“‘Foxes have holes’—I think my heart had broken To hear the words so said, While Christ had not—were sadder ever spoken?— ‘A place to lay his head.’ “I would have flung abroad my doors before Him, And in my joy have been First on the threshold, eager to adore Him, And crave his entrance in!” Ah, would you so? Without a recognition You passed Him yesterday; Jostled aside, unhelped his mute petition, And calmly went your way. With warmth and comfort garmented and girdled, Before your window-sill Sweep heart-sick crowds; and if your blood is curdled You wear your jewels still. You catch aside your robes, lest want should clutch them In its imploring wild; Or else some woful penitent might touch them, And you be thus defiled. O, dreamers! dreaming that your faith is keeping All service free from blot, Christ daily walks your streets, sick, suffering, weeping, And ye perceive him not! M. J. PRESTON, _in The Independent_. * * * * * I READ of a boy who had a remarkable dream. He thought that the richest man in town came to him and said: “I am tired of my house and grounds; come and take care of them and I will give them to you.” Then came an honored judge and said: “I want you to take my place; I am weary of being in court day after day; I will give you my seat on the bench if you will do my work.” Then the doctor proposed that he take his extensive practice and let him rest, and so on. At last up shambled old Tommy, and said: “I’m wanted to fill a drunkard’s grave; I have come to see if you will take my place in these saloons and on these streets?” Harold laughed about his dream, but somebody who knew how Harold was being brought up, said: “Do you know, I shouldn’t be surprised if of all the offers he accepted the last? He has talent enough to become a judge, or a physician, or to make his fortune, but I am afraid he will grow up to take old Tommy’s place.” Who is willing to help fill “Old Tommy’s” place? FROM BIRDLAND. IF we only knew how to understand bird language, I fancy we might be made acquainted with a great many pretty secrets which now they keep to themselves. [Illustration] I have been reading lately about a gentleman in New York who has a collection of birds, and who makes a study of those who flit about his home in summer. At one time he had a blind sparrow among his collection, and a little bird named Dick seemed to have adopted it. He waited at the door of its house for it to come out, calling it with tender little chirps, and when the blind one finally appeared he would lead the way to the seeds and water.