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THE EVERLASTING. 
Thine is a glorious volume, nature ! Each 
Line, leaf, and page, are filled with living lore; 
Wisdom more pure than sage could ever teach, 
And ail philosophy's divinest store. 
Eich lessons rise where’er thy tracks are trod,_ 
The book of nature is the book of God. 
New Monthlï. 
“I have often thought,” says an American writer, 
“that flowers were the alphabet of angels, where- 
by they write on hills and fields mysterious truths.” 
This, though a striking and original reflection, is 
perhaps almost too imaginative. We are warranted 
by Scnpture to regard angels as « ministering 
spirits ” to man, and this is ail we know of their 
employments as to this lower world. But if we 
consider the ahove thought, losing sight of the power 
attnbuted in it to the angels, the romance of the 
idea vanishes, and the dream of fancy is sobered 
into reality. For who will deny that upon the 
face of the whole création is stamped—in characters 
so legible that, were not man’s eyes sealed by 
