DOROTHY'S DREAM.
SHE sat on her little wooden stool,
With a wistful, thoughtful face,
Her blue eyes staring straight ahead
Into the chimney-place
Where the oaken logs that winter night sent
up a merry blaze.
"Now, what is the thought, Maid Dorothy,
You think so long, I pray?"
"Oh, mother! last night I dreamed a dream