eat your words with a vengeance. You preach the best sermon I ever
heard, _I_ swear," said Mr. Rush, looking at him with amazement.

"Humph!" ejaculated Summerman.

"I believe, after all, 'twas my cursed picture that did it," continued
Rush. He was not able to stand there in silence listening to the roaring
of the fire, by the side of the man whose property was being destroyed in
this relentless manner. He must talk; and no one hindered him, for the
most of the working force of the village was busy trying to draw water
from the frozen pumps of the neighborhood.

"I might have known such a face would raise the devil," muttered he.

"Then, they are both done for!" was Summerman's quick answer. "If you are
burnt to death, it's clear you can't be drowned. So, it seems you're a new
man altogether. Sir, your wife calls you! But, before you go, pray, take
the Good Will doctrine in. A present from me, if you please."

Having said these words, the organist wiped his eyes, and laughed.

"If this is a dream," said Redman Rush, astonished into doubt of all he
saw and heard, "let me get home before I wake up, for God's sake." And he
turned away from the organist, and was hid in the crowd from the eyes that
followed him.

He turned away, but would he ever lose the memory of a soft voice, saying:

"Mr. Summerman, my boys and I insist on your coming to spend the holidays
with us."

Or, of a grey-haired gentleman's aspect, who came hurrying through the
crowd till he stood face to face with the little organist, whose hands he
grasped as he said:

"Never mind, lad; never mind. You'll be a richer man before night than you
ever were before. Here is a year's salary in advance, from the church,
sir. You understand. And we all want our daguerreotypes; so order an
instrument."

Or, of an agitated voice, that followed him like the voice of a spirit,
mysterious and persuasive:

"Oh, believe in the Good Will Doctrine!"

SEA-WEED.

BY JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

Not always unimpeded can I pray,
Nor, pitying saint, thine intercession claim:
Too closely clings the burden of the day,
And all the mint and anise that I pay
But swells my debt and deepens my self-blame.

Shall I less patience have than Thou, who know
That Thou revisit'st all who wait for Thee,
Nor only fill'st the unsounded depths below
But dost refresh with measured overflow
The rifts where unregarded mosses be?

The