"Angel reapers shall descend,

And Heaven sing harvest-home."

What are the angels? They are created beings: created, we know not when, but surely before man. We are told (Job xxxxviii. 7) that at the creation they "shouted for joy." They are intelligent beings: in Daniel and Revelation they are represented as full of eyes, i. e., knowledge, intelligence, superior understanding; indeed, their whole work implies that they have reason, will and affections. Having reason and will, it follows that they are also moral beings, as is plain from the fact that some fell into sin. So far they are like man, who is a created, intelligent and moral being; but they are also unlike him, essentially different. They have a different nature. In the eighth Psalm we are told that God created man a little lower than the angels; and the Apostle says that Christ took not on Him the nature of angels. We are lower than they, as to our bodily organization; our bodies are visible, grossly corporcal; theirs are invisible to our eyes, though capable of becoming visible when occasion requires (Gen. xix.; Matt. xxviii.; Luke i., etc.). In the New Testament, accordingly, they are called spirits, not because they are pure spirit, but to distinguish them from us, whose present characteristic is flesh. Though we cannot to a hair-breadth define the difference between their bodies and ours, we know the fact that the difference is in their favor; for the Apostle says that even Jesus was made a little lower than the angels (Heb. ii. 9). We are also lower than they in our intellectual organization. They have greater wisdom than man. The expression in 2 Sam. xiv. 20, "Wise according to the wisdom of an angel," teaches this; and their works and their position prove this. Finally, they are higher than we as to power. "Bless the Lord, ye his angels, that excel in strength" (Psalm ciii. 20). In Ephesians vi., the Apostle, exhorting Christians to put on the whole armor of God, assigns as the necessity: "We wrestle (fight or strive) not against flesh and blood (not against our equals, not against human beings), but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places." This is said of fallen angels; surely the holy angels also must be more powerful than man.

Their superiority is the order by creation. But we may be sure this order is reversed through redemption. In Christ we are elevated above the angels, because we partake of his nature, which is higher than theirs: in Him we receive a new life and a new relation, being raised to the glorious dignity of sons of God and joint-heirs with Christ, a dignity and relation to which angels do not and cannot attain.

What is the office of angels? What is their work! What end do they serve? The Apostle beautifully answers this question by asking another, as though his needed no answer: "Are they not all ministering spirits, sent forth to minister for them who shall be heirs of salvation?"

They are ministering spirits. They live not for themselves, but for those to whom God sends them. Every where in the Scriptures they are represented as interested in what pertains to man: they sang at his creation; they rejoiced when his Saviour was born; there is joy among them at his conversion; they desire (1 Peter i. 12) to look (pry, pierce, search) into the work of redemption! Not only are they interested in him, but also active for him, "sent forth to minister." Time would fail to recite

the many cases mentioned in the Bible in which angels guided, guarded, defended and assisted man. The experience of every Christian is full of their blessed ministrations; though, limited as we are by flesh and sense, we can neither see these holy beings, nor definitely trace their work.

They minister for them who shall be heirs of salvation, that is, Christians. This is, no doubt, part of what the Apostle means in Heb. xii. 22; just as a child by its adoption is brought into a new family and new surroundings, so the Christian is brought into the society and fellowship of an innumerable company of angels. Paul almost frightens us in Eph. vi., pointing out our dreadful enemy; but over against this we have the incident in 2 Kings vi., to comfort us with the assurance that holy angels are fighting for us. If we have spiritual enemies, we have also spiritual friends. They are still around us, as they were around the servant of Elisha. Nor must we suppose that this is any disparagement to the work of the Holy Ghost, because they do it not of themselves, but from Him. They are his agents, means and messengers.

David beautifully sets forth their office, in Ps. xci. 11 and 12. He, our Heavenly Father, giveth his angels charge, i. e., care, as a nurse over the child, as a guardian over orphans; over thee, over every child of God; to keep thee from harm in the way, and from going out of the way, therefore hedging and hemming thee up in it; in all thy ways, in all right ways, in all these, whether a way of joy or of sorrow, of danger or of peace; in their hands, the symbols of strength and help; they shall bear thee up, keep thee from danger and lift thee out of it, deliver thee from evil and help thee over it, bear thee up as a nurse does the child; lest thou dash thy foot against a stone, lest thou come to even the least real hurt of body or soul, and of course from all greater evil. Much of what we call evil, notice, is not evil, but good in disguise. Oh, what a comforting doctrine! In all sorrow and trial, good angels are around you to comfort and assist

you.

Their acts of ministration are not visible to you, but yet none the less real. The infant knows nothing of its nurse, her strength, interest and care, yet is really blessed by her presence.

Their ministrations to you do not end with your earthly life. (1.) Angels will carry you into Abraham's bosom, as they did Lazarus. Surely the soul needs some Heavenly guide to take it home to glory; and who will be this guide more likely than the angels? In the valley and shadow of death I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me! (2.) The angels will be present at the last day. The Son of Man shall come in his glory, and all the holy angels with Him; and when God has passed judgment upon all, angels shall east the doomed and damned into outer darkness, and gather God's wheat into the Heavenly Garner. (3.) Angels will be near you in Heaven, pointing out the glories of the place, acting as guides to direct you, and as teachers to instruct you. They will show you the beauty of Heaven, explain the wonders of God's universe, and make plain thousands of deep things which you cannot now receive.

Live worthy of the care of holy angels. You love those who are most like you; so do they, and they abide nearest those who are most like Christ. Also take comfort from this blessed doctrine: "The angel of the Lord encampeth round about them that fear Him, and delivereth them."

THE POISONED FLOWER.

There are various traditions as to the origin of the Golden Lily upon the shield of France. Among these is the following incident, said to have occurred in the latter part of the eleventh century, during the reign of Philip Augustus.

The Prince was only fifteen when he ascended the throne; but the strong hand with which he seized the reigns of the government, awing the turbulent nobles, and protecting the common people against their aggressions, soon convinced them that he was not to be despised for his youth.

Though by this course he greatly endeared himself to the mass of his subjects, his life was more than once threatened and even attempted; but these plots invariably originated among the haughty nobles, who were restive under the restraints imposed upon them by the King's strong arm, and his just and kindly heart.

In the summer of the eleventh year of his reign, weary of the cares of state, Philip retired with his court to his royal residence at Chaumont, which was a favorite resort to him.

Among his train was Geoffrey, Count de Neville, the natural son of Louis VII., the King's half-brother. He was a mild and inoffensive man, apparently well contented with the title and estate conferred by the late King upon his mother, and which he had inherited upon her death; but unfortunately he married a haughty, ambitious woman, who was but illy inclined to forego her claims to royalty.

At the death of Louis, she openly asserted that there had been a secret marriage between him and the late Countess de Neville, and upon the head of her son should rest the crown of France, he being the eldest born, and urged her husband to assert his claims. But this the Count refused to do, being ill-fitted by nature to act a part requiring more than usual energy and ability, besides entertaining too strong an affection for the young King, who had treated him with unusual kindness, to seek to deprive him of his rightful inheritance.

If Philip heard of the pretensions which the Countess set forth, he manifested no outward token of displeasure or distrust. On the contrary, he gave his brother many evidences of regard, appointing him to honorary offices near his person, although he took care that they were such that they conferred but little power.

This was a new source of grievance to the haughty Countess, who never relinquished the idea of becoming a Queen, and had fondly imagined that, on account of Philip's youth, his brother would obtain such a strong ascendency over his mind as would make him King in reality, if not in name. This disappointment was felt with increased bitterness when she became the mother of a son, in whom she centred all her ambitious hopes and all the love she was capable of feeling for one.

Unlike our modern fine ladies, the dames of high degree at that remote

period were early risers; and the Countess de Neville often took long rides on horseback before the dew was off the grass, unattended, except by her groom, who kept at a respectful distance, just near enough to be within call, should his lady require assistance.

One morning she paused in front of a little cottage, situated in a perfect. wilderness of bloom. As an involuntary ejaculation of surprise and admiration escaped her lips, a pretty, intelligent-looking girl, raised her bright eyes from the rose-bush she was pruning

"I have some handsomer within, arranged in bouquets," she said, smiling, "if madame would like to examine them."

Throwing the reins of her horse to her attendant. the Countess alighted, much to the surprise of the servitor, who had never known his haughty mistress to be guilty of so much condescension before.

As the Countess entered the little, low room, the pretty flower girl displayed her beautiful collection of bouquets with pardonable pride.

"All, or any of them, are at your service, with the exception of this," she said, pointing to one composed of golden lilies and white roses, and relieved by a few leaves of green; "it is for the King."

"So King Philip buys the flowers, pretty maiden."

"Yes, madame; I have orders to bring them to the Palace daily. The golden lily is his favorite flower; and there are only those in bloom today."

"I will take this," said the Countess, selecting one of the bouquets, taking from her purse a gold piece of more than double the value; "but first bring me a cool draught of water from the spring yonder."

With a light step the young girl took a pitcher and passed out to the spring that was but a short distance from the door. As she glided by the window on returning, she glanced in and saw, much to her surprise, her visitor bending over the stand of flowers, and apparently sprinkling something from her hand upon those she had laid aside for the King. When she took it away, her eye caught a gleam of a small, golden flask, such as the la lies of that period used for their cosmetics and perfumery. But when she entered the room, she found her in the same position in which she had left her.

She could not forbear an exclamation of surprise as she observed how deadly pale was her countenance.

""Tis but the odor of the flowers," said the Countess, as drawing her robes around her she turned to the door.

"Take my advice, my good girl; place the stand nearer the window and be not much over them; their perfume is quite too strong for so small a

room."

There was something about these words, carelessly spoken though they were, that deepened the undefined suspicions in the young girl's heart; and, following her suggestion. she placed the stand of flowers directly in front of the open window. Then, by a close examination of the bouquet destined for the King, she detected the presence of a fine, white powder, impalpable to the eye, upon the white petals of the rose, but clearly visible upon the lilies, whose peculiar shape, by exposing the leaves to the full rays of the sun as well as their vivid coloring, threw it into strong relief; and as she bent over them, the faint but penetrating odor that arose made her so giddy that she would have fallen, had it not been for the tall shape

ly youth who had just entered, and whose livery showed him to be in the service of the King.

It was her lover, Francois, King Philip's body servant, and who, passing by the house, called to have a chat with his betrothed.

"How, now, Marie?" he said, looking into her face. "What has frightened the roses from your cheek, and given you such a strange look?"

The honest-hearted fellow was sincerly attached to his royal master, and he listened gravely to Marie's account of the strange conduct of her visitor, and the suspicions to which it gave rise.

"It has a bad look," he said, thoughtfully; "though I believe there is nothing in it. By good luck, I have orders to attend His Majesty in his private apartments an hour hence. I will put him on his guard; then surely no harm can come of it."

Somewhat to the surprise of François, the King manifested no disquietude at this disclosure, though the grave look and attentive manner with which he listened, showed that he considered it of no light import. bade him charge Marie

He

"To tell no one what she had discovered, but to come to the Palace with her flowers an hour earlier than was her wont, by no means forgetting her golden lilies."

King Philip sat in his audience hall surrounded by his retinue. A number of the royal family stood near him, among them the Count Neville, his wife, and the little son, a sweet boy of three, whose winning and sprightly ways made him a favorite with the King.

"And please your Majesty, Marie, the flower girl, is awaiting without," said one of the guard.

"Admit her," said the King.

Marie had never seen King Philip in his robes of state, and the royal pomp that surrounded him impressed her with a feeling of awe as she entered. But this was quickly dissipated by the King's gracious manner as he bade her approach.

"I see you have not forgotten my favorite flower," he said, taking the basket from her hand.

"Just admire these queenly lilies, fair Countess, and inhale the fragrance from the roses."

"But why do you start and turn pale?" he added, as with an involuntary shudder she drew back from the flowers he would have placed in her hand.

"I-I crave your Majesty's pardon," she stammered, "but the odor of the roses affects me thus."

The King's eye followed the Countess as she retreated to the window, at the further end of the hall, under the pretext of obtaining air. He then fixed them searchingly on her husband's face, whose mind seemed to be entirely occupied by the laughing boy he held in his arms.

Attracted by the bright colors of the lilies, the child stretched out its hand for them. A sudden thought struck the King as he observed this. "See how eagerly Louis is regarding them!" he said, turning to the Count, "Let him have them."

With a fond smile the father took the flowers and held them before the boy, who, catching them with both his dimpled hands, raised them with a gleeful shout to his lips.