large buttons or brooches set in sockets of gold and engraven with the names of the twelve sons of Jacob, which were fastened on the shoulders of Aaron's priestly robe. As has been previously observed, these poetical significations of the precious stones under consideration, are not offered as positive deductions from either Holy Writ, or the opinions of Commentators; but as inferences drawn from their own qualities and those of the personages whom they typify. Analogies, however ingenious we must be wary of carrying too far, lest we infringe upon sacred boundaries, and a laudable spirit of inquiry degenerate into unwarrantable conceits;-but, amid the towering palm-trees and spreading cedars of Scripture truth, does it appear amiss or irreverent, that its minor objects of revelation-its fragrant incense-its resounding harmonies -its lovely flowerets, and resplendent gems, should be viewed as the beautiful clouds, and airs, and blossoms, and jewels, that intermingle with and decorate their branches? If so, perish every such fanciful imagination! But I cannot deem these meditations, or any other that tend to celestialize the mind, unlawful.

Love is the brightest of all the fair sisterhood of

graces.

Love is the fountain undefiled, whence

flow all pleasant waters. Love is a never-failing spring of contentment both to its minister and to its receiver. "God is love," saith John; and the testimony of Paul is: "And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity" (love). Love to the person of Christ, the altogether lovely, more than a clear conviction of His Divine mission, appears to have actuated many of the disciples in following Him; nor until after His Resurrection and Ascension, were their minds fully established in respect to the real nature of His Kingdom and Reign. "Lord, shew us the Father, and it sufficeth us," said St. Philip; and we marvel much at the obtuseness manifested

by this man who had been witness of so many signs and wonders. From our hearts the petition is one that may with perfect propriety arise. As Jesus Christ promises that upon him who overcometh the world, He will write the name of His God, the name of the city of His God, and His own new name—all genuine believers may be considered as sealed with the mystical characters which adorn the gems of the Upper Zion. "His name shall be in their foreheads." Are we marked? One with Love, another with Humility, another with Heavenly-Mindedness, another with

Truth? do we each bear a divine hieroglyph? If not, let us implore Him, the radiant guiding-star of Love, that, ere the going down of the sun, He seal us with His royal signet. And thus, when the heavens wax old, and are folded up as a vesture, we shall be exulting in Love Divine amid the shining ranks of the Blessed!

A. B. G.

Reply of the Messenger Bird.

'VE come, I've come, from the spirit's land,
And a treasured song is mine;

I bear for the wounded heart a balm,
And a joy for those that pine.

The friends that ye bade on earth "good bye,"
With cheeks so pale and wan,

They are there in the light of a cloudless sky,
And their all of grief is done.

The chieftain that left his bow unstrung,

The sage with his locks of snow,

And the maid whose voice like the nightbird's rung,

In its plaintiveness of woe;

And the youth with the laughing eye is there,

And the mother who left her babe

Swinging to and fro in the summer air,
Beneath the sycamore's shade.

They sit on the banks where the bright flowers

gleam,

And they dream not of toil nor pain;

For they've drank of the fount with the golden stream;

They have drank—and are young again.

And they bade me speed with my glittering wing,
From the realm of the nightless day,

To the dim old groves where they loved to sing,
And thus to the mourning say:

We tune our harps by the bright blue streams,
That lave on a gem-clad shore;

And our lives are sweet as an infant's dreams,
And we sigh not, nor weep we more.

We are changed from the sick and the sad of earth, To a band that know not care;

But our hearts still yearn toward our native hearth, And the friends we loved while there.

We watch ye, friends, when the night-winds breath Lies hushed over moor and hill:

For love extends past the bourne of death-

We have loved and we love ye still.