THE MINISTER'S GRIEVANCES.

"Brethren," said the aged minister, as he stood up be fore the church meeting on New Year's Eve, “I am afraid we will have to part. I have labored among you now for fifteen years, and I feel that that is almost enough, under the peculiar circumstances in which I am placed. Not that I am exactly dissatisfied; but a clergyinan who has been preaching to sinners for fifteen years for five hundred dollars a year, naturally feels that he is not doing a great work when Deacon Jones, acting as an officer of the church, pays his last quarter's salary in a promissory note at six months, and then, acting as an individual, offers to discount it for him at ten per cent. if he will take it part out in clover seed and pumpkins.

"I feel somehow as if it would take about eighty-four years of severe preaching to prepare the deacon for existence in a felicitous hereafter. Let me say, also, that while I am deeply grateful to the congregation for the donation party they gave me on Christmas, I have calculated that it would be far more profitable for me to shut my house and take to the woods than endure another one. I will not refer to the impulsive generosity which per suaded Sister Potter to come with a present of eight clothes pins; I will not insinuate anything against Brother Ferguson, who brought with him a quarter of a peck of dried apples of the crop of 1872; I shall not allude to the benevolence of Sister Tynhirst, who came with a pen-wiper and a tin horse for the baby; I shall refrain from commenting upon the impression made by Brother Hill, who brought four phosphorescent mackerel, possibly with an idea that they might he useful in dissipating the gloom in my cellar. I omit reference to Deacon Jones' present of an elbow of stove-pipe and a bundle of toothpicks, and I admit that when Sister Peabody brought me sweetened sausage-meat, and salted and peppered mince-meat for pies, she did right in not forcing her own

family to suffer from her mistake in mixing the material But I do think I may fairly remark respecting the case of Sister Walsingham, that after careful thought I am unable to perceive how she considered that a present of a box of hair-pins to my wife justified her in consuming half a pumpkin pie, six buttered muffins, two platefuls of oysters, and a large variety of miscellaneous food, previous to jamming herself full of preserves, and proceeding to the parlor to join in singing 'There is rest for the weary!' Such a destruction of the necessaries of life doubtless contributes admirably to the stimulation of commerce, but it is far too large a commercial operation to rest solely upon the basis of a ten-cent box of hair-pins. "As for matters in the church, I do not care to discuss them at length. I might say much about the manner in which the congregation were asked to contribute clothing to our mission in Senegambia; we received nothing but four neck-ties and a brass breastpin, excepting a second-hand carriage-whip that Deacon Jones gave us. I might allude to the frivolous manner in which Brother Atkinson, our tenor, converses with Sister Priestly, our soprano, during my sermons, and last Sunday kissed her when he thought I was not looking; I might allude to the absent-mindedness which has permitted Brother Brown twice lately to put half a dollar on the collection-plate and take off two quarters and a ten-cent piece in change; and I might dwell upon the circumstance that while Brother Toombs, the undertaker, sings 'I would not live alway' with professional enthusiasm that is pardonable, I do not see why he should throw such unction into the hymn 'I am unworthy though I give my all,' when he is in arrears for two years' pew-rent, and is always busy examining the carpet-pattern when the plate goes round. I also

But here Brother Toombs turned off the gas suddenly, and the meeting adjourned full of indignation at the good pastor. His resignation was accepted unanimously.

LIZZIE-ROBERT C. V. MEYERS.*

Written expressly for this Collection.

So you knew Lizzie well, ma'am, and being down this way You thought of the sad accident and hunted out the scene? I know she sewed at your house. Her tragic fate, you say, Appeals to you? Now tell me, ma'am, what is it that you

mean

By accident? You say that Lizzie wandered here one night
When not a star in heaven showed the bridge's rotten rail ?
Yes, that's the common story, and maybe it is right;
I only know there sometimes are two ways to tell a tale.

Every one loved Lizzie? Oh-why, yes, I think that's so,—
A pale, sweet thing, too delicate to sew the whole day long;
A girl that must in heaven be, or else so far below

She couldn't hear the harping of the loudest angel-song; A girl that in your grand rich home would listen as you ran On about your conquests, your balls and routs, the while She toiled with silks and satins to make you fair, then wan Would put her shabby bonnet on with such a pretty smile, For she was rich as you, ma'am, her home not near so grand,A small room with a sewing-machine, and a lounge-that was her bed

But she was rich in love, ma'am. Her strong and pure love fanned

Away all else like midges. His name? They called him

Ted.

You never thought of her and love together? Didn't you, though? Ah! dressmakers live needles are that come here, hit or

miss;

You pay for so many stitches-you haven't time to throw A thought to her that makes them. Now am I far wrong ia this?

But Lizzie loved, and so was rich. She knew that Ted had

once

Loved silly Alice, the shop-girl, who ran away and went Off with an opera-chorus, and hoped, the little dunce,

To be a prima-donna and marry the president.

Oh, yes, Lizzie, she knew this well; maybe she loved Ted

more

Because he'd had this sorrow. However, she made of him

* Author of "Jamie," Brother Ben," "Gabe's Christmas Eve," and other popular recitations found in previous issues of this series. Mr. Meyers has also contributed some excellent Comedies and Farces to the Dramatic Supplements which have been appended to the first twenty Numbers.

An idol, and sewed and gave her mite to add to the little store That should buy them a house in which to live,—and all the while grew slim

And slimmer, and had a hollow cough, yet happy all the while.

And Ted kept saying: "In May, Lizzie, we'll marry and

settle down;

Then you'll grow strong and rosy." "I'm rosy now," she'd smile;

"A rose may be white as well as red,-as white as my wed

ding gown."

Yes, Lizzie was making her wedding dress-she was sewing on yours, I hear,

And she copied it in muslin. You were married, you say, last June.

You've just come back from Europe where you've traveled more than a year,

And you want to hear of Lizzie and Ted? Well, Ted kept piping one tune:

"We'll be married in May, Lizzie." He bought a bit of a house

In early spring. The house? Yes, that's it over there by the dam.

Lizzie put up the curtains,-she was quiet as a mouse,-Thinking so much of Ted, you know. But let me hurry;

I am

Busy to-day with my laundry. It chanced one April night As Lizzie was going home to her tea and her sewing

machine,

She thought a woman followed her; she did not mind it

quite,

Till she'd lit her lamp and gone to work-'twas the wed

ding dress. Between

The stitches she thought of her wedding day. She heard a step on the stair;

She paused. There came a knock on the door. A woman

entered in,

"Twas she who had followed Lizzie.

There

Would you believe it?

Alice began to grin;

Stood the girl that Ted had loved! "You know me, Lizzie?" then she said; "I only stopped to

say

I'd like to know where Ted is. My voice is gone, and I Have learned a lesson, Lizzie. I know poor Ted to-day Better than ever, and love him as he begged me once to try.

Don't he come here?" Then Lizzie folded up the muslin

dress;

She felt assured that Alice knew of the wedding to be in

May;

Over her pure white face there came a look of sore distress. "Perhaps," said Alice, "Ted will come to-night. I guess I'll stay."

And so they waited, silently, both looking at the door,

Lizzie holding the wedding dress under her nervous hand; Alice smiling and certain, patting her foot on the floor. Yes, Alice was certain, and Lizzie-poor Lizzie!-you understand!

At last they heard a step,—and Ted was with them in the

room.

One look, one cry, and Alice stood before him, while his

face

Was a puzzle which Lizzie thought she solved, and the answer was her doom,—

But she smiled, the little dressmaker, and rose without a

trace

Of what was passing in her mind. She said to Ted; "You

know

You need not mind me, Teddy. Alice, here's your wed

ding dress,"

And she laid the muslin on a chair.

Alice wanted to go, A queer feeling came over her; and Ted, he didn't press Her much to stay. But proudly Lizzie spoke to Ted just

then,

Told him 'twas quite a relief to her for Alice to come, and

said

She'd made a mistake, and feared to tell him. Would you believe it, when

'Twas time for him to leave them, Alice had promised Ted, And he did not unhappy seein. But Lizzie had a will,

And next day worked on your wedding things. Along

comes the month of May;

Along comes the violet in the grass, and the daffodil on the

hill;

Along comes the joy of Alice and Ted; along comes the wedding day.

And Alice went to the little house the day that she was wed, Wearing the gown that Lizzie made, and took for a wedding gift