mansion house, fear if I clar'd out massa 'd never find us. I washed de soger's clothes and bake dere bread; and nuss two dear sick boys, like I was deir mudder; and bress de Lor', I can say dey all treat me like I was a lady and a sister.

'Well, when de anger of de Lor' was done gone pass away, massa and his sister come down; and when he see his chiln', neat and clean and well, he cry for joy, and he kiss me 'mong 'em all, and called me deir savior, and sich like. He was powerful thankful, 'and,' says he 'Chloe, I'll give yer yer lib'ty for dis!'

'Goody, massy sake,' says I, 'has you been sleep all dese monts? I's got my lib'ty widout ye; and I could a' lef' my darlins' any day, and clar'd out, but I waited to put 'em into yer hands. De Lor' and Massa Lincoln done for us six monts ago what you oughter done soon as you come to years of 'turity!

6

Well, den,' says he, 'yer shall be deir mammy allus. We's goin' to New York, and yer shall go too, and live wid us, and die wid us, and be buried 'mong us.'

'I shouted out 'glory to de Lor' in de highest,' and my soul did magnify de Lor' for His massiful kindness to me. All my arthly desires was filled to live wid my chil'n.

'Well, as yer know, in prochess of time massa he got married agin, and fetched home a sweet lady to us. I teached my chil'n to love her, and call her mammy, and to thank de Lor', for she was so angel-like

to dem and me.

"Pears like it's de fashion up North to get sick o'yer own country, dat God gin ye, and go racin' off into furrein lands, gettin' sea-sick, and sich like, dat yer would n't if yer staid home in yer own beds.'

'Massa he was a great man for de fashions, and mighty soon he was took wid dis one. He mus' go 'broad, to show de headen nations his new wife and pretty chil'n, and have dem all sea-sick and wearylike, so's to be up to our nex' door neighbours!'

'When he tell me dis, and dat my board was to be paid at de whitewashin' brudder's till dey comed back, I was potteryfied wid grief. He speak very soft, and put dis yaller goold ring on my finger, and new missus she put dis yere fine shawl on my shoulders, and promise me dey will surely come back to bring my chil'n to me.

'Oh la, missus,' says I, 'dey's goin' so fur off dat I shall never see 'em no more! I be done gone dead 'fore dey can possibly get back from so fur-sleepin' wid de clouds of de valley.'

Old Chloe's Story.

'Where are they going, Chloe ?' asked her friend.

91

'Well, I was just goin' to tell yer, missus. Dey telled me de names o' heaps o' places in dem fur-off, wild countries, but I wasn't no wiser, as I never study 'rithmatic like demsel's. But dat evenin', when my heart was done gone broke, and my eye swolled up wid weepin', I heard Miss Kitty tell a lady dey was goin' to sich and sich a place, in rout for Jerusalem.' I knowed Jerusalem; it is de city of de great King, de city where de streets is pure goold, and de gates great jewels, sich like as yer war in yer ears and on yer fingers, and whar dey has no need of de sun, and whar all tears is wiped away and dere is no more sickness, nor sorrow, nor death-whar de Lamb is de light of it.

'So when de lady was gone, I ax my Kitty, is it possible yees all got grace in yer hearts to seek de new Jerusalem ? my Jerusalem ?'' 'Oh la, mammy,' says she, 'it isn't yer Jerusalem we's goin' to, but the ancient city where king David lived, and where Christ was crucified, and all dat. I'll bring yer home a stun from the Temple, and wood from the Mount of Olives.'

'Not my Jerusalem?' says I. Any place is mine whar His blessed feet tread, and whar He give up His life on de cross for me. So I give her my blessin', and go away a weepin' and a wailing' kase on 'count 'o bein' sepurated from my chil'n dat I brung up out o' great and sore troubles into a land flowin' wid milk and honey, and peace and love! I go to my room and I sob myself to sleep.'

'Poor Chloe,' said her friend, 'keep up good heart. God will bring them back to cheer your old age, and to close your eyes in death.' 'You wait, lady dear, till yer hear de eend o' my story, will yer ?' said Chloe. Jerusalem-de new fashioned Jerusalem-seem so fur off

dat I moan and I groan. 'In rout for Jerusalem!' Wid dese words on my lips I drop off to sleep a sobbin'. Well, deep sleep fell on me, and I off a dreamin' 'bout king David and his crown, and de Temple, and de Garding of Gethsemane, and de olive trees; and I think I stan's dere by Joseph's new-made grave 'long o' my chil'n, and tellin' 'em to look into de tomb and see whar de Lor' o' glory go lay for deir sins and mine.'

'Well, while I lay dar, Him my soul loves sent a shining angel from bis courts, right to me, His poor unwordy old saint? Dere he stood, all glowin' in white garmients, and his face shinin' like de light I was afeard, and cry out 'depart from me, oh Lor', for I is a sinfu

cretur;' and 'peared like I fell down and worshipped him. Den he take me by de han' and lift me up, and say, 'I is only a sarvant, like yerself. You sarves on arth, aud I in heaven. I is come to comfort ye, Chloe.'

'On,' says he, 'brudder angel, my chil'n is goin' off in some rout for Jerusalem or 'noder, and I is to be left desolate. De Lor' has forgot to be gracious to His poor old Chloe, and her heart is done gone broke!

'Den de shinin' one lay his han' on my poor heart, and says he, peace, dear soul; you too is in rout for Jerusalem, de new Jerusalem de city of our God. Yer set out right smart on yer journey, and got all dat you need by de way; and de King's Son He walk by your side, and you lean on His bosom and call Him blessed. De thorns can't pierce yer feet, nor de wile beasts destroy yer. De river dat lay 'tween dis city and dat hasn't power to overwhelm or chill yer heart. On de oder side see de towers and de palaces of de great King. De shinin' one, dat serves Him day and night, stands waitin' for yer dar. Quicken your steps, Sister Chloe,' says he, 'and waste no time a weepin' or wailin'; for de time is short 'fore de Bridegroom come, and he'll 'spect to find you a watchin' for Him. Amen and amen!'

6 Well, I woke up, and my room was heaped full o' shining glory, and I feel in my soul dat my blessed Jesus was dar. De angel brudder was gone, but dere was such a peace in my soul dat I most think I got home to glory! My soul was so full o' Jesus and His love dat it wouldn't hold no more, and I cry out like we use to sing down home

'I only wants one King for me,
His name is lovin' Jesus;

I only wants one Saviour now,
His name is blessed Jesus!'

and didn't care den if all de world was 'in rout for. dis yere newfashioned Jerusalem. I was 'in rout' for my own Jerusalem, whar Jesus dwell side o' His Fader, and whar de prophits and 'postles and saints is waitin' impatient for me! My soul's so full o' glory I find it tough stayin' here till de Bridegroom come, wid light and music, to take me home! By'n by He'll gather my chil'n and my massa and new missus togeder dar, and we shall jine han's and march over de golden streets, and shout glory! glory to de Lamb dat redeem us wid His own blood, and make us pries's and kings wid God!

'Oh, sister, dere's a powerful heap o' joy in de 'ligion o' Jesus, if yer

once get yer soul so full on't dat dere's no room for nothin' else! Dey may all go 'in rout' for Jerusalem just as dey likes now, and I can wait for 'em eider here or bey ont. I's got no more tears to shed now.' 'And what are you going to do in their absence, Chloe ?' asked her friend.

Well, ma'am, I's goin' to stay wid de whitewashin' brudder, and spend my time gloryfyin' de Lor' and treatin' of poor sinners to come to Him. 'Pears like even God's own beloved chil'n is half asleep, and don't see His glory, and I must go wake 'em up and shout 'behold, de Bridegroom cometh!' I reckons I shall go 'bout to meetin's and cry 'loud and spear not, kase de day of de Lord is at hand! Sister, dar is a high peak for to stand on if we has grace enough to climb dar—a place war we can see de Lor' of glory face to face, and hear II m speak, and grasp his han'. But dere is also a deep valley, whar de air is damp and foul, and whar de onfaithful falls asleep and loses all dere hope, and joy, and peace-whar dey who rob God of His glory and dere own souls of all he offers 'em, like white garmients and finger-rings, and fatted calves, and wine, and honey, and milk, to make dere souls grow in grace-and I's goin' out now to work for de Lord.'

And she did go forth in God's strength, and bore a noble testimony to His truth, and grace, and love. And she walked for a few short months on the shore of time in full view of the city of her King, looking and longing for the messenger, 'de brudder angel,' as she called him, who should come to convey her home. And long before the children of her love reached the new-fashioned Jerusalem,' Chloe was walking the golden streets, and casting her crown at His feet who had redeemed her with a great price, and raised her above all the woes of earth to a place at His own right hand.

Was it a dream ?

OUTCAST.

I walked one day down through a city's street:
The sun was shining dimly overhead,

While filth and vileness were beneath my feet,
And the houses on either side seemed red
To the bricks' core with wickedness untold.
And there were sights so drear and manifold
Of want and suffering, of wickedness

In young and old, of hunger pitiless,
And stenches foul, the very soul was sick,
And dare not harbour questions, crowding thick,
Of God's beneficence, and of his love.

And there, as through those sad'ning sights I strove,
E'en there, upon a garbage heap, I spied

A rose-bud, thrown by scornful hands aside—
A rose-bud, that few days before had hung
Upon its parent tree, purest among

Its sisters sweet and fair. The dew had blessed
Its opening morn; its odours had caressed
The ambient air, and kissed the lips of those
Who bowed their lips to kiss the budding rose.
And then one said he loved it more than all,
And tore it from its stem (did I see fall
A rain drop?) and bore it on his breast away.
Ah! how it joyed to lie there through the day,
Bright with fragrant beauty, sweetly asking
Love for its love-sure 'twas no hard tasking.
But soon, its freshness gone, it knew its fate-
Alas! how many learn it late, too late!
And he who wore it merely that it shed
Its first sweet odours circling round his head,
And with its beauty graced him as he walked,
Nor loved it for its sake alone, when balked
Of these soon tore it from his breast away,
And, careless of its fate, left it the play
And toy of who should care a moment's space
To please him with its fleeting, fading grace.
And so, 'twas soon, when festering and forlorn,
And soiled and torn, of all pure men the scorn:
This bud so fair, so sweet, so loved the while,
This withered bud, so faded, bruised and vile,
Was thrown upon the garbage heap, to yield
Its little earth to enrich some Potter's field.

With reverent hand I took it from the pile
(I thought the heavens gave me back a smile)—
With reverent hand I brushed the filth away;
I gently pulled apart its petals fair,