I

I Dream of Heaven.

DREAMT, oh, I dreamt of a beautiful place,

And its streets they were all paved with gold;
Its walls were of marble transparently white,
Its gates were of jasper, and rubies so bright,
And diamonds most pure to behold.

I gazed, oh, I gazed on this beautiful place,

And I thought, will this splendour e'er last?
Whence came all this beauty, this light so Divine,
That the sun never need on its turrets to shine,
And no shadow across it is cast?

And, oh, as I gazed on this marvellous place,
Bright beings came into my view;

So majestic their form, so ethereal their mould,
So dazzlingly bright was each one to behold,
They could not be earth-born, I knew.

And e'en while in mute admiration I stayed,
Rich sounds on the zephyrs came near;
And millions of voices, with harps loud and sweet,
Their anthems of praise did together repeat,
Throughout that large city so clear.

And methought, as in ecstatic bliss I stood wrapt,
A touch on my shoulder I felt;

I turned, and beside me a being so bright,

It seemed that for raiment he'd clothed him with light,
And in awe, and with trembling I knelt.

He raised me, and said, "Come in hither, my child!
Why stand you without these great gates?
Come, enter our city, and share in our joys;
Why, surely, you'll never content you with toys,
When the well-spring of happiness waits!
"No cloud ever flits 'cross our calm azure sky,
No sorrow, no suffering comes near;
The gloom of despair on no countenance sits,
No tear-drop e'er falls, no bright blossom's nipt,
And nothing that's earth-born comes here.

"Each one, ere he enters, secures him the prize,
The Pearl of Great Price to be worn:

Each one too is purchased-redeemed from the world,
By the Lord of the city, whose banner unfurled
Is a Cross, which is hard to be borne."

3 Diamond in the Rough.

A STORY FOR YOUNG MEN.

WONDER what that fellow has to say for himself," said Harry Baynham, as he came out of his mother's house one Sabbath evening, ready for 66 a lark."

Right before Widow Baynham's house was the village

green, and on this, surrounded by a group of open-mouthed rustics, stood a man in the prime of life. He was raised a little above the heads of his auditory, and was engaged in singing a hymn, an occupation in which, however, only a few of his audience had the courage to join. It was a well-known one; but hymn-singing was not fashionable in Combe Hadley. Indeed, the greater part of the men and youths gathered around the open-air preacher were far more familiar with the songs sung at the Brown Cow, just opposite; while even the little urchins who played at ringtaw excelled in whistling the choruses. The verse which Mr. Howard, the evangelist, was singing just now was that one so dear to Christian souls:

"Jesus, the name that charms our fears,

That bids our sorrows cease;

"Tis music in the sinner's ears,

'Tis life, and health, and peace."

One or two feeble old women took up the strain as the singer went on, while two or three old men put in a faulty bass; so that, after a while, what with the ringing manly tones of the evangelist, and the feeble ones of those who had joined him, the singing was brought to a very respectable conclusion. There might have been an audience of fifty, or more, around Mr. Howard; and, as his quick eye glanced over the motley assemblage, an unspoken prayer went up to the Throne, that he might have grace to speak "words in season" to them. Decrepit age was there, leaning on its staff; for some of those red-cloaked old women and wrinkled old men were nearing eighty. Others were farm-labourers in the pride of manhood, with smockfrocks and pipes, showing more careless nonchalance than reverence. Beside them were youths and maidens decked out in their Sunday finery, and casting shy glances at one another; while mingled here and there were little children, and worn, poverty-stricken mothers, whose glances were even now raised inquiringly to the speaker, as if to ask whether he could tell them of any better portion than that

which fell to their lot in Combe Hadley. A certain degree of want and hardship fell to the share of all, while too many of them knew what brutal treatment and bitter words meant after the Saturday evening visits of their husbands to the Brown Cow.

Widow Baynham was getting old, and dependent for her support on her son Harry. He was about eighteen, and, on the whole, careful of his mother's comfort. All the elder children had gone out into the world in search of work, or service, except two, who had married and settled in the village; so that the old home was now shared by Harry and his mother alone. Harry was not an agricultural labourer, but a mason, and, as such, ranked a little higher in the social scale than most of his companions. But he was utterly ignorant and uneducated. With great trouble he could put together a few letters, but the labour was more than the pleasure; consequently he seldom opened a book, except to gaze and wonder at the pictures; and never, a paper. Very few of these latter, however, found their way to Combe Hadley; there was no school in the parish, and the religious ministrations were confined to one short service, each Sabbath afternoon, in the little church-a service which most of the audience yawned through, as a matter of duty. Having said thus much by way of introduction, you will readily understand how benighted a place Combe Hadley was, and how it came to pass that Harry Baynham was an ignorant, uneducated, rough youth.

Harry strolled leisurely across the green, hands in pockets, and came up with the crowd. Mr. Howard had just concluded his short prayer by the time he arrived-purposely short, so as not to drive any of his listeners away-and commenced to read. With clear ringing tones he read out a chapter from the sacred story, laying peculiar stress upon the invitation, "Come unto Me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest;" for from these words he intended to deliver a short address. The Combe Hadley people listened in decorous silence to the reading.

of the Scriptures-perhaps because so many of them were unable to read it themselves-consequently the sound was infrequent enough to be welcome. Then Mr. Howard gave out, two lines at a time, the good old hymn, "Rock of Ages," and three-fourths of the group joined in singing. Thus having prepared the way for his message, he, with ready tact, requested the men to protect him from the annoyances of the younger portion of the audience-a request which instantly converted each man into something like a special constable for the nonce, and immensely gratified their self-esteem.

The text was the wondrous invitation recorded above; and Mr. Howard pressed it home solemnly and kindly upon each conscience. To the young, to the fathers and mothers bearing the burden of life, to the old men and women, drooping beneath the load of infirmity, the evangelist commended this generous offer; and so earnest and winning was he, that ere he had done, even Harry Baynham stood, all attention, drinking in the wonderful words. His freeand-easy companion, Jim Noble, nudged him to be going; but no, Harry wanted to hear all that the preacher had to say, and he stayed till the last word was spoken.

"Come on, now," said Noble. "I see three or four of our chums going into the Brown Cow. They be up for a lark. Let us go.”

"Let them go," replied Harry, angrily. "I'll stay just as long as I like."

Jim was silent. The concluding hymn was that precious one commencing, "There is a fountain filled with blood;" and Harry, though rather out of time, inasmuch as he was ignorant of psalm-singing, joined lustily in it. Then followed the closing prayer-short, but earnest-and the benediction; and the little assembly dispersed. Mr. Howard, after thanking those who had assisted him by maintaining order, bade them farewell, and went home, to pray over the seed he had sown that day.

Harry Baynham did not go home, but he went, instead,