."

"Dear children," said their father, "our voyage from the desert island to this beautiful country, conveys to us a still higher meaning. There is provided for us a still longer voyage to a much more beautiful country. The whole earth on which we dwell, is like an island. The land here is indeed a noble one in our eyes, although only a faint shadow of heaven. The passage thither over the stormy sea is-death; that little boat resembles the bier, upon which men in black apparel shall at some time carry us forth. But when that hour strikes, then we, myself, your mother, or you, must leave this world. So fear not. Death is, for those who have loved God and have done his will, nothing else but a voyage to the better land.”

"Expectant of eternal peace,

The christian feels Death's terrors cease;
And led by God's paternal hand,
Mounts upwards to the better land."

THE AFFLICTED FAMILY. Mr. Editor,

As you are somewhat learned in, at least, the moral treatment of disease, and as some of your correspondents may be relations of Luke, the beloved physician; allow me to call your attention to a family, brought under my notice of late years, sadly afflicted with sundry diseases distinguished by a remarkable peculiarity. The noticeable feature to which I refer is the periodic nature of these complaints. They come on

at certain times; and the intervals and returns are such, I believe, as no medical work has pointed out. They are afflicted only, or chiefly, on the Christian Sabbath. I have heard of tertian complaints, and lunar complaints; but, to the best of my recollection, have never met with seventhday diseases before.

The parentage of this family I have not been able to discover, as, being not yet hoary headed, I did not live early enough in the world's history to be contemporary

with them. There is, indeed, a dispute about it, some allotting them one origin, and some another. My own impression is that the family is very ancient, and that they are related on the mother's side to a family described by John in the apocalypse as "effeminate;" though I fancy the father came of a sturdier race. I have only one objection to this opinion. John says that the" effeminate" will be shut out of heaven; a conclusion to which I do not like to come respecting this family, as I would hope better things of them. Still I am free to confess that I stand in doubt of some of them.

The names of these parties I shall of course conceal, and their whereabouts is of no importance; it is to their maladies I wish to call attention.

The first is a daughter of pretty good general health, and rather firm constitution. This lady is afflicted with hydrophobia of a very peculiar kind. She has a great dread of water under certain circumstances. The very sight of it will sometimes effect a revolution in her feelings. But the most noticeable thing is, that this dread is periodic, and felt only under certain conditions of the atmosphere. These periods are measured by septenary intervals. It may be that one seven days, or two, or more, go to constitute the interval, but the disease has always a seventh-day return, and the day of its return is the Christian Sabbath. On recollection, I find I should have said, that there are two or three evenings in the week on which this morbid feeling sometimes comes on.

Now, Sir, I have read much of the mystery of the number seven, and I have read doctors' books till I was sure I had two or three of the diseases treated of, but I never met with hydrophobia thus symptomised. So sensitive does this lady become to the dreaded element, that as the Sabbath approaches, like the camel in the desert, she can snuff the water afar off. She has been known to feel the damp atmosphere ere Saturday midnight has well passed, and has prophesied long before daylight that there would be no going out that day. The first thing she does on the Sabbath morning is to open her curtains, and gaze on the heavens, and so well versed is she in the weather calculation of Carmel, that if there be a cloud as big as a man's hand, she well knows it will overspread the heavens. She must not therefore venture

abroad, lest, like Ahab, she should have to flee from the storm. And then, Sir, you'd marvel to see how soon this fit passes off. A snug Sabbath at home soothes her. Monday is sure to see her all right. If she has to return a few calls, or purchase some article of dress, or meet a few friends at an evening party, it is not the weather that will hinder her. It is right wonderful, Sir, to see what a change a day has brought

about.

She has a brother similarly affected, and as they are twins, I may speak of them together. And here this remarkable property of the complaint becomes even more conspicuous. His calling takes him much abroad. He often breasts the storm, and exposes himself to the distillations of evening dew; but no sooner does the Sabbath commence, than he shrinks away from a shower with a sort of instinctive dread. Week-day rain does not hurt him. man is more constantly in his business; and Betty has often said to him, as she hung up his wet coat,-" Why, master, you haven't missed the market once these many years, let it hail, rain, or shine." But from this strange disease that affects him, no sooner does his minister see a cloud in the heavens on the Sabbath, than he knows that his pew will be empty.

No

Another of this family has a certain lingering complaint, not easily characterised by any medical term in use; but belonging to the class of diseases called chronic. It is not so decidedly periodic as some of the others, but its power is considerably increased on the Sabbath. It produces great sluggishness and indecision. This lady is always too late on the Sabbath. Under the infiuence of this seventh-day disease she always wants "a little more sleep, a little more slumber," that day than on any other. But it is especially with respect to the house of God that this affliction manifests itself. Just as, with solemn tones and impressive emphasis, the Book of God is being read, or as with devout hearts the assembly have turned to the divine mercy-seat, this goodlady is seen wending her way towards her seat in the sanctuary, and which unfortunately is in near proximity to the pulpit. From her apparently abashed bearing a stranger would conclude that some mischance had befallen her that day; but those who are acquainted with her affliction know how to account for it. She is not quite pleased with herself, and at times.

determines that she will mend her ways; but the painful disease has so fastened itself upon her, that her resolutions generally go for nought. Indeed, she has become celebrated, and is pointed out as a sort of time-mark, though, of course, she has not been permitted to know it. People have been heard to say, “Oh, we are late, for Miss is just going." And if now and then, by the force of some powerful antidote, the disease has been checked for a Sabbath, and she has made her appearance in time, it has been matter of general remark; and, "Is Saul among the prophets?" has not been matter of greater wonderment, than is, "Miss was in

time to-day." And hitherto there has been found no cure. To meet the late propensity of this lady and a few others, the clock in the sanctuary was backened five minutes. It was expected that she would make her appearance before the singing was concluded, so that she might the less disturb the worshippers. But it is marvellous how sensitive this chronic disease has made her to chronometrical progress; she discovered the change in a twinkling, and soothingly said to herself,—“ I need not hurry, they wont begin till five minutes over the time." Some while back, the time of service was changed so as to commence half-an-hour later, but the matter was not mended. was not time she wanted, but a healthy state of the system.

It

He

I must not overlook some other members of this family who are heavily afflicted. One otherwise sturdy fellow has the king's evil, of the true Alexandrian type. pants for power and homage. He aspires to a descent from that fraternity to whom Paul addressed a paragraph in his celebrated epistle to the Corinthians, where he says, "Ye have reigned as kings." He is the subject of a sort of hallucination, by which he imagines that the wisdom of the whole society with which he associates is concentrated in his brain. The evil virus of his complaint produces at times dizziness in the head, under the influence of which he fancies himself born to rule.

Another has had the jaundice ever since was chosen to office, and A. and B. did not court his acquaintance. He was crossed in love; not lady love, but he thought the whole society doted on him, and finding it was not so, he took sick, and has carried the yellow hue ever since.

Another suffers from bile, which has

very much soured his temper. He is quite the churl of the family. He snaps the

children, and is ready to quarrel with all that he meets. He is scarcely ever satisfied with the food set before him. The cook must generally be a foreign one, and quite a master in his profession, if he makes a meal. He generally comes from the table, where the Sabbath feast is laid out, grumbling. Many who know him turn away, saying, Liver, liver.

But we give these only a passing notice, because their complaints have not that remarkable peculiarity which attaches to the other cases. These are not Sabbath diseases, for, excepting that there is a little excitement given on that day, they are every day alike under the power of their respective complaints.

The last of this numerous family which I shall notice, is the subject of a Sunday lethargy. He is in the prime of life, and a fine vigorous fellow he is during six days of the week, but no sooner does the seventh day come, than a complete change comes over him. The sluggish enemy sits like an incubus on his whole being. His eye, that was so full of fire, grows dull, and his countenance, that was lit with animation, becomes set. Some have even maintained that his face becomes elongated. He has lost that firm and ready step which marks him in health. In fact, he has a Sunday and a week-day gait. When he is in his business he is wide awake, but when this morbid feeling comes over him it begets such heaviness that as he sits under the Word on the Sabbath, you are trying to divine whether he is asleep or awake. Nor would you be able to decide, but that a desperate yawning fit reveals that old Somnus has not yet achieved the victory. High: expectations were formed of him some years ago. Friends who knew his vigour, and observed his business tact, prophesied that he would be useful in his day and generation. They saw him by anticipation sharing his knowledge with the young, distributing the word of life, and upholding the herald of the cross; but this Sunday disease has spoiled all.

Now, Mr. Editor, I should feel greatly obliged if some of your scientific readerswould help me to unravel these phenomena, and prescribe a cure. As I believe someof this family read your periodical, they may derive benefit from some friendly suggestions. I don't wish to turn your maga