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at first seem large enough to freeze his faith, but let him go steadily onward into the warm atmosphere of Christian love, and gradually his doubts will no more impede his progress than the ice-floes impede an ocean-liner.
 * tered a warm atmosphere. A man's doubts

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DOURNESS

If I could present the picture of a Scotch Highland cow, with her calf by her side, watching the approach of a tourist whom she thinks is coming too near—could I depict the expression of her face; that, I would say, would fairly represent what is meant by "dour." Not that the cow would take the aggressive, but, if interfered with, I'll warrant she would not be the one permanently injured. Led by this trait a certain Scotchman always stood up during prayers when others were kneeling, and sat down when others stood to sing, because, as he exprest it, the ordinary method was the only one used by the English and he wasn't going to do as they did.—

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DOWN GRADE, THE

The terrible crimes and miseries of the East End of London have recently been brought into great prominence, and one of the most distressing features of this subject is that considerable numbers of these appallingly miserable characters were once respectable and happy. They were the children of honorable parents, they were trained in schools and sanctuaries, they were members of rich and influential circles; then they chose the down grade; they were first guilty of unbecomingness, then of acts of graver misconduct; at length their friends lost sight of them, they lost sight of their friends; then ever lower lodging-houses, lower gin-*shops, lower pawnshops, until at last those who had been tenderly nursed, educated in universities, clothed in scarlet, were submerged in filth, crime, misery, simply unutterable. All this dire catastrophe once seemed impossible to them, as now it seems impossible to us; but forget not that the doubtful ever passes into the bad, the bad into the worse, the worse into the unspeakable.—, "The Transfigured Sackcloth."

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DREAM, VALUE OF THE

A pillow-dream is a night adventure of your subconscious self. You wander without volition in a weird world and come back with a tantalized and fleeting recollection of fantastic persons and impossible situations. The metaphysical mystery of this sort of dreams has never been cleared, but it is certain that the fruits gathered in these sunless excursions are of doubtful flavor and quickly perishable. Fortunately, we are capable of dreams which are not pillow-dreams—dreams which are best dreamed when the spine is vertical and every fiber of mind, soul, and heart vibrant and vital. On these occasions we are in the clasp of our best mood—the mood of concept and creation. The wine of this mood is red like blood and the resultant intoxication is the holiest experience of which we are capable. In its high hours the soul is never maudlin or fuddled; it grips life strongly and deals with it in divine fashion, whipping its fugitive elements into orderly submission, compelling them to assume a useful steadiness like that of the dependable planets which can be found nightly at a given point in the heavens.—Metropolitan Magazine.

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DREAMS

("Behold, this dreamer cometh")

They stript me bare and left me by the way To pine forsaken in a lonely land; They gave me to night-frosts and burning day To griefs none understand.

They took my silver from me and my gold, The changing splendors of my rich array; Night's silver rain of dew escaped their hold, And the fine gold of day.

On the world's highway in vain pomp they tread; By paths unknown I stray and hidden streams; They took all else and left me there for dead; They could not take my dreams.

Still, morning comes with marvel as of old; Still in soft rose descends the eventide; Still in the castle of my heart, grown bold, The sweet, swift thoughts abide.

Pass by, pass by, O clamorous folk and wild! To this last fortress of the soul I cling; Men gave me winter weather from a child, But God has given me spring. (Text.)

—, The London Spectator.

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