stolen a hint or two from the Nemhcruhc, and many of the objects exhibited by these different tribes resembled each other so closely that the eye of the uninitiated could scarcely draw any line of demarcation.

I found as I walked through the building, that almost all the exhibitors were represented, as in the Palace of Industry, by living deputies; and these, to my mind, formed the most curious part of the shew. The figure, tone, manner, costume, and bearing of these deputies was in very few instances marked by any striking peculiarities-they were all, in fact, pretty much alike. Yet each clan, each family, each organization, had made it a matter of conscience to send its own representative.

The people of Noibla, I learned from my informant, had many useful institutions amongst them-religious, educational, and philanthropic. Of these, the instrumentality they called Tiplupeht, was regarded as the most efficient. It generally resembled our Sabbath ministry, though one of their best and most valued poets had described it as liable to very great abuses. The Sloohcs, or training conclaves, and the Snoissim, or transmarine lights, though they did much good, were fettered by a fundamental mistake in the executive. The principle of all was Love and Good-will-the practice was mutual suspicion and mistrust. Hence the thousand and one agents in what was professedly a common labor of love, kept aloof from each other, and worked only for their own party. This seemed to me very grievous. I sighed so deeply as to recover consciousness for a moment, but soon dozed off without any interruption of my dream.

The Snoissim were represented in this Exhibition by a large number of deputies. There were the Rose-in-hat Snoissim*— the Plain Lights-the Florid Lights-the Old Lights-the Young Lights-the partial Lights and the universal Lightsthe man-named Lights-the place-named Lights, and many others. So far as the peculiar features of each were representable, they were exhibited and explained by the attendants, but as regarded most of them, there seemed to be a distinction without a difference. The †Noissim-nodnol, or Central Light,

The Hebrew scholar will at once understand this to be a plural term. In the language of Noibla, the plural sign begins the word, instead of ending it. I

as the largest of these, was represented by two individuals—one from each of the chief tribes of Noibla, who, as good old Bunyan says, “carried it very lovingly towards each other." As I saw nothing in their compartment of the Exhibition but a plain table and these two friends themselves, I asked if they had no distinctive features that were visible. “Nothing,” said one of them, smiling pleasantly, and striking the table-" nothing but a Board free from those little crotchets that encumber our neighbours. Our object is rather to agree, than to differ—to love, than to wrangle.”

My attendant spirit, who had been with me throughout this marvellous dream, appeared to dilate as these comfortable words fell upon my ear. Larger, warmer, brighter, grew the beautiful nucleus, as it radiated in all directions, till it seemed to cast a new light throughout the place. But its splendour became dim when contrasted with the excessive glory that fell upon us from without. Bright as the sun, clear as the moon, it wrapped everything in its serene and chastened light without in any way paining the sense or inducing a thought of fear. Grateful to the sight as the emerald rainbow round the throne of God, I could not only look on it and live, but look and love. And well I might, for my good genius told me it was the True Light— the Light of Life.

Almost every item in that great Exhibition of Littleness, seemed to melt away and sink absorbed into this marvellous brightness. Sect mingled with sect, form with form, notion with notion. Yet there were some things there that only appeared to stand out in darker, bolder, relief against it. As the dream, however, went on, a rotary impulse was given to this vast body of light, and all the crudities that had not become merged in it, flew off towards the circumference, and fell eventually into the surrounding blackness of darkness.

I listened earnestly, and the many dissonances that had just now filled the place, became one vast harmony. I looked-the building itself and all that it contained had disappeared in that pure white, lambent blaze; and I saw nothing but a dim spot upon the world-wide disc. It darkened as the light grew more intense, and as it drew nearer I recognized my own ethereal visitant. He had seemed, as he walked amidst the products of

human strife and human littleness, a "splendour among shadows;" but, seen in the excellent glory of the True Light, he was but a sun-spot and a stain.

The excitement of the vision caused me to awake. I rubbed my eyes; and my old friend, the starry sprite, seemed to grow out of that small cloud-like form. For a few seconds it flickered and floated before them, and as I gradually returned to consciousness, drew closer and closer, till with a sudden bound I thought that it took refuge in my brain. Psychologists must tell us whether in visions of the night, the mind may really quit the body. This only do I know-that I had held long and curious converse with this sprite asleep; and waking, found beyond all controversy, that I had been talking toMyself.

“THE BLACK ARM-CHAIR."

SUCH were the words which I heard to-night, as I was walking homewards.

They fell from the lips of a little child, who was playing with her companions, and were spoken with laughing glee. I caught the reflection of their mirth as I passed on.

"The black arm-chair?" I said, half aloud. "What kind of a chair is it, I wonder? Oak, I dare say; richly carved, and dark with age. Many such chairs there are still, relics of the olden time." As I walked slowly on, I began to think of those which I had seen, and I remembered four particularly interesting old chairs, whose histories, so far as I know them, I will endeavor to relate.

The first, I saw a short time since. It is more than five centuries old, for it forms part of the furniture of the prison chamber of King Edward the Second, and had stood there ever since his day. On that awful night-the night of his murder, perhaps, he might have sat down upon that old oak chair. Perhaps when dragged from his couch by the violence of his murderers, he might have grasped it for support, and the last groans of his dying agony might have struggled forth there. Oh! lovely Severn! Why were thy woody banks obliged to echo back the death-shrieks of England's fallen monarch.

Alas! for the unhappy king! Alas! for those yet more wretched men who slew him! Alas! for them when they shall be called to give an account of their doings! Oh! that they may have obtained mercy through the blood of Jesus!

The second chair was one which stood in the state bed-room of an ancient castle. Queen Elizabeth had slept there on one of her royal progresses, and had undoubtedly rested upon this fine old chair, while her ladies divested her of her jewels. It is a splendid specimen of the rich carving of the time. How different must then have been the appearance of that now silent and deserted room. The worn and faded velvet hangings, with their gold embroidery, would then be new and bright, while Elizabeth and her attendants, in their gorgeous attire, and the pageantry of a luxurious court would make all look gay. Those who once waited around the chair of their monarch have long ago descended to their last sleep. Which of them has found a seat in the city of the Great King: who can tell? Let us hold fast that which we have, that no man take our crown.

Now comes the third of these black arm-chairs. How well I remember it! I had seen it in early childhood, and I saw it only a few weeks ago, still in the same place, behind the little table in the room where a few of God's own people met for their Sabbath-morning prayer.

Many are gone since I was there last, but still the good old man takes his accustomed seat, and still do those who love God flock in early on the Sabbath morning to ask for a blessing upon the services of the day which is dawning upon the valley. It cannot be so, long.

The hoary hairs—that crown of glory!—must soon lie down to rest, and the triumphant spirit wing its way to the many mansions of its Father's house! They will not return to us; but say, dear reader, shall we not go to them? Look unto Him who is their Saviour, and He will not be ashamed to call you brethren. Put all your trust in Him for pardon, for heaven. "Those who trust in Him shall never be confounded."

The fourth? It is the judge's chair in the Assize Hall of our city. As I went through it the other day, with some friends, we all sat down for a few moments in the judge's chair. Just behind it is the peg upon which the dread "black cap" is hung.

Before us was the table round which the counsellors assembled, and farther back, the dock in which the prisoner stands. How many awful sentences have been issued from that chair! Sentences which have doomed some to exile from their native land and others to an ignominious death, perhaps an eternity of woe! I thought as I sat there, of the day when the morning of the Great Assize shall dawn upon the earth-when the Judgment shall be set, and the books opened, and every man be judged according to his works.

What will be your sentence then, dear reader? Remember, "there is no condemnation to them which are in Christ Jesus." Are you hoping for acquittal through your own merits? God says, "there is none that doeth good, no, not one." Are you depending upon your natural eloquence to enable you to plead your cause? Futile attempt! awful mistake! There is only one Advocate admitted to that bar. But He is all-wise, all-powerful. Ask Him to plead your cause, to undertake your defence, and it is gained already, for He is sure to carry it through the court of heaven. And then, when the trial is ended, how will your heart leap with joy to hear the glorious words of acquittal and approbation-"Come ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world, enter ye into the joy of your Lord!" May we meet, dear reader-in that kingdom-in that joy!

MARY ISABELLA.

THE BIBLE THE PIONEER OF LITERATURE. THAT our early Anglo-Saxon authors were not wanting in the elements which make up powerful and effective writing, is evident, from the few literary remains of that people still extant. The language though not elegant is manly, straightforward, and energetic, deriving, as is the case with all primitive languages, not a little poetry from its very poverty. A paucity of descriptive epithets, compels the use of compound terms, which are often possessed of great power and pathos, whilst the scanty supply of nouns obliges the writer very frequently to insert a name of highly figurative character. The same principle which led the old Hebrews to designate a spark, a son