Above remains our rest,

Thereto we tend, and when we're there, we'll shine

Brighter than all our words.

Yet think, the while we sing,

To furnish holy food

For those we leave when we adventuring go;

As Jesus on the rood

Blest those who brought him there, even so,
We'll love as we take wing.

Τ'

Hepatica

HE watchword of the day is Hepatica! or it is Arbutus, or it is Saxifrage, or

possibly in some camps of Nature it may be Dirca! Awhile ago it was Pussy-Willow; pretty soon it will be Quaker Lady or Blue Violet. These are peaceful tokens of speech, and even the cruel lovers of beauty have them at their tongues' end. In the sweet new winds of the west-they are rare, this spring, but we have felt them-one should have only gracious thoughts to match such words. But Nature bars none,her gates are always open, and it rests with the one who enters to be worthy or unworthy of her intimacy. On the conscience and the heart of the visitor it depends whether blessing or barren

ness comes.

One may rightly weigh for no little time the respective charms of the mayflower and the hepatica. What can be more delicious than the pink sweetness of the trailing arbutus,-that exquisite bloom of mossy wildwood knolls, nestled