Who of this crowd to-night shall tread The dance till daylight gleam again?

Who sorrow o'er the untimely dead?

Who writhe in throes of mortal pain?

Some, famine-struck, shall think how long The cold, dark hours, how slow the light; And some, who flaunt amid the throng, Shall hide in dens of shame to-night.

Each where his tasks or pleasures call, They pa.s.s, and heed each other not.

There is who heeds, who holds them all In His large love and boundless thought.

These struggling tides of life, that seem In wayward, aimless course to tend, Are eddies of the mighty stream That rolls to its appointed end.

BESSIE KENDRICK'S JOURNEY.

BY MRS. ANNIE A. PRESTON.

"Cars stop twenty minutes!" called out Conductor Richardson at Allen's Junction. Then, as the train came to a dead halt, he jumped down upon the depot platform, ran along to the front of the long line of pa.s.senger cars, to where the engine was standing, and, swinging himself up into the cab, said to the engineer:

"Frank; I want you to come back to the first pa.s.senger coach, and see a little girl that I don't know hardly what to make of."

Frank nodded, and, without speaking, deliberately wiped his oily hands in a bunch of waste, took a look at his grim, dusty face in a narrow little mirror that hung beside the steam gauge, pulled off his short frock, put on a coat, changed his little black, greasy cap for a soft felt, taking these "dress-up" articles from the tender-box, where an engineer has something stowed away for all emergencies, and went back to the cars as requested.

He entered the car and made his way to the seat where the conductor sat talking to a bright-looking little girl, about nine years old, oddly dressed in a woman's shawl and bonnet.

Several of the pa.s.sengers were grouped around the seat, evidently much interested in the child, who wore a sad, prematurely old countenance, but seemed to be neither timid nor confused.

"Here is the engineer," said the conductor, kindly, as Frank approached.

She held up her hand to him, with a winsome smile breaking over her pinched little face, and said:

"My papa was an engineer before he became sick and went to live on a farm in Montana. He is dead, and my mamma is dead. She died first, before Willie and Susie. My papa used to tell me that after he should be dead there would be no one to take care of me, and then I must get on the cars and go to his old home in Vermont. And he said, 'cause I hadn't any ticket, I must ask for the engineer and tell him I am James Kendrick's little girl, and that he used to run on the M. & S. road."

The pleading blue eyes were now suffused with tears; but she did not cry after the manner of childhood in general.

Engineer Frank stooped down and kissed her very tenderly; and then, as he brushed the tears from his own eyes, said:

"Well, my dear, so you are little Bessie Kendrick. I rather think a merciful Providence guided you on board this train."

Then, turning around to the group of pa.s.sengers, he went on:

"I knew Jim Kendrick well. He was a man out of ten thousand. When I first came to Indiana, before I got acclimated, I was sick a great part of the time, so that I could not work, and I got homesick and discouraged. Could not keep my board bill paid up, to say nothing of my doctor's bill, and I didn't much care whether I lived or died.

"One day, when the pay car came along and the men were getting their monthly pay, and there wasn't a cent coming to me, for I hadn't worked an hour for the last month, I felt so 'blue' that I sat down on a pile of railroad ties and leaned my elbows on my knees, with my head in my hands, and cried like a boy, out of sheer homesickness and discouragement.

"Pretty soon one came along and said, in a voice that seemed like sweet music in my ears, for I hadn't found much real sympathy, although the boys were all good to me in their way: 'You've been having a rough time of it, and you must let me help you out.'

"I looked up, and there stood Jim Kendrick, with his month's pay in his hand. He took out from the roll of bills a twenty-dollar note and held it out to me.

"I knew he had a sickly wife and two or three children, and that he had a hard time of it himself to pull through from month to month, so I said, half-ashamed of the tears that were still streaming down my face, 'Indeed, I cannot take the money; you must need it yourself.'

"'Indeed, you will take it, man,' said Jim. 'You will be all right in a few days, and then you can pay it back. Now come home with me to supper and see the babies. It will do you good.'

"I took the note and accepted the invitation, and after that went to his house frequently, until he moved away, and I gradually lost sight of him.

"I had returned the loan, but it was impossible to repay the good that little act of kindness did me, and I guess Jim Kendrick's little girl here won't want for anything if I can prevent it."

Then turning to the child, whose bright eyes were wide open now, the engineer said to her:

"I'll take you home with me when we get up to Wayne. My wife will fix you up, and we'll find out whether these Vermont folks want you or not. If they do, Mary or I shall go with you. But, if they don't care much about having you, you shall stay with us and be our girl, for we have none of our own.

You look very much like your father, G.o.d bless him."

Just then the eastern train whistled, Engineer Frank vanished out of the car door and went forward to the engine, wiping the tears with his coat sleeve, while the conductor and pa.s.sengers could not suppress the tears this little episode evoked during the twenty minutes' stop at Allen's Junction.

THERE IS A TONGUE IN EVERY LEAF.

There is a tongue in every leaf, A voice in every rill-- A voice that speaketh everywhere, In flood, and fire, through earth and air!

A tongue that's never still!

'Tis the Great Spirit, wide diffused Through everything we see, That with our spirits communeth Of things mysterious--life and death, Time and eternity!

I see Him in the blazing sun, And in the thunder-cloud; I hear Him in the mighty roar That rusheth through the forest h.o.a.r When winds are raging loud.

I feel Him in the silent dews, By grateful earth betray'd; I feel Him in the gentle showers, The soft south wind, the breath of flowers, The sunshine and the shade.

I see Him, hear Him, everywhere, In all things--darkness, light, Silence and sound; but, most of all, When slumber's dusty curtains fall, I' the silent hour of night.

LET US GIVE THANKS.

BY ELLEN ISABELLA TUPPER.

For all that G.o.d in mercy sends: For health and children, home and friends, For comfort in the time of need, For every kindly word and deed, For happy thoughts and holy talk, For guidance in our daily walk-- For everything give thanks!

For beauty in this world of ours, For verdant gra.s.s and lovely flowers, For song of birds, for hum of bees, For the refreshing summer breeze, For hill and plain, for streams and wood, For the great ocean's mighty flood-- In everything give thanks!

For the sweet sleep which comes with night, For the returning morning's light, For the bright sun that shines on high, For the stars glittering in the sky; For these and everything we see, O Lord! our hearts we lift to Thee For everything give thanks!