Light Afflictions

A pleasing Danish writer tells a story of which the following is the substance. The writer is represented as a lady seated at an upper window in a town, and observant of what passes around her. From this window she could see a court-yard with a garden, communicating by a door with the street. Some children were playing in the garden, and appearing as busy and important as the full-grown people in the world outside. She soon observed these children actively occupied in burying a favourite dog which had died, and ornamenting its grave with worthless scraps of rubbish. At last one of them suddenly thought of calling the children from the street outside to see the little dog's grave, demanding some very trifling article as payment for admittance. Now the show was not worth seeing, but, childlike, tho street children set a value on it beciuse others did so; and one by one they paid for their entrance, saw the very little there was to be seen, and went out again. But there was one little girl who had nothing to give; she was obliged to remain outside, and, as the last child came away, the lady in the upper window saw the little girl crying bitterly because she had "not seen the little dog's grave." At the time it was a real affliction to the child, and yet it was a very trifling and even absurd cause for grief. But even thus trifling may many things which now distress us appear when viewed "from an upper window"—viewed (as we may picture to ourselves) by those happy spirits to whom " that which is perfect is come;" or as they may hereafter be looked on by ourselves, when wo shall have exchanged timo for eternity. They will not only seem "light afflictions," but, considered as "chastenings for our profit," they will even be regarded as blessings.—F. F. Trench