should not have had the presumption to continue my attendance, although I feel that my spirit has thereby received a sanctification which will linger around it through life."

"You speak seriously: I believe you. Will you do one little favor to the gentle being I leave behind me? see her safely conducted to the residence of her aunt in your city, and comfort her as well as you may through this first deep sorrow. She has been a very angel toward me. For my sake she left the allurements of polished society where she had been educated, and came into the wilderness to a home of poverty, that she might spread comfort and gladness around my lonely age; for my wife rests here; it was the home of our early love, and I could not leave it. Bury me beside my sleeping Emma - and my child will tell you where leave me there to rest in peace. God will keep charge of my orphan girl, and may Heaven bless you and keep your spirit under its holy influ ences."

That night the old man died. Wilhelm and Emma closed his eyes, and watched over the senseless form till dawn of day. And when the sun again went down in the west, they knelt above his grave, and breathed their wonted evening prayer; and from that time forth, they

mingled together at this same hour the devotion of united hearts; either kneeling side by side, with hand clasped in hand, or, if separated by long and tedious miles, brought by a spiritual communion together at the throne of God.

RELIGIOUS CONTEMPLATION.

BY MRS. SARAH BROUGHTON.

COME, holy contemplation, nerve thy plumes,
And waft my spirit from this sorrowing scene;
While the soft night-winds, breathing sweet perfumes
From pensile flowers, sigh o'er the dewy green,
And moonlit waters gleam with silvery sheen,
And glittering jewels deck each budding stem,

O, bear me upward, where the blue serene
Of heaven's high dome sparkles with many a gem,—
Pearls from the eternal mine, in night's proud diadem.

Why should the soul, forgetting its high birth,
Fold its proud wings, and cower amid the gloom
That, o'er each fair and beauteous scene of earth,
Broods like th' oblivious banners of the tomb?
Rise on immortal pinions! Soon the bloom
Of the fair spirit-land shall greet thy view,
Where sun-eyed seraphs wave the golden plume,
And strike the lyres to anthems ever new,—

Rich songs to Him who reigns above the starry blue.

We are not left in utter gloom to roam,

While sadly wandering o'er life's deserts drear;

Full many a ray from our eternal home

Steals down to earth the lonely heart to cheer:

E'en when o'er buried love we drop the tear, And mourn the premature decay of worth,

Some cherub whispers of a holier sphere, Where meet the fair and beautiful of earth, Quenching their thirst for bliss where life's glad streams have birth.

Sweet is the breathing influence of morn,

When first the sun smiles o'er the eastern hills, And liquid pearls gleam on the velvet lawn, And flower-buds weep above the crystal rills. What seraph-melody the concave fills, From nature's sweet, high-sounding orchestra! How the full chorus the glad heart-strings thrills! The soul mounts up on wings of melody,

To join its humbler notes with the wild minstrelsy.

And when, to shun the noontide's glowing beam,
We stroll amid the cloistered forest-aisles,

To listen to the music of the stream,

Or cull the sweet, lone flower that o'er it smiles,
Far, far away 'mid the luxuriant isles

That fancy pictures in the ethereal clime,

The grief-worn spirit revels, and beguiles

The yearning heart with hopes of that glad time When we may strike the song, eternal and sublime.

And when grey twilight spreads her veil around,
And shadows creep along the wooded dell,

As evening winds, with melancholy sound,

Sigh through the green arcades the day's farewell, The plaintive, murm'ring tones that softly swell Seem but the echoes of some spirit-lyre,

Leaving time's shores, above the spheres to dwell,

Where spotless robes th' exalted throng attire, Who tune the harps of God upon the sea of fire.

Earth's melodies, from the low zephyr's sigh,
That in the balmy hush of eve is heard,
To the wild peal of song when storms sweep by,
And ocean's depths are by the whirlwind stirred;
Or when, in solemn diapason heard,
Along the reeling globe the earthquake's jar

Makes the strong spirit quail, like frighted bird,All speak of Him who makes the clouds his car, Rules the fierce tempest's steeds, and guides each distant

star.

How should the soul with adoration glow

To that great Power, eternal and supreme, Who gives us faculties for joy and woe,

And hope and reason guarding each extreme,— Who paints on sorrow's clouds the rainbow-beam That cheers our spirits through sad mists of tears, And bids the heaven-lit taper brighter gleam,

As down the dark declivity of years

We seek the better clime, where truth her temple rears!