reading; but a great book that comes from a great nker is a ship of thought, deep freighted with truth and with beauty.—THEODORe Parker.

The Pleasant World of Books.

There are who find their happiness in strolling near and far,

As if perchance their birth had been beneath some errant

star;

The trackless desert beckons them, they scale the mount

ain peak,

And ever just beyond them see some gladness coy to

seek.

For me--I sit beside my fire, and with benignant looks From dear, familiar shelves they smile-my pleasant friends, the books.

A world of sweetest company, these well-beloved ones wait

For any mood, for any hour; they keep a courteous

state.

Serene and unperturbed amid the ruffles of my day, They are the bread my spirit craves; they bless my toil

ing way.

A pleasant world is theirs, wherein, though battles wax and wane,

There rolls the sound of triumph, and there dwelis sur... cease of pain.

On pages sparkling as the dawn forever breathes and

glows

U. OF ILL. LID.

Through ages red with patriot blood, white freedom's stainless rose.

In this fair world of calmest skies, I meet the martyr's

palm;

There float to it dear melodies from coasts of heavenly

balm.

All comfort here, all strength, all faith, all bloom of wisdom lives,

And, be the day's need what it may, some boon this wide world gives.

The freedom of the city, where one walks in crowds,

alone,

The silence of the upland, where one climbs anear the

throne,

The blitheness of the morning and the solemn hush of

night,

Are in this pleasant world of books, for one who reads

aright.

Here, pure and sharp, the pictured spire its cleaving point uplifts;

There, swept by stormy winds of fate, time's sands are tossed in drifts;

And I who sit beside the fire, an heir of time and sense, My book to me, the angel of God's sleepless providence.

Who will, may choose to wander far over sea and land. For me, the table and the lamp extend a friendlier hand. And I am blessed beyond compare while with benignant looks

From home's familiar shelves they smile-my pleasant

world of books.

MARGARET E. SANGSTER.

BROTHERHOOD.

The Inspiration of Brotherhood.

Charles Kingsley said: "Each man can learn something from his neighbor; at least, he can learn this-to have patience with his neighbor; to live and let live."

ter.

No doubt this is one of the lessons. People are meant to be means of grace to us. We are to be helped by our contacts with them. From some we are to learn, through the beautiful things in them, their excellences of characFrom these we get inspiration. Others help us through our sympathies. They appeal to our thought and care. They need help. We must carry burdens for them. They have sorrows, and it becomes ours to give them comfort. They are in need or distress, and we must deny ourselves for them. The blessing that may come to us through these is incalculable. Every human sorrow or infirmity that makes its appeal to us is a new chance for us to do a beautiful thing, to grow in Christlikeness. Every new burden of care rolled upon us, demanding self-denial, sacrifice or service, carries in it a new blessing for us, if only we will accept it.-J. R. MILLER.

Our Neighbor.

A man must not choose his neighbor; he must take his neighbor that God sends him. In him, whoever he be, lies hidden or revealed a beautiful brother. The neighbor is just the man who is next to you at the moment. This love of our neighbor is the only door out of the dungeon of self.—GEORGE MACDONALD.

The Ministry of Brotherhood.

It is not possible, ordinarily, to change the hard con ditions of those who are in life's stress; but it is possible to give them brotherly sympathy and encouragement. The cup was not taken away from Jesus, but an angel from Heaven appeared and strengthened Ir. No other ministry which human love can render is so angel-like as that of him who gives cheer. Those who have learned this lesson are indeed ministering spirits sent forth to do service for the sake of them who shall inherit salvat-n --J. R. MILLER.

The World Would Be the Better For I

If men cared less for wealth and fame,
And less for battle-acids and glory,

If writ in human hearts a name

Seemed better than in song or story;

If men, instead of rsing pride,
Would learn to hate it and abhor it,
If more relied

On Love to guide

The world would be the better for it.

If men dealt less in stocks and lands,

And more in bonds and deeds fraternal, If Love's work had more willing hands.

To link the world with the supernal; If men stored up Love's oil and wine And on bruised human hearts would pour it, If "yours" and "mine"

Would once combine,

The world would be the better for it.

If more would act the play of Life,
And fewer spoil it in rehearsal;
If Bigotry would sheathe its knife,
Till Good became more universal;
If Custom, gray with ages grown,
Had fewer blind men to adore it;
If Talent shone

In Truth alone,

The world would be the better for it.

If men were wise in little things-
Affecting less in all their dealings;
If hearts had fewer rusted strings.
To isolate their kindred feelings;
men, when Wrong beats down the Right,
World strike together to restore it;

If Right made Might

In every fight,

The world would be the better for it.

М. Н. Совв.