His sister's angel lingered near the entrance of the star, and said to the leader among those who brought the people thither:

"Is my brother come?"

And he said, "No."

She was turning hopefully away, when the child stretched out his arms, and cried, “O sister, I am here! Take me!" and then she turned her beaming eyes upon him, and it was night; and the star was shining into the room, making long rays down toward him, as he saw it through his tears.

From that hour forth, the child looked out upon the star as on a home he was to go to, when his time should come, with the thought that he did not belong to the earth alone, but to the star too, because of his sister's angel gone before.

There was a baby born to be brother to the child; and while he was so little that he never yet had spoken a word, he stretched his tiny form out on his bed and died.

Again the child dreamed of the opened star, and of the company of angels, and the train of people, and the rows of angels with their beaming eyes all turned upon those people's faces.

Said the sister's angel to the leader, "Is my brother come?" And he said, "Not that one, but another."

As the child beheld his brother's angel in her arms, he cried, "O sister, I am here! Take me!" And she turned and smiled upon him, and the star was shining.

He grew to be a young man, and was busy at his books, when an old servant came to him and said:

"Thy mother is no more. I bring her blessing on her darling son!"

Again, at night, he saw the star, and all that former company. Said his sister's angel to the leader, "Is my brother come?" And he said, "Thy mother!"

A mighty cry of joy went forth through all the star, because the mother was united to her two children. And he stretched out his arms and cried, "O mother, sister, and brother, I am here! Take me!" And they answered him, "Not yet;" and the star was shining.

He grew to be a man whose hair was turning gray, and he was sitting in his chair by the fireside, heavy with grief, and with his face bedewed with tears, when the star opened once again.

Said his sister's angel to the leader, "Is my

brother come?"

And he said, "Nay, but his maiden daughter." And the man, who had been the child, saw his daughter, newly lost to him, a celestial crea

ture among those three, and he said, "My daughter's head is on my sister's bosom, and her arm is round my mother's neck, and I can bear the parting from her, God be praised!"

Thus the child came to be an old man, and his once smooth face was wrinkled, and his steps were slow and feeble, and his back was bent, and one night, as he lay upon his bed, his children standing around, he cried as he had cried so long ago, "I see the star!"

They whispered, "He is dying."

And he said, "I am. My age is falling from me like a garment, and I move toward the star like a child. And, O my Father, now I thank thee that it has so often opened to receive those dear ones who await me!"

And the star was shining; and it shines upon his grave.

Charles Dickens.

THE SCULLION WHO BECAME
A SCULPTOR.

In a little Italian village there once lived a jolly stonecutter named Pisano. He was poor, of course, or he would not have been a stonecutter; but he was full of good-humor, and everybody liked him.

There was one little boy especially, who loved old Pisano, and whom Pisano loved more than anybody else in the world. This was Antonio Canova, Pisano's grandson, who had come to live with him because his father was dead, and his mother had married a harsh man, who was unkind to little Antonio. Antonio was a frail little fellow, and his grandfather liked to have him near him during his working hours.

While Pisano worked at stonecutting, little Antonio played at it, and amused himself with making clay figures, drawing, and cutting into shape the small pieces of rock which lay about the yard. The old grandfather soon saw that the palefaced little fellow at his side was wonderfully skillful at such things.

As the boy grew older, he began to help in the shop during the day, while in the evening his grandmother told him stories or sang to

him. All these things were of great value to him, for, without his knowing it, they were improving his taste and awakening his imagination.

It so happened that Signor Faliero, a man of great wealth and rare understanding in matters of art, had a palace near Pisano's house, and at certain times entertained many distinguished guests there. When the palace was very full of visitors, old Pisano was sometimes hired to help the servants with their tasks; and Antonio sometimes did scullion's work there, for a day or two, when some great feast was given.

At one time, when the Signor Faliero was to entertain a very large company at dinner, young Antonio was at work among the pots and pans in the kitchen. The head-servant came in just before the dinner hour, in great trouble. The man who had been at work upon the large ornament for the table had sent word that he had spoiled the piece. What was to be done? The poor fellow whose business it was to put the table in order was at his wit's end.

While every one was wondering what it would be best to do, the little scullion boy came forward and said:

"If you will let me try, I think I can make something that will do."

"You!" cried the servant; you?"

"and who are