Costly, free, and knows no end:
They who once his kindness prove,
Find it everlasting love!
_A Friend that Sticketh Closer than a Brother_. J. NEWTON.

'Tis done, the great transaction's done;
I am my Lord's, and he is mine;
He drew me, and I followed on,
Charmed to confess the voice divine.

Now rest, my long-divided heart!
Fixed on this blissful centre, rest;
Oh, who with earth would grudge to part,
When called with angels to be blest?
_Happy Day_. P. DODDRIDGE.

Our Friend, our Brother, and our Lord,
What may thy service be?--
Nor name, nor town, nor ritual word,
But simply following thee.

We bring no ghastly holocaust,
We pile no graven stone;
He serves thee best who loveth most
His brothers and thy own.
_Our Master_. J.G. WHITTIER.

JEWEL.

These gems have life in them: their colors speak,
Say what words fail of.
_The Spanish Gypsy_. GEORGE ELIOT.

If that a pearl may in a toad's head dwell,
And may be found too in an oyster shell.
_Apology for his Book_. J. BUNYAN.

Some asked how pearls did grow, and where,
Then spoke I to my girle,
To part her lips, and showed them there
The quarelets of pearl.
_The Rock of Rubies and the Quarrie of Pearl_. R. HERRICK.

The lively Diamond drinks thy purest rays,
Collected light, compact.
_The Seasons: Summer_. J. THOMSON.

Like stones of worth, they thinly placed are,
Or captain jewels in the carcanet.
_Sonnet III_. SHAKESPEARE.

Than all Bocara's vaunted gold,
Than all the gems of Samarcand.
_A Persian Song of Hafiz_. SIR W. JONES.

Rich and rare were the gems she wore,
And a bright gold ring on her wand she bore.
_Song: Rich and Rare_. T. MOORE.

I see the jewel best enamelled
Will lose his beauty; and the gold 'bides still,
That others touch, and often touching will
Wear gold.
_Comedy of Errors, Act ii. Sc. 1_. SHAKESPEARE.

JOURNALISM.

He comes, the herald of a noisy world,
With spattered boots, strapped waist, and frozen locks;
News from all nations lumbering at his back.
_The Task, Bk. IV_. W. COWPER.

Trade hardly deems the busy day begun
Till his keen eye along the sheet has run;
The blooming daughter throws her needle by,
And reads her schoolmate's marriage with a sigh;
While the grave mother puts her glasses on,
And gives a tear to some old crony gone.
The preacher, too, his Sunday theme lay