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do on earth? Or, as the Welsh minister said to his wife, who, when he was in deep study, was troubling him with the question, 'John, my dear, think ye shall we know one another in heaven ?" Jane," said he, impatiently, "shall we be greater fools in heaven than we are on earth?" Jane was satisfied and comforted. And surely we should be greater fools there than here, if recognition is denied.

3. Personal assurance.-"I SHALL go to Him." Not a single doubt does he entertain of it. "I shall go to Him." And is not this assurance the privilege, purchased by the blood of Christ, of every Christian believer? Adam in innocency enjoyed it, and do the blood-bought sons of God enjoy less blessing? Nay, says Christ, "I am come that they might have life, and that they might have it more abundantly." And says the apostle, "We have not received the spirit of bondage again to fear; but we have received the spirit of adoption, whereby we cry, Abba, Father." And "the Spirit itself beareth witness with our spirits, that we are the children of God." Besides, their faith, their repentance, their love of God say it; and the Holy Spirit, both in the Scriptures and in their heart, says it. "I shall go to Him."

Some call this in Were our salvation

4. Final salvation of saints." I shall go to Him." question, but David did not. "I SHALL go to Him." of ourselves, we might call in question the doctrine; but as it is wholly of God, He will perfect his own work. Hear Him who cannot lie: "I give to my sheep eternal life. They shall never perish," etc. How can God condemn those He has pardoned and justified, or how cast off those He has adopted as his own? Hence, says the apostle, "Who shall separate us from the love of Christ ?" "There is, therefore, now no condemnation to them who are in Christ Jesus." Well, then, might David say, and every Christian parent mourning his or her infant dead, "I shall go to Him."

A. B.

THE DREAM OF HEAVEN; OR, THE THREE SISTERS.

A TRUE TALE.

In the year 1814, the late Mr. and Mrs. F, who were lost in August, 1831, on board the "Rothsay Castle" steam-packet, were acquainted with three sisters, residing in London, and who belonged to the higher class of society.

Two of these sisters were decidedly religious, but the third disliked the piety of her sisters, and opposed it as much as possible. One night she had been at an assembly very late, and the next morning, at breakfast, her manner was so remarkably different from what it was usually, that the sisters feared she was unwell. Instead of talking about every person she had met, and everything she had seen, she sat silent, sullen, and absorbed. As she ate nothing, her sister inquired if she was unwell? She answered, "No." What is the matter ?" Nothing." They were afraid something had distressed her. She said, "I have no idea of people prying into matters which do not concern them." She spent the whole morning alone

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in her own room, and at dinner-time the same conduct recurred as in the morning. She retired to rest late, and with the air of one who expects from sleep neither rest nor refreshment. The following day was passed as the preceding one. One of her sisters again affectionately addressed her, "Anna, you are unwell. What pains you?" She replied, "I am well, nothing pains me." Then you have something on your mind, and will you not tell us? Do we not love you? Have we not the same earthly interests with you, and can we wish any good but yours in an anxious wish to share your sorrows?" "I shall not tell you what ails me," she replied; so do not press me further. I dare say you would be delighted to know it; you would think it some spiritual triumph; but I laugh at these things. I am not quite old enough yet to become the victim of dreams and visions." "Anna, we do not live in dreams and visions." She sharply replied, "No; I do not mean that you should." She remained gloomy, and her sisters were unhappy for her sake. The third morning she again began the day as one who loathed the light. As her sisters looked at her, one of them suddenly said, "Anna, what was your dream?" She started, and said, "Ah, ah! you would give the world to know; but I shall not tell you. I thought you did not believe in dreams and visions." The sister replied, "We do not generally; but there are, no doubt, dreams which are as much sent by God as are our afflictions or any other warning. There is a verse in the Bible where it mentions God as 'speaking to a man in a dream, in the vision of the night, when deep sleep falleth upon man.' She laughed again, and said, "You have verses in the Bible for everything that suits your purpose, but I do not choose to be warned by you in such a way. I have no doubt I shall forget it in a day or two." "Anna," they said, "we do beseech you to tell us if you have really had a dream." She answered, at length, "Well, if you must know it, you must. It was certainly very extraordinary. I should have thought it the effect of the ball, but that I never anywhere saw anything resembling it, and don't suppose you understand what I tell you, for you never saw, nor can see, nor imagine anything like it."

THE DREAM.

"I thought I was walking in the street of a great city, many others were walking there besides, but there was something in their air that immediately struck me; they seemed thoughtful, yet cheerful; neither occupied with business nor with gaiety, but having about them such a dignity of repose, such settled purpose, such peace, and such purity, as were never stamped upon mortal brow. The light of the city was also strange-it was not sun, for there was nothing to dazzle; it was not moon, for all was clear as noonday: it seemed an atmosphere of light-calm, lovely, and changeless. As I looked at the buildings, they all scemed like palaces, but not like the palaces of earth. The pavement that I walked on, and the houses that I saw, were all alike of gold, bright and shining, and as clear as glass; the large and glittering windows seemed like divided rainbows, and were made to receive and emit nothing but the light of gladness. It was indeed a place where hope might lead, where love might dwell. I could not help crying as I went along-surely these are the habitations of righteousness,

and truth, and peace! All was beauty, bright and perfect. I could not tell what was wanting to make me wish for eternity in such a place, and yet it oppressed me. I saw nothing congenial, though looks of love and kindness met me in every face of that happy throng. I felt nothing responsive, and walked on, all alone, in the midst of the crowd, sad and oppressed. I saw that they all went one way, and I followed, wondering at the reason, and at length I saw them all cross over to one building much larger and finer than the rest. I saw them ascend its massive steps, and enter beneath its ample porch. I felt no desire to go with them, but as far as the steps I approached out of curiosity. I saw persons enter who were dressed in every varied colour, and in all the costumes of all nations, but they disappeared within the porch, and then I saw them cross the hall all in white. Oh! that I could describe to you that hall! It was not crystal, it was not marble, it was not gold, but pure light-light! pure light! consolidated into form: it was the sun, without his dazzling rays; it was the moon, without her coldness;-and within was a staircase, mounting upwards, all of light, and I saw it touched by the moving feet and by the spotless garments of those who ascended it; it was indeed passing fair, but it made me shudder and turn away; and, as I turned, I saw one on the lower step looking at me with an interest so intense, and a manner so anxious, that I stopped to hear what he had to say. He spoke like liquid music, and asked me, 'Why do you turn away? Is there such a place elsewhere? Is there pleasure in the walks of darkness?' I stood silent; he pressed me to enter in, but I neither answered nor moved. Suddenly he disappeared, and another took his place, with the same look and the same manner; I wished to avoid him, but I stood riveted to the spot. Art thou come so far,' he said, and wilt thou lose thy labour? Put off thine own garments, and take the white livery.' Here he continued to press me until I got weary and angry, and said, 'I will not enter; I do not like your livery, and I am oppressed with your whiteness.' He sighed, and was gone. Many passersby looked at me with mingled pity and kindness, and pressed me to follow with them, and offered me a hand up the steps; but I rejected them all, and stood melancholy and distressed. At length one young bright messenger, stationed at the steps, came up to me and entreated me to enter, with a voice and a manner I could not resist. Do not turn,' he said'; ' where canst thou go? Do not linger, for why shouldest thou weary thyself for naught? Enter here and taste of happiness. Do not all go in, and are any rejected? Do not all tribes and all colours pass into that hall, and are they not washed and clothed and comforted?' He gave me his hand, and I entered the hall with him; here I was sprinkled with pure water, and a garment of pure white was put upon me, and I knew not how I mounted the bright stairs by the side of my happy guide.

'Oh, what a sight burst upon my sight as I reached the summit!-but mortal words cannot describe it, nor mortal faney in any way conceive it. Where are the living sapphires? Where are the glittering stars, that are like the radii in which I stood? Where are the forms of love that breathed in the numerous company that moved around me? I sunk down, overpowered and wretched. I crept into a corner, and tried to hide myself, for

I saw nothing, felt I had nothing, in unison with the blessed existences of such a place. They moved in a dance to music, to the songs that never fell upon a mortal ear; my guide joined in rapture, and I was left alone. I saw the tall forms-all fair, all bright, in their own ineffable felicity—their songs and looks of gratitude forming the countenances and the differences of each. At length I saw one taller than the rest, and in every way far more fair, far more dignified, more awfully surpassing fair-what yet surpasses thought? -and to Him each eye was turned, and in his face each face was brightened; the songs and the dance were in his honour, and all seemed to derive from Him their life and joy. As I gazed in trembling and speechless amazement, one who saw me left the company, and came to where I sat, and said, ' Why art thou so silent? Come quickly, unite in the dance and join in the song.' I felt a sudden anger in my heart, and I replied, with sharpness, I will not join in your song, I do not know the tune; and I cannot join in the dance, for I know not the measure.' He sighed, and, with a look of most humiliating pity, he resumed his place. About a minute after, another came and addressed me as he had done, and, with the same temper, I answered him in the same way. He looked as if he could have resigned his own dazzling glory to have changed me; if heaven can know anguish, he seemed to feel it; but he left me, and returned to his place. What could it be that could put such a temper in my heart? At length the Lord of that glorious company-of those living, breathing, glittering forms of life and light and beauty-of those sounds of harmony and those songs of triumph-He saw me, and came up to speak to me. I thrilled in every part with awe; I felt my blood chill and my flesh tremble, and yet my heart grew harder and my voice grew bolder. He spoke, and deep-toned music issued from his lips: Why sittest thou so still, and all around thee are so glad? Come, join in the dance, for I have triumphed; come, join in the song, for my people reign.' Love unspeakable He seemed to beam upon me, as though it would have melted a heart of stone. I felt it, but melted not. I gazed an instant, and I said, 'I will not join in the song, for I know not the tune; and I will not join in the dance, for I know not the measure.'

"Creation would have fled at the change of his countenance-his glance was lightning; and, in a voice louder than ten thousand thunders, He said to me, 'Then, what dost thou here?' The floor beneath me opened, and I sunk into flames and torments; and with the dreadful fright I awoke."

There was a momentary silence, for the sisters were shocked and surprised. "Anna," they said, "we cannot help you to forget such a dream as this; we surely believe it was from God, and it may be greatly blessed to your soul, if you seek it to be so. Your description of the holy city may be an impression from the Word of God, for much such an account is described in the Revelation. The city has no need of the sun nor the moon,' for the temple of God is there, and the Lamb is the light thereof.' All who enter must put off their own garments and their own righteousness, and must put on or be clothed in 'fine linen white and clean, even the righteousness of the saints,' and their righteousness is of me, saith the Lord.' Those who walk in the heavenly temple are they who came out of great tribulation, and have washed their robes, and have made them white in the blood of the

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Lamb,' and they cease not day and night praising God; and they sing a new song, such as no man knoweth but they who are redeemed; it is the song of Moses and the Lamb;' and Wisdom waits daily upon the steps to call the sons of men into the temple; and the people of God aim to persuade them to tread in their steps; and the ministers of God are appointed to wait for souls, and in every way and by every means, if possible, to save some. Oh, Anna, you know something of the way; do give up your own will, and listen to this fearful warning; join us and learn the steps which lead to heaven, and how to sing the songs of Zion." Anna's brow again darkened, and she answered, "I do not want you to preach to me, I shall do as I please." She continued in this melancholy state to the end of the week, and was found in her room a corpse! She died without any apparent disease of body. She died without any apparent change of soul.

Reader, pause, and ask yourself, seriously and faithfully, Am I meet for heaven? Remember heaven is a prepared place for a prepared people, and the Scriptures say, "Except a man is born again, he cannot see the kingdom of heaven."-From a stray Number of the Churchman's Monthly Penny Magazine.

MY MOTHER'S PORTRAIT.

A SKETCH.

I WAS quite young when my mother died, a mere child, but I loved her dearly, and felt, when I saw her laid in her grave, that I had lost a friend whose place in my little heart no one else could fill. My aunts, to whose care I was then confided, were very kind to me, and did their best to soothe my sorrow. They brought me new toys, and books, and sweetmeats, all those things that children love to possess; but for a long time I would not be comforted, and cried for the return of her who lay silent in the grave. I missed the touch of her soft hand upon my head; for oh, whose touch is like a mother's? and the sweet sound of her voice as she pronounced my name. It was the mother I missed, and the whole world could have given me nothing like her, or equal to her.

But childhood is too happy and buoyant a season to be always sad. The dark clouds of grief cleared away at last from my sky, and the sunshine came back to dry my tears, and waken again my spirit to life and joy. The mother was not forgotten, but the boy who had lost her had ceased to pine for her presence. Three years rolled away, and the third from the period of my mother's death, carried with it the anniversary of my tenth birthday. I had returned from school one afternoon, weary, and in a fretful humour, for I had recited an indifferent lesson, and incurred my teacher's displeasure. As I entered the yard, who should I see standing in the pathway, but my little cousin Alfred, with my kite, my new and precious, and, in my eyes, beautiful kite, nearly torn to pieces, and with his hands full of shreds and fragments of paper, which he was scattering upon the grass. Enraged at the sight, I flung down my satchel of books, and rushed towards him. There was a picture of an Indian upon the kite, and the body had all