lives; my father's, for instance, is simply to make money; so is John's, he has no desire but to have the best business in the town; Charlotte's aim is to be a fine lady; and yours, Henry ?" "To have a great name," he answered, as shaking her hastily by the hand, he hurried into the factory, which they had now reached, and where the last stroke of the bell warned him he was almost too late. Maude turned and walked slowly homewards alone, thinking deeply as she went. And what, she pondered, was hers? what was her ambition amid such varied visions and desires? she let her clasped hands fall down listlessly-she had none-no object-no hope to feed the soul, whose energies were stagnating within her; but then, after all, what was the value of those dreams to which her brother, her father, her sister-gave their life? Maude felt as if she could not have answered the question yesterday, but now a vision passed before her of that green and still churchyard, with its waving grass and frail flowers, breathing out their little lives in fragrance, and worthily fulfilling the office appointed to them, by typifying to living eyes that all flesh is grass, and all the goodliness thereof, is as the flower of the field which withereth and fadeth away; and the graves, with their silent tenants, placed side by side within the quiet earth, like sleeping children laid to rest; the narrow graves all wet with the bright tears of the morning, and bathed in the flood of sunlight that streamed on them, from the cloudless sky, in likeness of that glorious light of hope, which beams with a more abiding radiance on the resting place of those who have departed in His faith and fear; and as she looked again, in thought on that serene abode of rest, she shuddered to think how all these mocking delusions, which beguiled the life of those most dear to her, would soon be quenched within the cold damp earth. Had they then any better ambition, those people of S. Alban's, who day by day went past the warning tombs with tranquil footsteps and looks of joyful hope? If so, she thought, surely it could not be in religion alone-in an existence after death; for it seemed to her a dreary and chilling thing, to think that any human being, with loving heart and warm affections, should fix hopes, on what she ever fancied to be the dim and spectral region of departed spirits, and seek no other joy but in the contemplation of that distant awful Being, for Whom she entertained no feeling, save that of a sort of guilty fear. Unknown and unimagined to this poor forlorn spirit, was the unutterable sweetness of the Love she yet should know for Him one daythis very GOD Incarnate, not far off, the terrible Avenger only -but near, how marvellously near! wearing the human flesh in şinlessness, surrounding her with the everlasting arms, having done all for her, that man may do for his most well-beloved friend, even to the laying down of His very life for her! She went home saddened and subdued, yet she engaged, without complaint, in the distasteful duties of the day; and ever as the long dull hours wore on-the echo of voices, as they rose and fell in prayer came to her memory with a soothing influence, and one thought rose distinct and clear in all her sad bewilderment of mind; that she could have no rest, till she heard the solemn blessing sounding through that holy Church again, and knelt once more within its quiet walls. A CHILD'S DREAM. By the Author of " Tales of the Martyrs." THE HIDDEN WORLD. THE child slept. Before he slept, he had been thinking much of him he dreamt of; wondering whether a guardian angel were assigned to all, and wishing that one might ever be near him, as near that little boy. And now as sleep stole over him, and he lay with nought of outward sense to cloud his spirit, a clear, soft light, most like a moonbeam of all earthly things, only more pure and calm, and not so cold, beamed round about him, and by that light he saw his angel. Then he knew full well that one was given him, that in his loneliest moments one was ever by; but only by that light which visited his dreams he stood revealed, ministering visibly. Wondrous things and fair the angel showed him; under his guidance nature grew instinct with life. It was as if, from every outward object a veil had been removed, and the still soul within, its spiritual meanings more or less disclosed, beamed forth. This lowly earth, all that the eye discerns or ear may hear, in ocean, air, or sky, had something to unfold, until the whole became but as a type of that bright world above, where all is true and real; time, in shadowy semblance, setting forth what was, and is, and shall be in eternity. He showed how many spiritual lessons, day by day, light, of our universe the first and best, is reading unto all. He bade him see in it an image of " the True Light;" of Him, and of that holy kingdom which He makes light: here as the soul can bear it, and hereafter in perfect fulness; of His most holy Word, and, still expanding from that blessed radiance, of the lowly Christian and his heavenward path. And as the listening child drunk in all this, and it became to him so sacred in its high revealings, and as a type of innocence and truth, of all things pure and good, so beautiful,he felt it was no wonder he had always loved, as children do spontaneously, the light. Water, which is the chief support, in ways so manifold, of life,—in want of which the fruitful land pines to a desert, and beneath whose gushing forth the barren wilderness becomes a blooming garden; winds, coming and going we know not whence or where, cooling and purifying the laden atmosphere, strengthening the faint and weary traveller, stealing in softness to the fevered cheek, or rushing fearfully in mighty power; both combined forming the breath of our existence;—how reverent grew the spirit of the child when he had learned to look upon all these, and endless other operations, varied and innumerable, as emblematic of His working, Who is about, around, and, in some deep, mysterious sense, within us. Then it was night, a clear, sharp, frosty night; and he was watching for the moon's eclipse. He saw it all; he saw how, as the earth passed between her and the bright sun from which she draws her light, a deep, dark shadow more and more stole over her, till the whole orb had lost his ray, and, faintly visible, her dull and sombre hue robed earth and sky in gloom. And while looking, it was whispered unto him that he beheld, in that fair moon, the Church, in that dark shadow, worldliness and sin, hiding the face of Him Who is her sun, from Whom alone her light is all derived; and as in typical things are many meanings, instead of the whole Church, it seemed to picture now an individual member,-a soul enlightened falling into sin,-and so fearfully in this it mirrored, as a "sign," His holy Word, that the child gazed with trembling, and his heart was very glad when the first star-like spot appeared; and gradually, as one restored to love and grace, the moon emerged from shade, and once more shining forth, walked her calm path in beauty. Again the moon, causing the flowing tides, was as the Church stirring our hearts at her recurring seasons to raise them heavenward. The sun, drawing up vapour which, condensed, returns again unto the earth in rain, to moisten and refresh; or, when congealed high up in air by winter's cold, it falls in floating snow, sheltering the tender herb and grass from cutting frost with its white robe, and fertilizing as it melts into the soil;—this told of Him Who, drawing our affections, otherwise so way ward and so narrow, to Himself, thence bids them, purified, go forth, to seek the good of all who dwell within their sphere. There was a heavy shower; it passed away, and then the child saw resting on the cloud, from whence the rain still fell, a bow of many colours: emblem most meet of sorrow's blessing, setting forth how He looks on the mourning heart, and from its tears calls forth the Christian graces; graces fair as those bright colours, blending, yet distinct, mingled of earth and heaven, and, in their still and quiet beauty, rising between both. And there were other things, as darkness, fire; of these faint glimpses, just enough to wake meet awe and holy fear, the angel showed; and then he led the child through paths of sun and shade, over the soft green earth. And now most wonderful it was to him to find himself on every side surrounded by tokens of the Cross. Trees, with their outstretched branches, that still bore the living leaf throughout the summer's noon, to die and fall off with the waning year, grew into silent monitors, exhorting ever to penitence and faith. In form, he saw it now where he had never seen it before; in the still clouds, and in the starry sky; in plants and flowers innumerable; and in material, where could he turn his eye without seeing the precious" wood ?" Rivers that, rising where they may, yet ever seek the sea,-still flowing towards it, so smooth at times, and then, when aught obstructs, striving and struggling till, the obstacle subdued, they may press forward with a swifter course ;-how well these pictured the soul's narrow way through earth to heaven! Or if again viewed in successive waves, their varied progress then became to him as people gathered into holy Church; while the vast ocean's ceaseless "voice of many waters," was as that Church still serving day and night with prayer and praise. Once the child passed along a grassy lane, and the light breeze of spring bore on it fragrance so delicious, none could mistake the source from whence it came. Joyously he bounded over the dry ditch, and crept along the bank, and then sat down and clapped his hands with glee, to find himself amid a bed of violets. How holy did that fragrance seem! how grateful and refreshing unto soul as well as sense, when he was taught to look upon it as an emblem of humility! when he was told that all sweet scents of herb and flower are as the odour of a righteous life; that love, and faith, and hope, and, blended with them all, meek thankfulness, breathe from the lowliest garden, making it a sacred spot to those who can discern and realise its hidden beauties. The labours of the field, sowing and reaping, and the gathering in of harvest, in their many Scriptural meanings so very plain, so very awful, grew into something mystical; the food preparing for the natural life affording nourishment unto the spiritual. A farm or garden tended on with care, and yielding fruit in its due season, was as a soul well cultured; the same left wild, and overgrown with weeds, spoke but too clearly the sad state of one, where evil passions, meeting little check, choke the good seed. These, and many, many more than these, the angel brought before him in his dream, until the earth seemed one vast temple, whence unceasing worship ascended up to heaven; and so deeply was this impression wrought into the child's soul, that, while he slept, his little hands were clasped, and his lips moved in prayer. THE ISLANDS OF THE BLEST. FAR-far away are blessed Isles, in seas of glory set, Where we shall cease from weeping, and our sorrows all forget; Think not that pleasure, wealth, or ease, may gain this glorious rest, Bereavements and remembrances within the heart enshrined, C. A. M. W. ASHTON VICARAGE; OR, A FEW WORDS TO CHILDREN ABOUT THE LENTEN FAST. "PLEASE, Aunt Ellen," said little Freddy Walters, running into the parlour of Ashton Vicarage, "I want to ask you a question." "What is it, my love?" replied Mrs. Howard, as she kissed his glowing cheek, and smoothed the long hair the wind had disarranged. "Something about what uncle said in Church on Sunday," returned Freddy, "I could not make it out." "If it is about what you heard in Church, would it not be better to wait till you have finished your game with Baby, and are a little more thoughtful? You know, Fred, we must not talk on such subjects, unless we mean to be grave and steady." "Well, perhaps I had better wait," said the little boy. "And now I remember, Lucy meant to ask you too; so perhaps you will tell us both by and by." Aunt Ellen promised him a nice talk in the evening, and Fred ran away to finish his game in the garden. Frederick and Lucy were the only children of an officer who had lately lost his wife in India, and being unable to give that attention to his son and daughter which he knew they required, Major Walters had decided on sending them to England, to be placed at school, under the charge of their Aunt Ellen, his only sister, whom he had left a merry school-girl, and who, about eighteen months before Mrs. Walters' death, had become the wife of the Vicar of Ashton, and was now associated with him in the arduous, but delightful, duties of his parish. Their nephew and niece had |