chasing each other, and gaze upon the boundless expanse of water around me. Not unfrequently would my vision be directed to the far West, and my thoughts travel to where it could not. I would feel sad when realizing that every instant I was being further and further removed from the dear ones at home. And sometimes the dreary thought occurred that some of them might be farther away than I supposed,-called perhaps into the eternal world. And still again I would ask myself, shall I again be restored to them? But I would not allow myself to suffer long with such gloomy conceptions, knowing that it is not the will of our Heavenly Father that we endure more trouble than He actually sends upon us. But hoping,—yes, knowing that He would direct all things wisely, I trusted in His providence, and thus far have been for the most part cheerful, and in a great measure happy."

66

During an ocean voyage a general disposition is manifested on the part of the passengers to be sociable. All are ready to amuse and be amused. A tendency to hilarity is not unusual. The allusion in the extract given above to sea-sickness reminds me very vividly of an acquaintance which I formed the first afternoon. It was with an Englishman, one of a large class of his countrymen with whom I became acquainted whilst abroad, who were goodnatured, whole-souled and fun-loving. It required but a short time for us to get on most familiar terms. He told me he had crossed the ocean no less than three times; was not annoyed by the rocking of the ship; sea-sickness was nothing for him; and in a half teasing, half patronizing way, said to me a number of times, “ R— you'll do very well; you'll make a pretty good sailor." The next day we met a number of times, and walked the deck a good deal arm in arm. By the way, mutual support in this kind of exercise is prompted by the unsteady motion of the vessel. At noon, after lunch, in company with a few others we took our seats behind the wheel-house, where we were sheltered from a strong breeze which was blowing from the East. My good friend happened to allude to some oysters on the shell which he had enjoyed very much. "Oysters?" said I, "I saw no oysters on the table." "Well! well! R," he replied, "did you get none of those splendid hoysters? Why that was too bad!" And it was not unfrequently as the conversation progressed, that I had to hear of the missed "hoysters." Soon to my relief the Englishman's talk was turned into silence. I then noticed a slight paleness, to which I attached no importance. The next instant he was on his feet, convulsively grasping the deck-guard and leaning over the vessel's stern. For a moment he was as sick as a man well could be; but, as is always the case, the shout of merriment went up, only to be increased by his turning around, and, with a face as red as a cherry, directed

toward me, and with an exceedingly silly expression of countenance, saying, "Ah! R-, good-bye for the hoysters!"

No one who has crossed the ocean forgets the feelings with which he retires the first night of his journey. Now you feel more sensibly than you ever felt before that committing yourself to sleep is committing yourself into the hands of God. The theologians tell us that the essence of religion is the feeling of absolute dependence upon the Deity. If this be so, one is now apt to realize, if never before, what religion is. Vividly does the imagination paint the need of God's upholding hand. Happy is he who so situated can exercise the Christian's trust and resignation. Here I cannot refrain from making a brief quotation from Fanny Forrester :

"As I stand here poised up by the wild elements, I feel myself near, very near to the only Protector who has a hand to save, and, in the hollow of that all-powerful hand, I rest in perfect security. God, my God, I go forth at Thy bidding, and in the words of Thine own inspired poet, 'Thou art my buckler, the horn of my salvation, and my high tower.' The sea cannot separate Thee from me, the darkness of midnight cannot hide Thy face, nor can the raging of the storm, drown Thy still small voice. My heart leaps joyfully as I trust in Thee. On, brave little wrestler with the elements! On right gallantly! I love the bounding, the dashing, and the roaring, and my heart shall know no faltering while 'my Father is at the helm.' Hurra! Gallantly ride we in this skeleton ship, while the sunlight glints gayly on white bare mast and slender spar. Gallantly ride we over wave and hollow, over foam and rainbow; now perched upon the white ridge, poising doubtfully and trembling like a frighted steed; now plunging down, down into the measureless trough, which seems yawning to ingulf us forever."

A few days before we landed a death occurred in the steerage. A young man, who was a native of Germany, had contracted consumption in this country. He tenaciously adhered to the hope of making his fortune in this favored land. But now his resources had well nigh disappeared, and the disease was relentlessly gaining upon his strength. He longs to see his widowed mother and his native land before he dies. With the meager funds that remain, he secures a third class passage. He embarks. Will he ever see the land? It is a question. Would he have to be buried beneath the stormy waves? The current of life ebbs rapidly, but every moment brings him nearer his home. Almost within sight of land the vital flame flickers and the darkness of death is at hand. dies with the consolation that his bier would be mourned over, and his interment cared for, by kindred and friends; and that upon the soil, beneath which his mortal remains would calmly repose, loved

He

ones would be permitted to plant flowers, which would live, bloom and shed their fragrance in his memory.

Early in the morning of the twelfth day we took a pilot on board. It was foggy until noon, and no glimpse of land could be obtained. Whilst we were at dinner the atmosphere became perfectly clear. When we came up from the table, we found that we were running along the southern coast of England, with land in full sight. A most pleasing spectacle was presented by the fields, and groves, and farm-houses. Vegetation had made but little progress when we left America, but during the two weeks of the voyage, under the warm and moist climate of England, all had become luxuriant. At seven o'clock we weighed anchor between the Isle of Wight and the mainland. The scene presented by the former was more like one of fairy-land than reality. It is occupied chiefly as a place of residence of the nobility; and looks like a continuous net-work of parks, lawns, and flower gardens. The sun was setting and tinting the water. Pleasure boats of all sizes and patterns, moving to and fro, added life to the picture. It was still light when we were compelled to turn away from this lovely spot to face night, and the storms and gloominess of the German ocean. This was Friday evening. All day Saturday was spent without sight of land. On Sunday afternoon the coast of Germany appeared. About six we reached the mouth of the Weser, but could not proceed any distance on account of the lowness of the tide. On Monday morning we boarded a small steamboat, and in a few minutes, with bag and baggage, we were flying up the river. This ride made an impression upon me which will never be forgotten. The style of scenery was entirely new. The country is level as a prairie. Large dikes follow the serpentine course of the river. Wind-mills obtrude themselves upon the view at every hand. Multitudes of villages are scattered along the banks, with their single church and indispensable parsonage always prominent to the spectator's gaze. Women are seen engaged at all kinds of labor: working in the fields, carrying heavy burdens on the top of the dikes, rowing boats, &c., &c. At last the lofty spires of Bremen are in sight, the steamboat journey of six hours is at an end, and we land. Here our family (for this is what the ship's company had grown into) had to be divided. Before night all were moving toward different points of the continent, and I alone was on the way to Berlin.

A COUNTRY SUNDAY.

BY PERKIOMEN.

Joseph Addison wrote, Monday, July 9, 1711, a sweet morsel for the pages of the SPECTATOR, on Sunday in the country. From his lucid style and sensible ideas we judge him to have been an entire stranger to what is called "blue Monday." We have looked all about us for the origin and meaning of this phrase, so indicative, apparently, of the heavenly canopy above us, but so significant, at the same time, of a torpid liver and hazy horizon within us; but have nowhere found the term even, save in a preacher's diary. "Blue Book," "Blue Laws," "Blue Stocking," "Blue Devils," and such like institutions we found in histories and dictionaries only not "blue Monday," save as already remarked, in our dominie's day-book. We concluded, then, that this and that other barnacle of the profession-" clergyman's sore throat". should speedily be severed from it and sunk obliviously in the sea. A tolerably good preventative against the latter clerical endemic is said to be to marry a poor girl of good common sense; whilst a light supper of a Sunday evening, and an early rising on the following morning, will insure you against hypochondria. After reading the chief Mordecai of the SPECTATOR, we solemnly and deliberately say, that nobody has any business to celebrate "blue Monday." Hear the clear-headed, and pure-hearted ADDISON:

"I am always very well pleased with a country Sunday, and think, if keeping half the seventh day were only a human institution, it would be the best method that could have been thought of for the polishing and civilizing of mankind. It is certain the country people would even degenerate into a kind of savages and barbarians, were there not such frequent returns of a stated time in which the whole village meet together with their best faces, and in their cleanliest habits, to converse with one another upon indifferent subjects, hear their duties explained to them, and join together in adoration of the Supreme Being. Sunday cheers away the rust of the whole week, not only as it refreshes in their minds the notions of religion, but as it puts both the sexes upon appearing in their most agreeable forms, and exerting all such qualities as are apt to give them a figure in the eye of the village. A country

fellow distinguishes himself as much in the church-yard as a citizen does upon the 'change; the whole parish politics being generally discussed in that place, either after sermon, or before the bell rings."

Perhaps Addison's words may strike some of our readers in certain quarters, as bordering on the profane. Besides, it will be said, if such tattling and gossiping is indulged in there, how can the country Sunday and its sacred service be so much of a civilizer? Why don't the country pastors exorcise such a spirit from their parishioners, if it be in any way general?

Now, in reply, we would simply remark, that this free-and-easy sort of talk, around about our rural churches and church-yards, is by no means as sinful as it sounds to unused ears. To us, who are to the manor born and bred, it seems far less criminal than the unnatural mumness, fashionable though it be, with which city worshippers treat each other. Neither style can be said to be just the normal and proper one; nor yet is either mortally sinful. If others will allow our country church-goers to serve up the pudding warm and flowing, because they so prefer and enjoy it, we will allow our city brethren to do up theirs, cold and stiff, without quarreling with them at all. Only let them not call us sinners above all others, then. It was not the chattering demon whom our Lord drove out the “dumb one rather.

THE LEADING MAN IN THE COUNTRY PARISH

is finely drawn by the great purveyor to English literature, more than a hundred and fifty years ago. How unchanging is our changeable humanity, after all. Addison's Sir Roger is still living and about in our country parishes, especially on Sunday. Here's a glimpse at him:

"My friend, Sir Roger, being a good churchman, has beautified the inside of his church with several texts of his own choosing; he has likewise given a handsome pulpit-cloth, and railed in the communion-table at his own expense. He has often told me, that at his coming to his estate he found parishioners very irregular; and that in order to make them kneel and join in their responses, he gave every one of them a haassoc and a common prayer-book ; and at the same time employed an itinerant singing-master, who goes about the country for that purpose, to instruct them rightly in the tunes of the Psalms; upon which they now very much value themselves, and indeed outdo most of the country churches that I ever heard."

There is much of this "one man's power" felt and seen to-day. But censure is the tax to be paid even yet for successful working