Some time after, when visiting in a sea-board city, incidentally I learned that Mrs. Evans resided there. I found her in an obscure tenement. She welcomed me with a placid smile,—but how changed! so thin and wasted,—while on her cheeks bloomed the fatal crimson. The bare floor and meager furniture bespoke her destitution. In full prospect of death she conversed calmly of her tribulations, anticipating with hope the coming of the last messenger. More than a year previous, her husband deserted her on the pretense of going South for business. No tidings had she heard of him, though she diligently searched the papers and inquired at the post-office; faithful to him, though worse than widowed. "And how have your little family managed to get along during this hard winter?" "I have endeavored not to afflict others with our troubles," she replied, "but God has raised us up benefactors. And in the way in which this has been done I have realized how he would learn us, to the last, lessons of charity toward all. I have long been prejudiced against the Friends; but one stormy day, when the streets were blocked with snow, and we were very destitute, one of their number called. I was a little startled when he entered, but beneath his broad-brimmed hat was a face so benign, that I quickly forgot he was a stranger, and before I was aware he knew something of our necessities. Why, he seemed like my buried father! 'Thee mustn't suffer,' said he; and since, in our moments of extremity, when others would not venture to come, through the fiercest storms and the bitterest cold, and just when I had been praying with the most urgent sense of need, he, or his lovely wife, would be sure to happen in with a load of blessings. Now they are to me as angels of mercy, and even their peculiar garb seems beautiful, and their thee and thou are like music to my heart. Thus does our Father teach us to love all his children ere we meet them in his house above. And thus does he cause strangers to be as parents, when the nearest and dearest forsake us." When the balmy south wind unlocked the frozen earth, and hailed by blithe songsters, the dead plant awoke to beauty and fragrance, Carrie Carleton found the repose of the grave. "Asleep in Jesus! blessed sleep! From which none ever wake to weep." Though slain by the treachery of man, through the "Faithful and True," she conquered death, and welcomed the tomb with a smile of joy. My murdered cousin! I think of thee in the night watches, and weep at the remembrance of thy wrongs. But, alas! thou art not the only victim of the remorseless rum traffic. From many households has it borne away the fair, the good, and all the heart holds precious. Alas, its premature graves disfigure every hill-side and every plain. When shall this great evil cease? Christians, philanthropists, law-makers, when? INCIDENT IN A DEPOT.