SMILE WHEN'ER YOU CAN.

When things do n't go to suit you,

And the world seems upside down, Do n't waste your time in fretting, But drive away that frown; Since life is oft perplexing,

'Tis much the wisest plan,

To bear all trials bravely,

And smile when 'er you can.

Why should you dread to-morrow,
And thus despoil to-day?
For when you borrow trouble,
You always have to pay.

It is a good old maxim,

Which should be often preacheu, Don't cross the bridge before you, Until the bridge is reached.

You might be spared much sighing,
If you would keep in mind
The thought that good and evil
Are always here combined;
There must be something wanting,

And though you roll in wealth,
You may miss from your casket
That precious jewel-health.

And though you, re strong and sturdy, You may have an empty purse;

(And earth has many trials,

Which I consider worse!)

But whether joy or sorrow

Fill up your mortal span,

'T will make your pathway brighter

To smile when 'er you can.

We commend this philosophy to all terribly sober individuals, and feel like thanking our editorial brethren for giving it such wide-spread endorsement. In this instance, Mrs. Barnes preached, poetically, no more than she practiced in the every-day prose of life. Sorrow came to her, as it comes to all, but in the midst of all her sorrowings and perplexities, this same sunny philosophy held its place in her heart. She bore trials bravely, her strong, sweet faith in God upholding her even in the darkest hour. To those at all familiar with Kate Cameron's writings, it is not necessary for us to say that hers was the Christian's faith-a faith that can wait God's time in patience. It is clearly shown in this little poem, which first appeared in the Advocate and Guardian :

PATIENT WAITING.

'T was the gain of patient waiting
That was wafted to my ears,
In a song sublime and distant

As the music of the spheres;

And I saw-as in a vision

All that vast and solemn throng
Linked by common loss and sorrow
And by suffering made strong!

Lips that speak not of their anguish,
But still smile serene and calm;

Hands that when they drop the burden,

Henceforth grasp a martyr's palm;
Feet that shrink not from the pathway
Though so thorny to their tread ;
Hearts that bravely meet the conflict

Though their earthly hopes have fled.

And o'er all the anthem floated

"Patient waiting is no loss!"
And it seemed to cast a halo

O'er each dark and heavy cross;
And methought there came an answer
To each question that perplexed:
"Ye shall know it all hereafter,

Not in this world-but the next."

Then I traced the mystic letters
Carved upon life's iron gate,

At whose stern command we murmur

When we find there written, Wait!

'T is alone the patient waiters

Who the blessing will receive :
They who through all doubt and trial,

Calmly, trustingly, believe!

Among the most earnest of Mrs. Barnes' purely religious pieces is this, which was written for the Advocate and Guardian, and has been copied anonymously by several leading journals:

THE UNPROFITABLE SERVANT.

In a napkin smooth and white,
Hidden from all mortal sight,
My one talent lies to-night.

Mine to hoard, or mine to use,
Mine to keep, or mine to lose,
May I not do what I choose?

Ah! the gift was only lent,
With the Giver's known intent
That it should be wisely spent.

And I know He will demand
Every farthing at my hand,
When I in His presence stand.

What will be my grief and shame
When I hear my humble name,
And can not repay His claim !
One poor talent-nothing more!
All the years that have gone o'er
Have not added to the store.

Some will double what they hold,
Others add to it ten-fold

And pay back the shining gold.

Would that I had toiled like them! All my sloth I now condemn : Guilty fears my soul o'erwhelm.

Lord, O teach me what to do,
Make me faithful, make me true,
And the sacred trust renew!

Help me, ere too late it be,
Something yet to do for Thee,
Thou who hast done all for me!

The Congregationalist has given place to many tender things, but to few more tender than the following, which affords a glimpse of Mrs. Barnes' inner life. Every bereaved mother will read it with sympathetic interest when informed that the allusion in the fifth stanza is to four little ones who went from the poet's arms to angelic keeping:

And see through gath’ring mists of blinding tears,
Loved ones departed.

Brows on which mem'ry's radiance is cast
In fadeless splendor,

And voices that still whisper of the past
In accents tender

Hands that have lain confidingly in mine,
As loth to sever;

Eyes that upon my darkened pathway shine
No more, forever;

Hearts on which mine was ever wont to lean
With trust unshaken,

While not a single cloud could float between,
Doubt to awaken.

And dearer than all others to my sight,

Sweet childish graces;

How dark the world grew when death's solemn night
Hid those fair faces!