ike they placed in their hands the harps whose music shall roll
for ever over (sic) the the hills of jasper; and alike they pointed
them to the gleaming battlements, to the still skies over whose
surface the shadow of a cloud hath never floated; to the "many
mansions" which throw the shadow of their shining portals on the
rippling waters of the "River of Life," and to far more of glory
"which it hath never entered into the heart of man to conceive of,"
and told them they should "go no more out for ever."

WHAT IS NOBLE?

WHAT is noble? to inherit
Wealth, estate, and proud degree?
There must be some other merit,
Higher yet than these for me.
Something greater far must enter
Into life's majestic span;
Fitted to create and centre
True nobility in man!

What is noble? 'tis the finer
Portion of our mind and heart:
Linked to something still diviner
Than mere language can impart;
Ever prompting--ever seeing
Some improvement yet to plan;
To uplift our fellow-being--
And like man to feel for man!

What is noble? is the sabre
Nobler than the humble spade?
There's a dignity in labour
Truer than e'er Pomp arrayed!
He who seeks the mind's improvement
Aids the world--in aiding mind!
Every great, commanding movement
Serves not one--but all mankind.

O'er the Forge's heat and ashes--
O'er the Engine's iron head--
Where the rapid Shuttle flashes,
And the Spindle whirls its thread;
There is Labour lowly tending
Each requirement of the hour;
There is genius still extending
Science--and its world of power!

THE ANEMONE HEPATICA.

TWO friends were walking together beside a picturesque mill-stream.
While they walked, they talked of mortal life, its meaning and its
end; and, as is almost inevitable with such themes, the current of
their thoughts gradually lost its cheerful flow.

"This is a miserable world," said one; "the black shroud of sorrow
overhangs everything here."

"Not so," replied the other; "Sorrow is not a shroud. It is only the
covering Hope wraps about her when she sleeps."

Just then they entered an oak-grove. It was early spring, and the
trees were bare, but last year's leaves lay thick as snow-drifts
upon the ground.

"The Liverwort grows here, one of our earliest flowers, I think,"
said the last speaker. "There, push away the leaves, and you will
find it. How beautiful, with its delica