EXTRACT FROM THE LETTERS OF THE REV. J. W. FLETCHER. + I * * YES, my dear friend, I am married, and have a new opportunity of considering a great mystery, in the most perfect type of our Lord's mystical union with his church. have now a new call to pray for a fulness of Christ's holy, gentle, meek, loving spirit, that may love my wife as He loved His spouse, I the Church. But the emblem is greatly deficient; the Lamb is worthy of his spouse, and more than worthy, whereas I must acknowledge myself unworthy of the yoke-fellow whom heaven has reserved for me. She is a person after my own heart, and I make no doubt we shall increase the number of the happy marriages in the church militant. Indeed they are not so many but it may be worth a Christian's while to add one more to the number. God declared that it was not good that man, a social being, should live alone, and therefore he gave him a help meet for him; for the same reason our Lord sent forth his disciples two and two. Had I searched the three kingdoms I could not have found one brother willing to share gratis my weal, woe, and labours, and complaisant enough to unite his fortune to mine; but God has found me a partner,—a sister, a wife, to use St. Paul's language,-who is not afraid to face with me the colliers and bargemen of my parish, until death part us. Buried together in our country village, we shall help one another to trim our lamps, and wait, as I trust you do continually, for the coming of the heavenly Bridegroom. THE camp may have its fame, the court its glare, The Domestic earth! If this be comfortless, if this be drear, It needs not hope to find a haunt on earth! Elsewhere we may be careless, gay, caressed, But here, and only here, can we be blessed. Oh! senseless, soulless, worse than both were he Who, slighting all the heart should hoard with pride, Could waste his nights in losel revelry, And leave his bosom's partner to abide The anguish women feel, who love, and see Themselves deserted, and their hope destroyed, Some doating one, perhaps, who hides her tears, And struggles at a smile when he appears! WOMAN, gentle Woman, has a heart Fraught with the sweet humanities of life; Swayed by no selfish aim, she bears her part In all our joys and woes; in pain and strife Fonder and still more faithful! when the smart Of care assails the bosom, or the knife Of "keen endurance" cuts us to the soul, First to support us, foremost to console! Oh what were Man, in dark misfortune's hour, Without her cherishing aid? a nerveless thing, Sinking ignobly 'neath the passing power Of every blast of fortune. She can bring A balm for each deep wound. As when the shower More heavily falls, the bird of eve will sing In richer notes; sweeter is woman's voice When through the storm it bids the soul rejoice! * * * * A. A. WATTS. THE HUSBAND'S RETROSPECT. WRITTEN ON THE RETURN OF HIS BRIDAL DAY. OH! my love's like the stedfast sun, Can make my heart or fancy flee One moment, my sweet wife, from thee. Even while I muse, I see thee sit Ye seem, |