people often spoke of Him, and were never so well contented as when singing songs in His praise. But yet as years fled by, and various other matters engaged their attention, the voice of praise was less and less frequently heard in their midst, until at last the name of the Good King was wellnigh forgotten."

While the boy listened to these and similar words, he longed for a more full and trustworthy account of his Parent. He looked at his soiled raiment and neglected state, and thought within himself, "Can it be indeed true? Am I, to all appearance a wretched beggar, the son of a King?" and the contrast between his actual condition and this ideal rank only made him feel more lost and forlorn than ever. Ignorant and miserable as he was, he could not divest himself of the feeling that he was really born to a higher lot, and that he would never be happy until he had regained his alienated birthright. He would constantly repeat the scarce understood name of his Father; he would try to find out all that the country folk knew or remembered of Him; and, in a word, he lived on the thought of this un

seen One. When night approached, and the shadows were stretching along the lands, he would lay himself down to rest on his little straw pallet, and fall asleep with the word "Father" on his lips; and often in his dreams would he smile for joy, fancying that he had at last regained all, and was safe at home with his loved but long-lost Parent. Then, on waking, disappointed and sad at heart, finding that the pleasure had been "only a dream," he would exclaim,

"O Father, reveal Thyself unto me! Lead me to Thee where Thou art. Even if I be but a servant in Thy house, I want to be at home. Oh! bring me home." At such moments a voice seemed to whisper to him in tender accents, "Be patient,-be faithful."

Time passed on, and yet Gottfried did not become one whit more reconciled with his lot. But one day, as he was wandering to and fro, murmuring to himself words, which (so men told him) his Father used to love, there came to him an aged man, dressed in the garb of an Elder, and said, "Why are you so thoughtful? Do you not think that this is a fair and pleasant land? Are you not content to remain here?" The boy

raised his blue eyes to the face of him who thus talked with him, and seeing there only friendliness and compassion, took courage and answered, "Yes, sir, this is truly a lovely place, but yet after all it is a land of exile to me it is not my home. My home is very distant. My Father has gone there long ago, leaving me here alone; but I do not wish to dwell here, I want to be at home with Him;" and the youth wept. The stranger looked on Gottfried and loved him; he was so gentle, and spoke so tenderly of his Father, that the bowels of his sympathy yearned over him, and he said, "Do you see yonder hill? Come thither with me, and I will show you a sight which, if I mistake not, will rejoice your heart, and make your eyes to overflow with tears of gladness."

Onward they walked to the hill, speaking the while of the King, about Whom the man knew much, and of Whose love and mercy he had many tales to tell. The flowers seemed to become more beautiful,—the sun to shine with increased glory,—and the whole face of nature to be transfigured, as they thus conversed. The way, though in reality long, beguiled by the sweet stories and holy words

of the Elder, was soon passed over, and they commenced the ascent of the hill. It was somewhat rugged, but the boy, with his friend's assistance, easily gained the summit.

The prospect which unfolded itself to their gaze, as they looked into the far distance, was glorious in the extreme: the intervening fields and woods and rivers were fair to behold, but they scarcely noticed them, for the view beyond absorbed their attention. On the horizon rested a clear broad band of light, against which could be traced the towers and domes of a royal city. There appeared to be gardens surrounding the place, for the tall forms of palms and other trees showed dimly against the golden walls. Earnestly did Gottfried gaze; and no wonder, for the scene was like nothing on this earth, at least like nothing in the land where he sojourned, and from the midst of which the hill arose.

As we have already seen, Gottfried cared not for the land of his exile; but yet the reader must not imagine that it was a barren waste; on the contrary, it was, as the lad himself had said, "a lovely place," and all that the true inhabitants thereof could desire :

the ground brought forth abundantly,―corn, and wine, and oil were plentiful,―rich fruits hung upon the trees, and gorgeous flowers blossomed beside the ways. The people of the country made it their home; life to them was one long festival day; they sang, they danced, and their laughter never ceased. Statues of marble or of precious metal were set up here and there in the groves, and around them the light-hearted maidens joined in the dance, amid wreathed clouds of fragrant incense. Sometimes, tired with their sport, they would climb the silent hill, but rarely, if ever, were they able to see anything of the glorious view; it seemed to be hidden from their eyes; but the truth was, they had so long been dazzled with the glare of the plain below, that their sight was impaired, and not until hard measures had been taken, and many tears had rolled down their wan cheeks, could they enjoy the prospect. For the country folk had not upon their faces the ruddy glow of health; and indeed, if an attentive observer marked well their smiles and laughter, there was a hollowness, a trace of unreality about both, which told of an aching heart. Not so was it with the few