. The bird . t through theshadowy Middle Age, and constantly increases in heavenly longings.More spotless and more glowing, she gives utterance to a prayer, breathed in the very depths of her nature and her prophetic ardour: Oh, that I were a bird! saith man. Woman never doubts but that her offspring will become an angel.She has seen it so in her dreams. Dreams or realities? Winged visions, raptures of the night, which we shall weep so bitterly in the morning! If ye really were!If, indeed, ye lived! If we had lost some of the causes of ourregret! If, from stars to stars, re-united, and launched on an eternalflight, we aU performed in companionship a happy pilgi-image throughthe illimitable goodness! At times one is apt to believe it. Something whispers us thatthese dreams are not all dreams, but glimpses of a world of truth, momentary flashes revealed through these lower clouds, certain pro-mises to be hereafter fulfilled, whUe the pretended reality it is thatshould be stigmatized as a foul delusion..