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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,
And wakeful vigil kept;

From throbbing heart and aching eye
Full bitterly she wept.

"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
May robe in silk and gold,

Must my weak, wasting body pine
In rags so thin and old?

Why, that her hands with gems may shine,
Must mine be pinched by cold?

"She knows no need nor bitter grief,
Her home is bright and warm,

Her days are sunny, glad, and brief,
Her nights fear no alarm;

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
With music faint and sweet.

Towards Paradise she passed me so,
With flowers beneath her feet

"I rose up wild, and flung away
My work of satin gear,

Its mocking glitter seemed to say
That God would never hear,
If such as I could dare to pray
My prayers into His ear.

"I cried, 'I have no painted book
To read His word wherein;
My youth has lost its lovely look,
My virtue frowns like sin;

When joy and hope my breast forsook,
Despair my soul did win!'

"For her the gate of heaven stands wide,

'Tis closed to such as me;

All those who with the angels bide
Should bright and lovely be:
And I must in the darkness hide,
Deformed by misery."

With heavy heart she laid her low
To seek her fitful rest,

The weary hours did come and go,
And found her still oppressed
With darksome thoughts of bitter woe,
Like nightmare on her breast.

Then came an angel tenderly,
And closed her weeping eyes,
And, oh, so softly whispered he
A dream of Paradise ;
And, oh, so sweetly listened she,
And hushed her sobbing sighs.

Beside the golden gate she stood
That guards the Eternal Home.
And looked along the narrow road
By which the Blessed come,
Each toiling 'neath his heavy load
Of earthly woe and gloom.

Each bending 'neath the cross of pain
That Christ for him had borne;
And blood of some did flow amain,
And wounds of some did burn,
And eyes were dim with tearful stain,
And brows were wan and worn.

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
In scanty garb and poor,

Who moved full quickly on their way
Beneath the cross they bore,

And caught on tear-stained face the ray

That peered through the heavenly door.

Again the angel whispered her,-
The dreamer smiled in sleep-
What form upon the rocky stair
Its lofty place doth keep?
'Tis she herself, poor wanderer,
Who bravely climbs the steep!

Now stand they at the golden gate,
Those pilgrims wan and worn,
A moment there they pause and wait,
With feet all bruised and torn,
And hollow eyes, in piteous state
Like outcasts quite forlorn.

A moment, then the blissful light
Streams through the Eternal door,

And brows grow warm and eyes grow bright,
That were so dim before:

Now, farewell, pain, and fear, and night,
And grief for evermore !

The dreamer waked, and weeping prayed
To join that enraptured band,
Her cross upon her shoulders laid,
And took her toil in hand.

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
Hast linked the glory of a greater fame.

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—
"Twas not, as I had deemed 'twould be, of Song
And Song's great sons; 'twas of the poor and weak,
The sufferers from poverty and wrong:

And I was shamed; the Poet's mystic art
Was veiled beneath his charity of heart.

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.

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