Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth Unseen, both when we wake and when we sleep.

Good, the more communicated, the more abundant grows.

Virtue can see to do what Virtue would

By her own radiant light, though sun and moon Were in the flat sea sunk.

He that hath light within his own clear breast
May sit in midnight, and enjoy bright day;
But he that hides a dark soul and foul thoughts,
Benighted walks under the mid-day sun.

So dear to heaven is saintly chastity,
That, when a soul is found sincerely so,
A thousand liveried angels lackey her.

They also serve who only stand and wait.

A flower, when offered in the bud,
Is no mean sacrifice.

The rank is but the guinea's stamp :
The man's the gold for all that.

Never to blend our pleasure or our pride With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels.

The best portion of a good man's life, — his lit

tle, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and of love.

IIushed be every thought that springs
From out the bitterness of things.

The charities that soothe and heal and bless Are scattered at the feet of man, like flowers.

A mother is a mother still,
The holiest thing alive.

Never, believe me,

Appear the immortals,—

Never alone.

Often do the spirits

Of great events stride on before the events;
And in to-day already walks to-morrow.

Be thou the rainbow to the storms of life,
The evening beam that smiles the clouds away.

The good are better made by ill,

As odors crushed are better still.

A man's best things are nearest him;
Lie close about his feet.

"Tis better to have loved and lost

Than never to have loved at all.

'Tis only when they spring to heaven, that angels Reveal themselves to you: they sit all day Beside and lie down at night by you,.

you,

Who care not for their presence, muse or sleep; And all at once they leave you, and you know them.

Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again;
The eternal years of God are hers:
But Error, wounded, writhes with pain,
And dies amid its worshippers.

Fear God, and, where you go, men shall think they walk in hallowed cathedrals.

If we meet no gods, it is because we harbor none. So much love, so much mind.

If you want a fort, build a fort.

The smallest candle fills a mile with its rays. Our fortunes are the fruit of our character. Every animal, wren or dragon, must make its own lair.

Every thing is pusher or pushed.

What we wish for in youth comes in heaps on us in old age.

When an angel wishes to ride, any chip or pebble will bud, and shoot out winged feet, and serve him for a horse.

Living, thou dost not live

If Mercy's stream run dry:

What Heaven hath given thee, dost thou freely

give,

Dying, thou dost not die.

Men might be better if we better deemed

Of them: the worst way to improve the world Is to condemn it.

The past is sacred; it is God's, not ours:
Let all of us do better if we can.

Joys

Are bubble-like; what makes them bursts them

too;

And, like the Milky Way there, dim with stars, The soul which numbers most will shine the least.

Sin is small and mean and barren: good
Only is great and generous and fruitful.

We must believe the best of every thing;
Love all below, and worship all above.

Lowliness is the base of all the virtues;
And he who goes the lowest builds the safest:
Our God keeps all his pity for the proud.

LEGENDS OF VIRTUE.

A

THE POWER OF TRUST.

HOLY painter walked up and down his studio, stopping every now and then before his blank canvas, taking up his brushes, and laying them down again to resume his walk. He was meditating the subject of a picture, and earnestly wishing in his heart that Heaven would give him one. At length, in the still morning, a vision came before him of the Madonna, fairer than imagination could have pictured her; and under the feet of the Madonna was the head of Satan, looking as hideous as the Virgin was heavenly. The artist felt that this was the subject given him to paint. He took up his pallet immediately, mixed his colors with trembling hand, sat down before his easel, and began to paint. The hours flew by, and the setting sun shone on him as he bent lovingly over his task. At night, the lovely vision stood before him in his dreams. The break of day found him in his studio once more, impatient for the sunrise, that he might resume his sweet labor. Week after week the work went on, increasing in beauty from hour to hour. Faithful in every feature, line, and hue, the blessed fig