My arms I held out toward the bright dream
With its shimmering, shining love-curls,

I would hold her close to my bosom,
My dearest, my sweetest of girls!

But, alas, for my loving intention!
The vision faded away

Like the golden mists of the morning
At the dawn of a perfect day.

In my anxious longing to clasp
My child in my arms once more,
I ran through the space intervening
And out of the open door.

Then I knew that I was pursuing
A spirit or fancy sweet,

That was sent by the dear, good Master

To guide my wandering feet,

Back from the toils of Satan,

From the atheist's deadly snare,
To the shining path of belief and faith
That leads to that land so fair.

I knelt where I stood on the doorstep,
And thanked the kind Father above
For his infinite, tender mercy,
His tender, merciful love.

No more did the darkness oppress me,
Angel peace with her soothing hand
Covered my doubts and misgivings;
As the darkness covered the land.

My heart was full of repentance!

I had grown so sinful and cold;

I had stood on the verge of destruction; He had led me back to the fold!

It may have been I was dreaming

For my brain with fancies was filled. Only this I know, if 'twere seeming, Deep was the lesson instilled.

No more am I sad and disheartened, Rebelling against my hard lot.

I can see, now, the infinte wisdom Controlling, which then I could not.

Oh, golden-haired, sweet-faced vision,
Who came to me that day,
Your words so true and simple

Will dwell in my heart for aye.

I'm now only waiting and hoping
That, when my life work is done,
I may be permitted to meet you,
My own, darling little one!

SU

UCH a sleepy summer afternoon! The bees were making much ado gathering their winter store of honey, and their buzzing and humming among the flowers was enough of itself to put one to sleep. The sky wore the hazy, misty aspect of midsummer. It was warm and sultry and taking it altogether it was too much for Aunt Tilly Hyde's usual wakefulness. Her head drooped lower and lower until her chin rested on her breast and a gentle snore announced that she was fast asleep. But that was not her usual position when asleep, and after awhile her neck began to cramp and she began to have a frightful dream of a monster pursuing her with a long rope which it had some means of throwing over people's heads to strangle them. Just as the rope had swung over and around her neck she awoke with a start and a big snore, to find herself safe in her own cottage and in her own comfortable rockingchair.

"I declare ef I hav'n't bin asleep," she exclaimed. "That comes o' bein up last night, I s'pose. My, how my neck cramps! It e'enamost feels as ef there had bin a rope around it. I believe I'll run over to Miss' Morton's awhile to get the stiffness out of my jints. Sam'll wont be hum to supper, so I need'nt hurry back." Her sunbonnet was quickly put on her head and with umbrella in hand she was soon on her way.

That umbrella was Aunt Tilly's companion at all times when she went away from home. If the sun shone she needed it, and of course if it rained she needed it, and if it was cloudy it might rain, and so on. She could take it anyway, at night or in day time.

As she went along the street she kept talking and muttering to herself, as was her habit when alone, "I wonder now" she said, "if I sha'n't catch Edith sewin' on her new dress that I heerd she was goin' to git. I should'nt wonder but it's her weddin' dress. I'll find out to-day if I kin anyway at all. They'll be purty sharp ef I don't, that's all."

With these kindly and ladylike (?) thoughts in her mind she marched up the path to the front door. Suddenly a bit of delicate grey dress goods on the path caught her eye and a low chuckle sounded in her throat, "I've almost found it out a' ready. That's just the color for a weddin' dress an it's Miss Edith's or I'm no guesser."

Aunt Tilly had been seen, however, as soon as she came in sight. Edith Morton had been sitting by the window busy sewing, her needle going as fast as skillful fingers could make it, but the moment she caught sight of Aunt Tilly coming their way, she caught up her work and began putting it away.

"Why, what's the matter, Edith?" said her mother as she entered the room, "I thought you were going to sew all day to-day."

"So I was, mother, but Aunt Tilly is coming and I positively cannot sew on that dress under her eyes."

"Well dear," said her mother, "be patient, perhaps you can sew to-morrow and I will try to give you all next week."

"I would'nt mind some people mother, but you know how Aunt Tilly is, asking so many questions."

"Don't mind her, my child," replied her mother. "Be as kind to her as possible and perhaps we can win her over to better and less meddlesome ways."

Just then there came a sharp knock at the front door, and almost before Mrs. Morton could open it Aunt Tilly's sharp voice said,

"I am glad you are to hum, I was afraid you would be gone, as Cynthy said you was agoin to town one day this week. You hev been to town though, hev'nt you," she continued as she gazed sharply around the room. "I see you hev some of that cheap cotton down to Fairburn's. Rale good cotton it is, too, fur the price. Yes, I will take my bunnit off, Miss Morton, thank ye. I got tired staying to hum, so I thought I would run over fur a spell. And hev you bin gittin' a new dress too, Edith? I see a piece of dress

Poor Edith's face flushed crimson at this pointed question but she only said quietly, "Yes, Aunt Tilly, I bought me a new dress some time ago, but I did not make it up until now."

"Do tell," cried the old lady, "and why hav'nt you made it up before? Young gals are in such a hurry to git new duds on their backs that they can scarcely wait till they git hum before they cut into the cloth. An there's Sophy Wilton. She don't wait, fur she gits hern cut in town by a dressmaker. I should think she would ruther save that much an cut it herself. Her father is away preaching all the time, and other folks hev got to keep them, an between me an you I think they are gittin' altogether too extravagant."

"Ah but, Aunt Tilly," cried Edith, "Sophy earns her own clothes and helps to keep the house going besides, and even if she did not, her father spends all of his time preaching for the good of others and has no chance to either earn a living for his family or to lay anything up for old age, and why should minister's wives and children be the only ones who must pinch and save and deny themselves? They have as much right to the good things of life as anyone, I should think."

·Highty tighty!" almost shouted Aunt Tilly, "who said they had'nt? I am sure I did'nt mean any harm by speakin' of Sophy. She's a well meanin' enough girl, an I hev gone and took them many a thing when I thought they was gittin' short, though I don't git no credit fur it, an I can't help but think that Sr. Wilton is rather a proud woman."

"O no, Aunty," here interposed Mrs. Morton, "I do not think Sister Wilton is proud.

She is a very reserved woman and cannot speak her thoughts and feelings to every one. I think very highly of her and I think you will when you come to know her bet

ter."

"Well, I dunno," Aunt Tilly replied, "I should think folks ought to be the friendliest with them that gins them the most. Not but what Sister Wilton allus uses me well. She'll take a body

but dear me, she don't make much out of it, an' I think Sophy is goin' to be just like her."

"I sincerely hope she will," flashed up Edith, "for I think her mother is one of the dearest of women; no better than my own mother though," she added more softly.

Clearly Aunt Tilly was a trial to Edith. Her meddlesome talk jarred on her sensitive nerves, and then, too, the talk to-day hurt in more than one way, for Edith's father, as well as Sophia's, was a preacher of the gospel, and consequently was away from home nearly all the time, and his family, as well as Brother Wilton's, was in a measure dependent upon the church for their support. Edith gave music lessons when she could get pupils, and so clothed herself and the two younger children. Sometimes the church treasury was empty, and then all they had to depend upon was Edith's music and Mrs. Morton's needle, and oftentimes she would stay up until late at night trying to make enough money to get the children shoes or warmer clothing. But they were always clean and neat.

Mrs. Morton was a refined woman, with a refinement such as only the gospel can give, and dirt in any shape was an abhorrence to her, and none of it was allowed around their humble home. Everything was sweet and clean from garret to cellar. They had only lived in the village where we now find them, and which we shall call Burnville, about three years. Nearly the first person they got acquainted with was Aunt Tilly Hyde, and she had been a frequent visitor at their house ever since, She was no relation to the Mortons nor indeed to anyone in the neighborhood only Cynthia Williams, who was her niece, and who was almost as big a gossip as the old lady herself, except that she was not prying and would not question so closely.

Everyone called Mrs. Hyde "Aunt Tilly," for the same reason, whatever it, is, that makes people call anyone who happens to be old and seems to belong to everybody in general and nobody in particular, Aunty, or Uncle