That pomp of light, what hand so far displays
That distant earth lies basking in the blaze?

Who did the soul with her rich powers invest,
And light up reason in the human breast?
To shine with fresh increase of lustre bright,
When stars and sun are set in endless night."*

No; they who would call February "dreary," can never have looked abroad on one of its frosty evenings, watched the fair queen of night rise and dispel the darkness which followed the setting of the sun, coming as she does, arrayed in light reflected from that sun, like the messenger of love, who came to comfort, to enlighten, and to cheer those left in seeming darkness, when the "bright and morning star" disappeared, and was hid from their gaze by the clouds of heaven; reminding us that he is gone but for a time to light up other lands, and will return when his mission is fulfilled—leaving her, with her attendant starry train to gladden our hearts, and illumine our home during his absence, even as the Church, with heaven's own light reflected upon her, shines on a dark world, in the absence of the "Sun of Righteousness ; and when the sun again appears for a brief space, let us go forth, and see if February's short days have no natural beauties to reveal.

Look at yon old stone wall, adorned with Lichens, what varied beauty in the foliated edges, and soft colouring of one-how exquisitely formed the cup which rests on its slender pedestal of another, each rising from a carpet of moss, out-rivalling in softness and in loveliness the far-famed fabrics of the East.

* Young.

In whatever direction we turn our gaze, we may trace glimmerings of beauty, which each brief visit of the sun is ripening to perfection. The Mezereon and Hepatica send forth their blossoms; pale green blades appear, to warn us that ere long the blue-bells, with a colour bright as the sky above them, will shoot up among the green leaves, and deck the earth; the Crocus, with its golden petals, which expand during the day, and close at night, mourning, as it were, in the absence of the great luminous orb, from which it would seem to have caught its rich hue, will gem our pathway, and spring up as freely as when Homer sang its praises, and told of Juno resting among its petals. And then, with the sight of these young flowers, too often, alas! passed by unheeded— unheeded, at least, by the cold worldling-rise, according as the current of life has glided on, whether peacefully and calmly, or ruffled and disturbed, like the Alpine torrent, sweet, or bitter recollections. They bring to mind thoughts of childhood and of youth—of hours which fled like moments, when, free as the air which plays around the mountain-top, we gathered them, and wreathed them into garlands; hours of sunny, heartfelt happiness, such as childhood only knows: and it may perhaps be asked, "Has one of earth's denizens thus looked upon Spring's early flowers, and reflected upon the past, without feeling that, though they bring with them promises of brighter days, they remind us also of youth's enchanting dreams and anticipations, which faded as the wreath we weaved in childhood, almost ere we had finished gathering the flowers that composed it.”

One flower there is which comes with February, that

calls forth other thoughts-the Daisy, which peeps out from among the green grass now, in its beautiful simplicity, on almost every spot of the world's wide surface, as it did five hundred years ago, when Chaucer paid homage to its meek loveliness.

"Not worlds on worlds in phalanx deep,
Need we to prove a God is here ;
The daisy, fresh from Winter's sleep,
Tells of His hand in lines as clear.
For who but He who arch'd the skies,
And pour'd the day-spring's living flood,
Wondrous alike in all He tries,

Could form the daisy's crimson bud;
Mould its green cup, its wiry stem,
And cut its gold-embossed gem;
Then fling it unrestrained and free
O'er hill and dale, and desert sod,
That man, where'er he walks, may see
At every step, the hand of God."*

The Daisy not only forcibly reminds us of childhood's happy hours, but it tells of the infinity of God's love; for wherever a blade of grass will grow, the Daisy springs up with it; and, in the existence of every created thing, the love and care of the Creator may be found the principle of its very being, if Man will but look for it And where can he look for it, but in that field in which we must walk, if we would see things as they are? We must not seek in the gay world, and among the inventions of man, for that which God impressed on all Nature in the bowers of Eden; though it may be found even

* Dr. Mason Good.

there, and may be traced in the aspirations after better things, the longings after some undiscovered good, which seems natural to man, even in his worst moods. But Nature and solitude will best furnish us with proofs of the Creator's love, if that can be called solitude where everything around is telling of an ever-present God; and where, perchance, His Spirit may be whispering, “Come, let us reason together." But we use the word "solitude" in reference to absence from our fellow-men, and the world, and its vanities; and such solitude, if wisely employed, will make us know ourselves, and draw us nearer to our God.

Fénélon tells us, in the "Aventures d' Aristonoüs," that "Sophronyme, ayant perdu les biens de ses ancêtres par des naufrages et par d'autres malheurs, s'en consolait par sa vertu dans l'île de Délos. Là, il chantait sur une lyre d'or les merveilles du Dieu qu'on y adore: il cultivait les muses, dont il était aimé: il recherchait curieusement tous les secrets de la nature, le cours des astres et des cieux, l'ordre des élémens, la structure de l'univers qu'il mesurait de son compas, la vertu des plantes, la conformation des animaux, mais surtout il s'étudiait lui-même, et s'appliquait à orner son âme par la vertu. Ainsi la fortune, en voulant l'abattre, l'avait élevé à la véritable gloire, qui est celle de la sagesse."

Madame de Stael, too, somewhere says, "To enjoy ourselves, we must seek solitude; it was in the Bastile that I first became acquainted with myself."

Each one should make himself the study of his life; not to the exclusion of aught else our heavenly Father has placed within our reach, or within the compass of

the measure of talent, He, in His infinite wisdom, has thought fit to bestow upon us; but, till we know ourselves, how can we estimate others? until we feel how little we know, how can we conceive how much remains to be learned? until we realize our own utter insignificance, how can we be impressed with the Creator's boundless love, and awe-inspiring attributes?

It was when Sir Isaac Newton, the greatest and truest philosopher that, perhaps, the world has ever known, had firmly established the truth of the discoveries his noble and comprehensive mind grasped for the first time in the known history of science, that he became acquainted with his own limited power to understand the unsearchable riches of the greatness and goodness of God; to look into the mysteries of Nature, and acknowledged, that his wisdom and learning had only served to make him feel that he was but a little child, picking up a few pebbles on the shore of the great ocean of truth.

Limited, indeed, is the power of Man; ceasing the moment the Power that rules the universe wills it, and says "thus far shalt thou go, but no farther."

The far-famed conqueror of Macedon, who, with his handful of brave Greeks, bore down the countless multitude of the Persian army-traversed Bactrianaadvanced to the deserts of Scythia-and then turned his warriors toward the south to achieve the conquest of the Indies-took possession of the rock Aornos, which, as the name implies, was so high as to be above the flight of birds, (a fit emblem of his towering ambition)-crossed the Indus-and on the banks of