"My brave darling, I hope and believe your troubles are at an end. I only wonder your strength has survived the hardships of such a life as yours has been the past year." "Think of how much has happened in the last short weeks!" "True, ours has been a courtship in which the bitter and the sweet have been equally mingled, but now the peace complete is coning love, for King Philip is dead and the war is over." THE PICTURE. BY MARY D. BRINE. It was only a simple picture, The simplest, perhaps, of all The many and costly paintings That hung on the parlor wall; But it held my gaze the longest, And it touched my inmost heart With a pathos in which the others Held neither place nor part. It showed me a lonely hill-side, Where the light of the day had fled, And the clouds of an angry twilight Were gathering overhead; And under the deepening shadows, Tired and sore afraid, A sheep and her lamb were grieving, Far from the sheepfold strayed. Only a simple picture; But oh, how full of truth, Which silently spoke from the canvas Its lesson of age and youth! For are we not sheep, sore needing The safety of Christ's own fold? And do we not often wander Far from his loving hold, Heedless of where we are straying Till the light of day has fled, And perchance a storm is gathering With the shadow of night o'erhead? My little one came beside me, And climbed to my waiting knee, And lifted her gaze to the picture, Which told its story to me. "Tell me about it, mamma; Why does the sheep wait there?"-- So I told my own wee lammie (So tender, and sweet, and fair), How the poor white sheep had wandered Far from its fold away, And was tired, and sad, and lonely, And afraid, at the close of day. "But the _lamb_ couldn't help it, mamma, 'Cause its _mother_ led it, you see."-- Oh! there was another lesson Brought silently home to me: We mothers, who love our babies, Guarding them day and night,-- Are we always careful to lead them In ways that are best and right? I gathered my darling closer, With an earnest unspoken prayer, That the tender Shepherd above us Would help me with special care To lead my little lamb onward Thro' pastures prepared by him, That naught could harm or afflict us When the light of our day grew dim. And I know he will graciously answer, And, though come storms and cold, He will gather his own in safety Within one blessed fold. And my baby still talks of the picture, And pities the lamb so white, Which was led by its careless mother Out into the dark, cold night. NEW BEDFORD. BY HERBERT L. ALDRICH. No visitor to the shore of Buzzard's Bay has really done his duty, or shown due respect to the inhabitants, who has not learned to say in one breath, and without a break or hesitation,--