gradually and gently all things grow, and pass through magical changes. When we had had enough of chasing butterflies, the roses came to bind us together in fragrant wreaths. When the roses withered, the grain-fields waved beautifully in the wind, and purple and yellow grapes hung from the vines, like great clusters of jewels. And now, when fruit and grain are gathered, the forests are gorgeous in the sunlight, like immense beds of tulips. A friendly 'Good morning' to something new, mingles ever with the Good night, beloved,' to something that is passing away. Surely, dearest, this road, so full of magical transformations, must lead us to something more beautiful than itself." The traveller uncovered his head, raised his eyes reverently toward heaven, and said: "It is a great mystery. O Father, give us faith!"

Before the glowing tints departed from the trees, Mary's cheek grew pale, and the light of her eyes began to fade. Then the traveller shuddered and shivered; for a great shadow came between him and the sunshine; he felt the approach of the invisible. More and more closely he pressed the beloved companion, to warm her with his heart. But her mild eyes closed, and the graceful form became as marble. No more could he look into those serene depths, where he had first seen the blind boy shooting his arrows, afterward stringing pearls, and then as an angel twining amaranthine crowns. In the anguish of his desolation, he

groaned aloud, and exclaimed: "O thou Dread Destroyer! take me, too! I cannot live alone! I cannot!" A gentle voice whispered, "Thou art not alone, dearest. I am still with thee!" but in the tumult of his grief he heard it not. The children Mary had given him twined their soft arms about his neck, and said: "Do not leave us alone! We cannot find our way, without thee to guide us." For their sakes, he stifled his groans, and knelt down and prayed, "O Father, give me strength and faith!”

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Patiently he travelled on, leading the children. By degrees they joined themselves to companions, and went off in pairs into new paths, as he and his Mary had done. The scenery around him grew more dreary. The black branches of the trees stood in gloomy relief against a cold gray sky. The beautiful fields of grain ripening in the sunshine had changed to dry stubble fluttering mournfully in the wind. But Nature, loath to part with Beauty, still wore a few red berries, as a necklace among her rags, and trimmed her scanty garments with evergreen. But the wonderful transformations had not ceased. The fluttering brown rags suddenly changed to the softest ermine robe, flashing with diamonds, and surmounted by a resplendent silver crown. The magical change reminded our traveller that his lost companion had said, Surely a road so full of beautiful changes must lead to something more beautiful than itself." Again he knelt in reverence, and said, "All

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things around me are miraculous. O Father, give me faith!

The road descended into a deep valley, ever more narrow and dark. The nights grew longer. The ground was rugged and frozen, and the rough places hurt the pilgrim's stiff and weary feet. But when he was joined by pilgrims more exhausted than himself, he spoke to them in words of good cheer, and tried to help them over the rough places. The sunshine was no longer warm and golden, but its silvery light was still beautiful, and through the leafless boughs of the trees the moon and the stars looked down serenely on him. The children whom he had guided sometimes came and sang sweetly to him; and sometimes, when he was listening in the stillness, he seemed to hear mysterious echoes within himself, as if from a musical Ichime of bells on the other side of a river.

The shudderings and shiverings he had felt in presence of the cold shadow became more frequent; and he said to himself, "The Dread Destroyer is approaching more and more near." With trembling hands he uncovered his snow-white head, and looking upward, he said, "It is a fearful mystery. O Father, give me faith!" Praying thus, he sank on the cold ground, and sleepiness came over him. He felt something gently raising him, and slowly opening his eyes, he said, "Who art thou?" The stranger answered, "I am that Dread Destroyer, whose shadow always made thee shudder."

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Thou!" exclaimed the tired pilgrim, in tones of joyful surprise; "why thou art an angel!" Yes, I am an angel," he replied; “and none but I can lead thee to thy loved ones. Thy Heavenly Father has sent me to take thee home." Gratefully the weary one sank into the arms of the giant he had so much dreaded. “All things are ordered in love," he said.

"Thy touch is friendly, and thy voice like music."

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They passed a narrow bridge over a dark river. On the other side was a flowery arch, bearing the motto, The Gate of Life." Within it stood Mary and her cherub-boy, shining in transfigured light. The child stretched out his hands for an embrace, and Mary's welcoming smile was more beautiful than it had ever been in the happy old time of roses and rainbows. "This is only one more of the magical transformations, my beloved," she said. "It is as I told thee. The beautiful, mysterious road leads to something far more beautiful than itself. Come and see!" With tender joy he kissed her and the angel child. There was a sound of harps and voices above him, singing, "The shadow has departed!" And a cheerful response came from well-remembered voices he had left behind him on the road: "We are coming! We are coming!" Through all the chambers of his soul went ringing the triumphant chorus, "The shadow has departed!" with the cheerful response, "We are coming! We are coming!"

A

N old man sat in his chimney-seat,

As the morning sunbeam crept to his feet; And he watched the Spring light as it came With wider ray on his window frame. He looked right on to the Eastern sky, But his breath grew long in a trembling sigh, And those who heard it wondered much What Spirit hand made him feel its touch.

For the old man was not one of the fair
And sensitive plants in earth's parterre;
His heart was among the senseless things,
That rarely are fanned by the honey-bee's wings;

It bore no film of delicate pride,

No dew of emotion gathered inside;

O, that old man's heart was of hardy kind,

That seemeth to heed not the sun or the wind.

He had lived in the world as millions live,
Ever more ready to take than give;