THE DREAM.

THERE stood a child at the foot of a steep and lofty precipice, into which were cut rudely, and at long intervals, steps that led upward. And upon the summit were seen dimly the golden gates of the celestial city, through which sometimes the music of the eternal life was borne down to waiting souls. And the child stood there trembling, but longing, and saw how some went on with calm strength before her, and passed with vigorous hearts, though with bleeding feet and colorless faces, up the straight but terrible way, to the summit, and entered in at the golden gates. And these bore great crosses upon their breasts, and a glorious light streamed from them, and made a shining way far down into the valley.

With an ever-renewed, but an impatient and ineffectual striving, did the child seek to follow in their footsteps. And whenever she fell back, torn and wounded by the sharp and jagged rocks, an angel with white wings and downcast eyes, and with a face calm but sorrowful, received her in her arms, and rested her head upon her bosom. But the child turned not her eyes upon the ministering spirit, nor heeded its gentle offices; and the angel spoke no word, nor sought to withhold her from the renewal of the struggle, but ever, with folded arms, awaited quietly the sad but sure return.

After many failures, the child sank back despairing; and for the first time, looking into the calm eyes that watched over her, "O gentle angel!" she said, "I will strive no more: I am not worthy to enter into the celestial city." Then the angel smiled softly, and her voice was sweet and calm as she answered, "It is only the few who are great and strong that can pass by direct and rapid steps to the heavenly home, and leave a shining way behind them. But seest thou yonder narrow path which looks dark in contrast with this glorious light? If thou wilt take this cross upon thy breast, and wilt lean on me, I will go with thee all the way; and it will lead thee as surely, though slowly, to the portals of the divine life." And, as the angel spoke, she held towards the child a small cross; but she turned away her head, and said, "It is too light, it cannot fit me for the heavenly life." "Take

it near to thee," said the angel, "that thou mayst see it more clearly." And, when the child had taken it in her hands, she saw how it was thickly studded with sharp points, which the shadows had before concealed. Then she smiled joyfully, and pressed it closely to her breast, so that drops of blood flowed from it, and stained her white garments; but she smiled only the more gladly.

And I saw how the child, leaning on the breast of the angel, went slowly onward in the winding pathway. And, when she stumbled over the stones which lay therein, she stooped down, and removed them softly out of the way; and, when the thorns wounded her, she uprooted them, and cast them on one side. And with the flowers she dealt gently; lifting those that had been bruised and trodden under foot, and watering those that were parched by heat, and parting aside the branches which had overshadowed some too heavily. And she broke none rudely, and left always some remaining, that new seeds might be sown therefrom. Then said the angel, "Why dost thou stop by the way so often, stooping to so much toil, seeing that thou canst not retrace thy steps, and the same thorns may not wound thee twice?" "Not for myself," said the child gently, "have I done this, but for those that shall come after me."

Then the angel smiled; and from the cross upon the pilgrim's breast a soft light fell upon the path behind them, and made the way clearer.

So they journeyed long; and I saw how the child's garments, which had been so white and shining when she stood first at the foot of the precipice, were now torn and sullied; yet only the more clearly did the soul's light shine through the rents and tatters of its worn-out covering. And once, as they walked, it came to be almost the close of the day; and the child said, "Now it is almost night; and I am glad, for I long to lie down in the gentle arms of sleep, that I may wake refreshed for a renewal of toil."

Then said the angel, "There shall be no more night for thee;" and, as she spoke, they came to a sudden turn, and, when they had passed it, lo! the golden gates were before them. And the child stood still, and meekly bowed her head in thanksgiving. And "Oh welcome, thou divine life!" she said, "for which I have so long thirsted. Not so quickly, or by such a quiet pathway, did I think to attain unto thee." And, as she passed

through the now open gates, she turned and said, "Who sent thee to me, O beloved guide? and what art thou called, that I may know thee again in heaven?"

And the angel said: "I shall be often with thee in the clearer world: the Father has placed me at the beginning of life. I am the child of love, and am called among men PATIENCE."

A.

LINES.

"Deep suffering, to the true heart, reveals the depths of its capacities, and not unfrequently through this door does the river of life flow into the soul."

'Twas wondrous fair, that garden-plot:
How rich and light the soil!
Delicious fruit and sweetest flower

Repaid the gardener's toil;

For toil he must, else spreading roots

Would sure destruction bring:

From that warm earth which bore the flower
The rankest weed would spring.

Here bloomed the rose, and hearts-ease there
Raised up its cheerful face;

And, swaying in the gentle wind,

The lily had a place.

Up sprung the sweet forget-me-not

Upon its graceful stem,

And, close beside the passion-flower,

The Star of Bethlehem.

Its clusters rich, the clambering vine
Hung o'er the shady bowers;
And fruits, such as the soil could grow,
Were ripening 'mong the flowers.

The myrtle and the cedar-tree

Cast most delightful shade;

And, on the harp-strings of the pine,

Eolus softly played.

From bloom to blight! from life to death!

A change came o'er the scene:

The summer sun grew red and hot,

His glance was deadly keen;

There came at night no gentle dew,
There fell no summer showers;
The fruits were drooping on their stems,
And dying were the flowers.

A workman came, and in his hands
Rude implements he bore,
Which, wielded by his stalwart arm,
The quiet earth uptore.

With purpose firm he wrought his task;
He met the flinty rock;

It shivered into atoms there;

Earth trembled in the shock.

One master-stroke! and lo! there gushed

The crystal water forth,

And evermore a fountain flowed,

Refreshing all its earth.

Deep was its source, while high in air
It with the sunshine played,
And, falling back among the flowers,
The sweetest music made.

L.

THE CHRISTIAN REPOSITORY.

THE energy and talent of those liberal Christians that have planted a Theological School at Meadville deserve an organ, and have produced one. Two numbers of their new periodical, a Monthly furnished at $2 a year, lie before us, and are in all respects worthy of their parentage. The work is edited by Professors STEBBINS and FOLSOM, and J. E. CHURCH, with the special assistance of Professors MILLARD, HOSMER, and CHADWICK, and I. N. WALTER, A. A. LIVERMORE, A. CRAIG, A. H. CONANT, and E. EDMUNDS. It is designed especially for western circulation; but, as graduates of the Meadville School are often sought as ministers of New England churches, so, we have no doubt, this fresh and vigorous journal will be read and prized in all parts of the country.

The editors say: "The Christian Connection have long felt the need of such an organ, in which they can discuss the great doctrines and duties of Christianity from their point of view, at greater length and with more thoroughness than they can do in a religious newspaper. The Unitarians, of the West especially, also need some publication which shall be issued in the West, and partake of a liberal spirit. To meet these wants, this periodical is started. It will discuss all subjects of practical piety and Christian doctrine in a free, yet courteous manner, so that the spirit in which its articles are written shall edify the reader, if its doctrines should not all of them win the assent of the understanding."

THE meaning of Christianity is to be gathered from the Scriptures, in the best use of our minds, and under the guidance of our religious and moral nature. A pious experience, the feeling of an earnest and good heart, must interpret the mysteries that baffle the cold critic. It must be clearly understood, that the gospel deals primarily and specially with sin, with wrong-doing and wrong-doers. Christ does this in an altogether peculiar and striking manner. Christ does not fail to impress it upon the world's heart, that sin is a most sad and formidable reality. He says to every man, "Thou art not right before God or men, or thine own best and highest soul; between thee and Heaven there is a long and dreary and it may be ever-increasing interval, a great gulf which somehow must be painfully bridged over." Though the holy Christ had uttered no word, his very presence would have roused into life the world's conscience. Purer than the sun in the heavens, he went out amongst men, at once a wonder and a reproach; human enough to show what humanity ought to be. His life was a plea that the world should repent in sackcloth and ashes. Some little shade of sadness must have stolen over even the most hardened, as that bright form passed, as the contrast between Messiah's glory and the common frailty was vividly presented. Even the possessed said, "Art thou come to torment us before our time?" Christ darkens the light in the