worn, as if he were accustomed to an exposed life. His gait was dignified and grave; his voice, owing to the distance, was very indistinct, but, associated with his whole personal appearance, it was as "the voice of one crying

in the wilderness."

Then followed one whose step was slow and godlike. A singular combination of power and goodness was expressed in all his bearing. At one moment I thought it might be an impersonated image of greatness and might and at another, of meekness and lowliness. An indescribable benignity shone on his features, and yet a cloud of sorrow seemed to wreathe his brow, so that he appeared indeed " a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief."

Then followed a company that could not so well be called a group as a file, owing to their great extent. The first seemed men of much

simplicity of character, unpretending in their manners, but conscious of high powers and great responsibilities; a calm fearlessness was expressed in their countenances. Among them I observed two figures that particularly interested my attention; the first for his delightful complacency. His whole countenance beamed with amiable lowliness and compassion, and he appeared to be uttering to himself as he

passed, "God is love." The other looked accustomed to the patient and wearying toil of the laborious scholar. An expression of contemplative thoughtfulness was expanded over his brow. He appeared like one whose mind was pregnant with mighty thoughts, and who could stand unmoved in the integrity of his principles before the thrones of kings and amid the schools of philosophers. Though his countenance was that of a great man, yet it wore a holy humility that seemed to say, "God forbid that I should glory, save in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ!" After the first few figures, the number increased rapidly, till it appeared like the hosts of war; their countenances bespoke heroic boldness and contempt of pain, as if they were familiar with perils and death-panoplied pilgrims, who have here no abiding place, but seek a city eternal in the heavens. After some hundreds had passed, the procession seemed to terminate, and dense darkness followed; dim, phantasmagoric figures, more like shapes of shadow than living beings, appeared for a moment, and then faded away in the gloom; but I continued to gaze anxiously for some new and more distinct appearance, when suddenly one emerged, wearing the cowl and girdle of a monk. In his hand he grasped a rusty

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parchment copy of the Bible. Defiance was written on his brow. His step was firm and determined, and, though clouds and darkness surrounded him, he daringly advanced, and they seemed to retire, while light broke out in his footsteps. The concourse that followed in his train became so numerous as to confuse my thoughts. Not being able to distinguish them minutely, I began to contemplate them in the gross-their vast extent-the new accessions continually rising up to my view. On looking upward, a sublime object riveted my attention. It was a cross of fire flaming out on a dark cloud, and above it was written, in letters of light, Conquer by this. The prospect was constantly opening and extending around. The clouds that circumscribed it at first were rolling further and further into the distance. I followed the multiplying host with my eye as they passed along, and observed at each movement in their progress the ruins of overturned altars, gory with recent sacrifices-temples tottering to the earth-fragments of thrones, commingled with broken fetters and sundered chains. The darkness became less and less, until, gathering itself into one mass, like a cloud highly surcharged with lightning, it passed away with a great noise, when the whole prospect assumed

a thousand varied aspects of light and beauty. The host I was contemplating, now so numerous as to spread over the entire survey, cried aloud, "The kingdoms of this world have become the kingdoms of our Lord and of his Christ, and he shall reign for ever and ever," followed by a shout from heaven, saying, “Allelujah, for the Lord God Omnipotent reigneth!" at which I awoke, and lo, it was a dream!

CHILDREN OF RELIGIOUS PARENTS.

"Train up a child in the way he SHOULD go."

Solomon.

My heart still bleeds when I recall the deathscene of my old friend W. He was a good man, and is no doubt at rest. He laboured usefully as a local preacher, and scores were converted from the error of their ways by his instrumentality; but of all his numerous children, only one daughter, who ministered as an angel at his sick bed, had acknowledged the name of Christ. Two of his sons had died in responsible years, without hope, one of them in agonies of despair: the spirit of the old man never recovered from the shock. Three were

still living; two, wandering he knew not where, the votaries of dissipation, the other confined in a neighbouring alms-house, a maniac. Seldom have I known an equal case of domestic affliction. He had educated his family in religion with all diligence, but was now dying, with the hope of meeting but one of them in heaven. The affections of the parent were naturally strong in him, but in his last sickness they were overpowering. "Pray for my children," was his pathetic appeal to the Christian friends who visited him-" O my children! My poor boys! I go down to the grave in sorrow for them. Must they be lost? Cannot prayer still pluck them as brands from the burning? Pray, O pray for my children!" The Christian parent alone can feel the force of this dying father's language, and even he cannot feel as I do, while recalling the unutterable anxiety of his emaciated features, bathed as they were with the tears of paternal tenderness. Ah! it is on the margin of eternity-it is when the soul, full of unspeakable solicitude, feels that it is passing returnlessly away, that the affections receive a depth of pathos they never had before. It is then, too, that we see things as they are valuable only so far as they relate to the endless state into which we are passing.