speeds it? Rather say
Is it not always by,
Though, through the dust of life's noonday,
We may not see it nigh;

Nor when dark clouds of sin would veil
_All_ glory from our sight;
And make both heart and hope to fail,
And brightness turn to night?

But when, midst virtue's clearer air,
The eye no hindrance knows,
How radiant stands the angel there!
What holy gifts bestows!

My darling niece, whose form of grace
Has made these thoughts arise,
I'm sure this angel oft I trace
In those clear depths--thine eyes.

And bursting forth from my full heart,
My prayers to heaven ascend,
That earth's dark changes ne'er may part
Thee and thy angel friend.

That purity may always be
The medium, clear and bright,
Through which may ever shine on thee
Heaven's own unclouded light.

TEACHERS' LIBRARY.

The Teachers' Library connected with the School street Universalist
Sunday school, was commenced in 1841, when 67 volumes were collected for
that purpose.--Great care has been taken in selecting volumes for this
library. At this time, 1850, it numbers 194 valuable books.

SCHOLARS' LIBRARY.

The foundation of the Scholars' Library, connected with the School
street Universalist Sunday school, was laid in the year 1835. The number
of volumes, in 1840, amounted to 400, of which 100 needed repairing.
Some 50 volumes were added during 1841. Additions continued to be made
from year to year, till the spring of 1850, when the number was
increased to 700 volumes.

AGATHA.

Little Agatha was a Sabbath school scholar. She lived in a rural
district of Scotland. Her father's dwelling was surrounded by trees and
flowers, and near by a little sparkling rivulet wandered onward, now
murmuring along by its rocky bed and dancing over bright pebbles, and
now wending its way silently through the valley, journeying onward to
mingle with kindred waters.

Agatha loved to roam through these shady glens, and often would she
stand upon the margin of the little stream, and, gazing down, fancy that
she saw a beautiful little angel in the pure waters. She sometimes
waited a long time, hoping it might speak to her, little dreaming that
her sweet angel was but the reflection of her own innocent face and
golden ringlets from the mirrored surface. She loved the little brook,
and walked among the wild flowers upon its banks, herself as pure and
innocent as Spring's earliest blossoms. She was never lonel