she found in a tiny box the sweetest little ring a girl's eyes ever rested on. What happiness God sends even in this world! How she fell on her knees in gratitude and joy for the happiness which had come to her !

The next day broke with a glorious sun; the presage of another joyous day. Mary was early astir, and after breakfast Johnnie called, and Mary and he walked up the road.

There was never such a morning. The sun shone with brilliancy; the trees were resplendent in their full foliage; the birds sang their best; Nature rejoiced and gave thanks to the great Creator for His beneficence and mercy.

The happy pair walked up the road until they came in sight of the newly built house.

"Why, Mary, dear," said Johnnie, "this is all new since I was here."

"Yes," replied Mary, "all new, and I'm looking at it since the commencement of the work."

It was a pretty house. There were curtains on the windows, and flowers in boxes, and the garden was laid out in pretty flower-beds.

"Could we see inside the house?" said Johnnie.

The keys were with Lombard, the carpenter, so Johnnie went off with his great swinging walk, and was back with the key in a few moments.

He opened the door, and told Mary to enter. She clasped her hands in surprise. Why, it was furnished and ready to live in at a moment's notice !

Such a pretty kitchen! And the parlour! And And a little piano, something like a piano in a doll's house.

"Tisn't bad at all," said Johnnie.

"Bad," said Mary. "Sure 'tis a little palace! 'Tis a great mystery altogether."

They were now standing at the door, and Johnnie looked down the road.

"Do you think," said Mary, "that it could be for a new parish priest?"

"What an innocent you are!" said Johnnie, still looking down the road. "That house was never meant for a parish priest! It's my idea, it's meant for some couple who are starting off on the road of life like"

"Johnnie!" said Mary, "you don't mean

"Ah, dear heart, can't you guess? It is for your dear self and no one else. That's the year I asked you to wait. I pulled myself together, alanna, and in that great big city I worked, I slaved, I starved. No one knew but that good man, Father John; and I charged him solemnly to keep my secret. I wanted

to show you I was worthy to be called a man, and worthy to come back and ask you to share my lot. Ah! dear heart, shall I ever forget these terrible months, alone in a huge, seething mass of people, more terrible to me in its awful solitude than the Desert of Sahara? In all that frightful trial, my religion held me from sinking and going under. I thought of the sad look on your face at our parting, and often I crept into a quiet church in a quiet bye-street-a desert place surely-and there prayed to that God, Who, I felt, was coming to help me, that the demon should no longer have any hold over me, and hoped, oh, with what hope, that I would be able to win back your smiles again. Then a chance came! Work! And I worked and slaved. I had to do it then, but I did it with a will, and the man I worked for was pleased, and he gave me a better post. More work! More slaving! But a stroke of luck, arising out of my own industry-later on, dear, I'll tell you all about itcame along and put me out of the reach of poverty. Money, to send home to the poor old mother, for herself and the boys and girls; money to send to Father John in thanksgiving for the great turn things had taken; money to get the nest ready for the best and dearest little girl in the world!"

Mary was close to his heart now, silent; yes, happy, happy! There are moments on this earth when, poor and frail and sinful as we are, God seems to give us an idea of the joys and happiness He has in store for us.

Happy! No words will come. Her heart throbbed; her one thought was thanksgiving, first of all for Johnnie's marvellous return, so improved, so changed for the better; then to think that she had any part in this wonderful trransformation, and then love for this grand, dear fellow who in all his struggles had kept the thought of her before his mind.

As their eyes met in a mutual confession of true love, the gentle, kind face of Father John was seen at the garden gate. This experienced student of the human heart knew that all was right. He advanced towards them and extended a hand to each.

God bless you both!"

Old in years but young in heart, his heart too was touched at seeing the wonderful old story being enacted again under such marvellous and beautiful circumstances.

"'Twas a great secret, Mary, but I kept it. And you thought the house was for a new parish priest, did you? I know I won't wear out my welcome. Please God, I hope to call often and show you that I'll be one of the best friends to you, Johnnie, and you, little Mary Cassidy!"

STEPHANIE DE MAISTRE.

WOMAN AND CHILD

WE watched the sunset together-Sheila, and Conor and I; . They were some few years wedded; she toyed with her

marriage ring.

Swiftly and sudden the sun leaped down through the western sky,

Losing his poise in the heavens, as if God had severed the string.

And the red orb plunged in his wrath, and splashed all the sky with flame;

Scarlet paled into saffron; and the pink to a hollow grey; Then on the crested battlements flambeaux ciphered God's name, Lighting the nuptials of night from the eyes of the dying day.

We watched the sunset in silence-the great waves fawned at our feet;

The lion-waves that are tamed in the hush of the parting eves, For Nature is ever gentle, when night and the twilight greet; And labour leaveth his toils, and pleasure her garlands weaves.

And sudden a thought-that there on those ramparts crested with fire,

Where Alp upon Alp arose from the fireseas hidden beneath, In the deep cavernous valleys, crowding nigher and nigher, In the mists of molten vapours, from where sea-cauldrons seethe

Souls might linger and lean, for there of a surety

Dross of earth and its soilure could find not a resting-place, Great is the magic of fire-the giver of purity,

The angel who sifts and selects His souls 'fore the Godhead's face.

But this was a moment's fancy; so I turned to Conor and said : "Now, Conor, you are a poet; you watch with the seer's dark

eyes;

And things that are drab to souls, whom the Muses have left unwed,

Gleam with a new white light in the lightning of Love's emprise

What saw you there in that sunset?" He swiftly turned and

said:

(And I saw that his eyes were blind from the light of the vanished sun),

"Thou hast said well," he cried, "as gold is more precious than

lead,

Sight is better than faith, as deeds our thoughts outrun.

"And so surely as you have questioned, so surely did I see Just as the lower are leaned on the wine-faced deep, Up rose a woman's form, full-poised and rigid in majesty, Erect with gold-shod feet on the rim of the glittering steep.

"There she hovered and lingered, her white arms crossed on her breast;

Hesperus glittered and pierced through her vesture diaphanous;

She was a moment's glint of flame against the daffodil west; And lo! as she vanished, she pointed a finger to God and

us.

"Then from the sunken sea arose the ramparts elysian,

Fiery but fading as dreams from the sweet, dark sleep of the blest;

Over the ramparts flickered the wraith of that holy vision, Beckoned, faded, and vanished; then came the night and rest."

Once more we were hushed into silence. He turned to his wife who smiled,

Not with the curved lip of scorn, but the pity of wondrous love;

"And, Sheila, what saw you? By poesy unbeguiled,

You see not with eagle's eyes, but with eyes of the brooding dove."

And Sheila whispered, and toyed with her seal-ring tremulously : "Love taketh a downward bias; it filleth the wants of the

weak.

God seeketh the man, and the man seeketh the woman, and she

Seeketh that which, when found, leaveth her nought to seek.

"I saw a light from Heaven, from the zenith down to the

west,

Like the patriarch's ladder of old, which the feet of the angels trod,

And a burning babe on the breast of the sun as he sank to rest,

And the deep was a purfled cradle rocked by the hand of God."

Ah! sweet are the dreams of poets, fledgelings of Paradise!
Nursed by Eros and Psyche, and fed by the rosy Hours!
Sweet are the dreams that hover over the children's eyes,
Before life's wayward April dashes their Spring with showers.

Sweet are the day-dreams of maidens, sightlessly looking afar

For that which never hath been-for that which never shall be;

Sweet are the dreams of song-birds under the twilight star,
Startled from sleep by the echoes of their own melody.

Sweet are the dreams of night-flowers, nodding their drowsy heads

Under the moon's white glamour, as she treads with noiseless feet

Her purple pathway in Heaven-sweet in their deep, dewy

beds;

But of all the dreams of the earth-born, a mother's dreams are most sweet.

For, Lord, Thou art great in Thy Heavens-great in Thy love and might,

Painting rose-coloured dawns for Thy waking children, and

eves

Flushed with the hues that lie wrapped in primordial light, Or burst into prisms of colour, like a rose from its garden leaves.

But never in that world of marvels Thy wondrous Will doth make,

Rounded to ultimate worth, or unto perfection filed,

Hast Thou wrought deeper and truer for man's, or for Thy own

sake,

Than when in the dawn Thy fictile Hand fashioned the Woman and Child.