lights fell gleaming from the ice-trees and jewelled all the palace walls. Leo wandered about and tried to attract the notice of the snowpeople by plucking their skirts. When this had no effect, he marched boldly into the palace to discover what he could. There were halls and pillars of ice, and carpets of snow. "One would need to have frost-nails in one's shoes like the horses, to walk here," said Leo; and he tried in vain to ascend the staircase, coming slipping wildly back again at every step he made. At last he gave up the attempt, and began to consider about crossing the glittering hall. He bethought him of a plan, and taking a flying race from outside, he went gliding along the pavement just as if it had been a slide at home. In this way he dashed suddenly into the chamber of the Queen of Snow! There she was, lying on her couch, covered with white draperies, and fast asleep. She was far the most lovely creature that Leo had ever seen-so calm, so pure, so fair, so mighty-with her beautiful face upturned, and her noble head pillowed upon her arm. Round her, crouched upon the floor, sat twelve bowed figures, as motionless, though not so lovely as herself. Well, whether it was that her time for moving had come, or that Leo's violent arrival had disturbed her, I cannot say, but just as he entered the door, she heaved a sigh, and the Snow Queen turned in her sleep! Instantly a sound as of weeping was heard, a rushing and trickling like showers of sudden tears. Everything was in a wet state round Leo, and when he hurried away to see what could be happening outside, he found the ice-forests and the snow-lawns all dissolving away. The little snow-children came flying out of the frost-forests and danced round Leo, while they were all gradually melting and trickling into nothing before his eyes. While he stood there among them lost in amazement, he perceived that his old friends the rain-children were frolicing in the crowd, and, more surprising still, that the windcreatures were also appearing, coming crashing through the ice-forests in the most boisterous manner. Very soon they were all capering together in the maddest way, forming flying circles round Leo, who was dragged about with them and felt that he was sinking, sinking, as everything was whirling and floating around and beneath him. "We are all of the same family!" said his old friend the first rainchild, nodding at Leo; "and we often work together!" Just with this there was a loud report and a hissing noise, and a flaring light. Leo looked round wildly, and beheld capering overhead a fierce-looking being, brandishing a red-hot, two-pronged, gigantic fork in its claw. Before he had time to scream, the terrible weapon was thrust into the skirts of Leo's little knickerbocker jacket, and as he went whirling through the air he heard a chorus of mocking laughter, and the cry "Hurrah! hurrah! he's off with the forked lightning!" THE GATE OF HEAVEN. WWhile happy spirits slept, WITHIN a chamber lone and high, She sat, with many a weary sigh, From throbbing heart and aching eye "I weary of my life," she said, "It is but want and pain; I'd die but for the living dread Such flight were all in vain. Earning a fearful loss instead Of any tranquil gain. "Ah, why, that the Lady Leoline Must my weak, wasting body pine Why, that her hands with gems may shine, "She knows no need nor bitter grief, Her days are sunny, glad, and brief, Want binds her not, a daring thief, To steal her soul for harm. "She kneels before her gilded book Upon her silken chair, And gives the clouds her gentle look, And says her gentle prayer; Her soul is placid as a brook When stars are shining there. "For her the gate of heaven stands wide, Illumining her way, Soft music soundeth for her guide, Lest she should go astray; White lilies murmur by her side: 'Sweet soul, serenely pray!' "She passed to church at morning hour With roses on her breast, Her curling hair a golden shower, Of velvet blue her vest, Her missal, worth a lady's dower, In gold and jewels drest, "The clouds hung out their flags of snow, I watched her down the street. The winds their silver pipes did blow Towards Paradise she passed me so, "I rose up wild, and flung away Its mocking glitter seemed to say "I cried, 'I have no painted book When joy and hope my breast forsook, "For her the gate of heaven stands wide, 'Tis closed to such as me; All those who with the angels bide With heavy heart she laid her low The weary hours did come and go, Then came an angel tenderly, Beside the golden gate she stood Each bending 'neath the cross of pain In jewel rare and satin sheen Were some amidst the throngWith bleeding feet and mournful mien Who won their way along, "Twixt pauses dire of anguish keen, And strivings meek and strong. But many, oh many more, were they Who moved full quickly on their way And caught on tear-stained face the ray That peered through the heavenly door. Again the angel whispered her,- Now stand they at the golden gate, A moment, then the blissful light And brows grow warm and eyes grow bright, Now, farewell, pain, and fear, and night, The dreamer waked, and weeping prayed No longer envious, wild, afraid, She climbs to the Blissful Land: R. M. TO AUBREY DE VERE. LONG have the Muses loved thee; round thy brow They've twined a wreath with flowers that will not die: That which I ever since my infancy Have longed to be, but all in vain, art thou— A Poet crowned; and to thy father's name Shyly, yet eagerly, scanned thy face, As though I there in tell-tale looks might trace A clue to thy sweet power. I heard thee speak— And I was shamed; the Poet's mystic art WILFRID MENNELL. VOL. IV. T ST. JOSEPH'S INFIRMARY AND THE LITTLE CHILDREN OF MARY.* IT T is now my pleasing task to address two distinct and beautiful Associations: one, of "St. John the Evangelist," the other, of the "Little Children of Mary." The former is comparatively old and tried; the latter is absolutely new, and, unlike its elder companion, has as yet brought forth no fruit. Naturally, then, I am induced on the one hand to look back upon the past, not for the purpose of glorying in it, on your part or my own, but with a view of thanking God for it, and stimulating you thereby to greater love and greater zeal; and, on the other hand, I am led to look out upon the future, and sketch it with a hopeful hand. Following this order, I turn first my thoughts and words to you who bear the beautiful name of "Associates of St. John the Evangelist." It is just two years since God called you together to be as angels of charity, of kindness, and of light, to the poor little suffering children in this Hospital, to cultivate that special virtue which is the guardian and the queen of all the others. Well, since that time God's hand has been upon your work; you have learned the sweet luxury of doing good; you have been made happy in devoting to His service every fair gift and fleeting grace of nature and of youth. You have twined with everyday thoughts thoughts grander and holier, because unselfish and supernatural. You have learned to live not for yourselves alone, but in that higher fellowship, in which the sorrows and the joys-but most of all, the sorrows-of others are made our own. You have fed the hungry, clothed the naked, comforted the sick, visited the little prisoners of affliction, and laid up for yourselves the promise of the sweetest word that ever fell, or ever shall fall, on human ear: "Come, ye blessed of my Father." In looking over our books, I find that you have paid to the Infirmary during these few years 1674 visits, which have been of immense value to the working of the house, but whose value before God is simply incalculable. Now let me remind you that, before you started into being, there was no such association as yours in the city of Dublin; none, I mean, that brought together young ladies to provide for that class very dear to God-most dear to Him, indeed, because they combine in themselves the threefold attractions of His special love in that they are poor, and sick, and young, all at once. There were other associations, of course, working most charitably for God; but their object and their means were, if not widely different, at least specifically distinct Some such words as these were spoken at a recent gathering of the youthful friends of St. Joseph's Infirmary for Sick Children, 9, Upper Buckingham-street, Dublin, by the Rev. J. Naughton, S.J., the Spiritual Director of the Work. |