1 VOL. III. LAMONI, IOWA, JANUARY, 1890. No. 1. A CHRISTMAS VISION. BY "FRANCES." (See Funtiopiece.) "As thou hast made thy world without, Make thou more fair my world within; Shine through its lingering clouds of doubt; Rebuke its haunting shapes of sin." HE mind of man is a complex machine; mind is a busy in its waking hours and often busy when sleep would fain bind it in fetters. There are visions of the waking hours and visions of sleep, and the boundary line the dim, undefined realm between these two-has also its visions. To either of these the reader may assign the vision of our story; but careless as we may be with reference to which realm you may assign it, we are not careless as to the impression it shall make upon your mind. If it contain gems of truth, we ask you to cherish them. Weigh it in the balance of God's word and, if it be found wanting, cast it aside, ever remembering the injunction, "Prove all things, hold fast that which is good." A short winter day of early December was drawing to a close. The sun was descending the western horizon, curtained by fleecy, low-lying clouds, through which his beams penetrated with small degree of warmth or cheer. The air was filled with damp vapors and, though not so cold as to be severe, yet it seemed to pierce to one's very joints and marrow, and the few pedestrians forced to be abroad, hastened along, seemingly intent only upon reaching a place of warmth and shelter. Among these was a fair young girl, slight of form and so delicate and fragile looking that you almost instinctively wondered how she dared venture abroad upon an evening so disagreeable. But looking again you would notice that her step was elastic, her cheeks rosy with the glow of health, and just then as she passed a little child, she stopped to fasten its hood more closely, and as she stooped to kiss it, her face was radiant with the warmth and light of a smile so bright, that instinctively the little one closed her arms tightly about her neck and held her in a fond embrace. Each passed upon her devious way and was soon out of sight. We say out of sight, for standing back from the street amid well kept shrubbery and beneath the branches of now leafless trees, was a stately residence, from the window of which a lady plainly but richly dressed, had been silently regarding them. The residence was not a palace, but everything in and around it betokened comfort if not luxury. Soft damask curtains draped the windows, and as the fair hand of the lady held them back, the interior of the room was partly visible to those without, and comfort was stamped upon its every appointment. The fitful flames from an open grate played in soft shadows upon the walls, and as Mabelfor that was the lady's name-turned away from the window, she threw herself into a low rocker in front of the fire, and, closing her eyes, gave herself up to a long and earnest reverie. "I wonder," she said at last, as though speaking to an invisible presence, "I wonder how it is that despite the most adverse circumstances and disagreeable surroundings some people seem to be so happy. It is a mystery to me. There is, for instance, Dorothy Stanley, who has just passed by. I can not believe that she has anything in this world to fret or worry her, for no matter how disagreeable the day, sunshine is hidden away in her face. The children all love her, and no wonder, for she has ever a kind and loving word for them. It can not be that sorrow ever disturbs the placid depths of her soul, or mixes bitter drops to be poured into the cup of her life. I remember now I have often thought that I would inquire somewhat more about her, something of her history, for it must be that into her life some 'rain drops have fallen,' but if so, one would not know it, for her garments have gathered neither dampness nor mold, and what but the sunshine of happiness could paint a smile so winning?" "Would you like to visit her to-day?" said a voice close by Mabel's side. For a moment the lady started, as she saw a white robed figure standing near the table and earnestly regarding her; but the feeling passed away as quickly as it had arisen, and without fear or wonderment she asked: I "Who are you and how came you here?” "I am the Spirit of Truth," it answered, "and my business is with you. know something of Dorothy's life and surroundings, and as you have expressed a wish to know also, will you come with me and learn?" "But the day is cheerless and night is coming on. It is very disagreeable without, and I would rather not go to-day." "Your waterproof and rubbers are as serviceable as hers, are they not?" "Yes," said Mabel blushing; "but I can not understand how any one should choose to be abroad such a day as this. I must confess that I greatly prefer my comfortable fire and easy rocker. But pray be seated," she added, as suddenly recollecting herself, she drew an easy chair forward for her guest. "Thank you; no," said Truth, "but if you will not go with me I have power to cause a view of Dorothy's life to pass before you. But let me warn you that you will unavoidably be the loser. Those who love truth will seek for it, and when they find it, will not sell it for gold or diamonds. It is my privilege, however, to present it to you, and if you really wish to know the secret of true happiness, I will show it to you. Mabel blushed at the rebuke of the lovely presence, but she had long had a great curiosity regarding this young girl who daily passed her house, and she could not refuse to learn the secret of her apparent happiness and contentment. Her own heart was ill at ease, although to all outward appearance there was nothing wanting to her cup of happiness. Many trivial causes, even a day like this one, was sufficient to dim her joy and cast a damper over her spirits, which in turn would soon be felt by husband and children. She very seldom knew what it was to have her wishes crossed, but instead they were anticipated by the willing service of loving hands, until almost unconsciously she was growing selfish. Selfishness and unhappiness are inseparable, and consequently she was not always happy. Unthinkingly she frequently pondered this question in her mind and came at last to wonder how it was possible (if she failed) for others always to succeed. "I fear you will think me very exacting," said Mabel, "but if you can show me Dorothy and her home life I would much prefer having it come to me than to seek for it." A slight shadow passed over the beautiful brow of Truth, and she said, "He that secketh findeth. But I will bring it to you, though I warn you that you never can obtain what you wish until you are not only willing to seek for it, but also willing to give all that you have on earth in exchange for it. Look!” Mabel obeyed, and, looking toward the part of the room indicated, she saw a fair haired child tripping through green meadows, hunting out the sunniest nooks and gathering the loveliest flowers. Anon as she grew older she drove the cow to pasture and lingered by the way to catch her own reflection in the limpid stream or to adorn her brown hair with scarlet berries or the blue and white asters of autumn. From childhood she passed to girlhood and from this to maidenhood. Frequently in these days she came forth from her father's house, book in hand, and for hours would sit lost to a sense of all outward things, wholly absorbed in the pursuit of knowledge. Seeking it not only from books, but from forest, field and stream. As she grew older, however, an unseen presence accompanied her, and sorrow sat down by her side. Looking towards her |