rkly now concealeth,
Yielding to the glory of heaven's eternal ray.
Far far-away are the homes wherein they dwell,
But we know that they are blest, and ever more at rest,
And we utter from our hearts, "It is well."

"May I keep them, Power?" he asked, looking up.

"Do, Walter, as a remembrance of to-day."

"And may I make one change, which the bishop's sermon suggested?"

"By all means," said Power; and Walter, taking a pencil, added after the
line "Nothing that is fair can stay," these words, which Power
afterwards copied, writing at the top, "In memoriam, J.D."

"Nothing that is fair can stay
But while Death's sharp scythe is sweeping,
We remember 'mid our weeping,
That a Father-hand is keeping
Every vernal bloom that falleth underneath its chilly sway.
And though earthly flowers may perish
There are buds His hand will cherish
And the things unseen Eternal--these can never pass away;
Where the angels shout Hosanna,
Where the ground is dewed with manna,
These remain and these await us in the homes of heaven for ay!"

The lines are in Walter's desk; and he values them all the more for the
tears which have fallen on them, and blurred the neatness of the fine
clear handwriting.

On the following Tuesday our boys saw the dead body of their friend.
The face of poor Daubeny looked singularly beautiful with the placid
lines of death, as all innocent faces do. It was the first time they
had seen a corpse; and as Walter touched the cold cheek, and placed a
spray of evergreen in the rigid hand, he was almost overpowered with an
awful sense of the sad sweet mystery of death.

"It is God who has taken him to Himself," said Mrs Daubeny, as she
watched their emotion. "I shall not be parted from him long. He has
left you each a remembrance of himself, dear boys, and you will value
them, I know, for my poor child's sake, and for his widowed mother's
thanks to those who loved him."

For each of them he had chosen, before he died, one of his most prized
possessions. To Power he left his desk; to Henderson, his microscope;
to Kenrick, a little gold pencil-case; and to Walter, a treasure which
he deeply valued, a richly-bound Bible, in which he had left many
memorials of the manner in which his days were spent; and in which he
had marked many of the rules which were the standard of his life, and
the words of hope which sustained his gentle and noble mind.

The next day he was buried; only