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come song of supper, and the odor of some delicious tea which Dr. Gordon had given as a, treat to the men, in addition to their ordinary rations, appeared to exert a refreshing influence, even before it was tasted. And now, as they gather round their ruddy fire to enjoy their evening meal, the group is so picturesque that we are tempted to pause a moment and look at them. Seated on the only camp stool to be seen, and marked as the only one of the company habited in citizen’s attire is Dr. Gordon, a man of ordinary height and middle age, with a countenance of thought ful, habitual cheerfulness, but pale now from distress, and wearing at times an expression of inexpressible anxiety, lie occupies a place near the door of his tent, listening to the lively jests of the men, and occasionally throwing in a kindly word to make them feel more at their ease. Hear him, on a log rolled there for the purpose, is the stalwart form of Ser geant Tomkins. Ho one who looks into his calm grey eyes will doubt that he is a man of courage, and the quick, merry twinkle of that same eye proves that he is good-natured, too, and can enjoy a joke as well as any of them. But Sergeant Tomkins is withal a martinet in his ideas of order, and can never for a moment for get that the military command of the company devolves on him, and that a cer tain degree of persistent dignity is neces sary to discipline. Standing respectfully beside and somewhat in the rear of Dr. Gordon is Wildcat, whose intelligent face is lighted up with pleasure at a remark just addressed to him by his patron. His dress is neither that of the soldier nor of the citizen, but of the Indian. The ma terials are of dressed deerskin, buff-color ed and properly ornamented. A hunting shirt, with a broad cape over the shoul ders, and with a deer-skin fringe on all its edges, covers his body and reaches half way down his thigh. Leggings of the same, and fringed in like manner, cover his legs from hip to ankle, while moccasins heavy with small, bright-color ed beads, enclose his feet, and a flap or apron, still more adorned than the moc casins, and having pockets, protects the stomach. His head is enveloped in a handkerchief worn as a turban. This dress was prepared by the skillful fingers of his mother, and Wildcat would feel denationalized if he doffed it for any other costume. At the moment we look upon him, he is starting from his position by Dr. Gordon to the men beside the fire, where he is to take his share of supper. BUEKE’S WEEKLY. Wheeler and his men are seated on the clean sand, each with his tin plate and tin cup in hand, preparing to enjoy the contents. He is a man of well-knit frame, and in his aspect it is hard to determine which predominates, the soldier, the sailor, or the hunter. Os the other men, the swarthy visage, heavy figure and down look of Simpson are in striking contrast with the open, laughing face, light complexion and agile figure of a pleasant-looking man beside him of the name of Jones. Thompson, (Swan Thomp son he calls himself,) an Irishman, but recently imported from the Green Isle, is cook ; and Magruder, a raw-boned, sandy whiskered Scotchman, treads the margin of the bluff as sentry over both camp and boat. On the edge of the bluff, within a few paces of the fire, glisten the bright mus kets of the men, stacked according to military rule, while the barge, within full reach of the firelight, tilts heavily upon the sand, where she lies aground ; and the shelly beach stretches like a broad white belt between the sleeping waters of the cove, on the one side, and the dark forest of pines and cedars on the other, illumined from below by the rich red of the resinous fire, and from above by the silvery light of a moon, nearly overhead, and more than half at the full. Christ’s Sympathy. While the storm was fiercely blowing, While the sea was wildly flowing, Angry wind and angry billow. Only rocked the Saviour’s pillow : Jesus slept. But when sudden grief was rending Human hearts in sorrow bending; Wheu> he saw the sisters weeping, Where their brother’s form was sleeping, “Jesus wept.” ♦♦♦- THE CROOKED PICKLES. BHE sound of brisk steps, directions in subdued tones, the carefully laid tea table with its china and silver, all confirmed nnie Warren’s whispered ;ot company. Aren’t you e ? Uncle Aaron’s come.” Aunt Lucy had granted the inmost wish of her little heart by al lowing her to think herself useful on this great domestic occasion. “ May I get the pickles ?” “ Mind and pick out all the straight ones, dear.” “ Yes’m;” and back she skipped with a plateful, so green, so hard, so sure to be brittle, that even fastidious Aunt Lucy was satisfied. Minnie dropped into her little chair, watching for a good opportunity “to take a step for auntie,” and as she sat, grave lines were drawn upon the serious little face, and drew Aunt Lucy’s eyes to ward her, busy as she was. •• Why did you tell me to get straight pickles, Aunt Lucy ?” “ Because they look a little nicer for company. Crooked ones taste as well.” Minnie fell back, pondering the idea she could not express. “ Aunt Lucy !” “ What, dear!” “ Do you love L T ncle Aaron better than you do Uncle John ? Didn’t you tell me Uncle John was a dear, good man. Aren’t they both your brothers, just the same?” “ Indeed they are, and I love them both,” answered Miss True, quick tears dimming her glasses. “ But—but ” —the earnest eyes, the quivering lip asked permission to go on. Miss True’s smile granted it. “ You have made toast, and cooked chicken, and put on the prettiest dishes for Uncle Aaron, but when Uncle John was here you said, ‘Hevermind, the blue dishes are just as well,’ and didn’t tell me to get the straight pickles, either.— But, auntie, I’m very sure you told me to treat my little playmates just alike.” “Well, Minnie, I knew that Uncle Aaron was more particular about his eat ing than Uncle John. He is used to hav ing things very nice at home, while Uncle John is not.” “ I know,” chimed in the flexible, ex pressive child’s voice. “ I know why— because Uncle John is poor. But, auntie, if he don’t get nice things often, won’t he like them better when he does ?” This naive home question, put with moist eyes and deprecating tone, was too much for Aunt True. She would have boxed a pert child's ears, but she answered Minnie (would that all of us could be as wise !) humbly : “ Dear child, Aunt Lucy was wrong; she loves her brothers just alike, and means to treat them so, and when Uncle John comes again, he shall have a nice supper. “Yes, and the straight pickles, too!” “ I declare,” said Aunt Lucy, shutting herself into the buttery, while the four years of experience outside walked away with a happy face, “ I declare, Lucinda, that child of yours does ask such ques tions ; did you hear her? I shall never see a crooked pickle again without being ashamed of myself. You must be care ful ; that pickle jar has taught Minnie more about the sin of respect to persons than the whole second chapter of James would have done.” 35