other's dead, my child. at is dead? , why, then, 'tis only sleeping; she sleeps. Come, mother,-rise :ry cold! art is cold. bloodless; would that mine were so! would waken, she would soon be warm. -apped in this thin sheet? If I, orning, were not covered better, old like her. t like her: t warm you, or thick clothes; but herwarm again! ould wake her, ile on me, as she always does, -Mother, you have slept too long.— ale; and it would frighten me, ow she loves me. - my child. when I sat upon her lap, I felt her side; and then she said eart that beat, and bade me feel heart, and they both beat alike, as the quickest. And I feel rt yet; but hers I cannot feel. , child, you drive me mad. Come hence, I say. father, be not angry; let me stay here her wakens. -e told you, cannot wake-not in this world; er she will wake for us. ave slept like her, then we shall see her. ld it were night then. unhappy child; night shall pass, ere thou canst sleep ong sleep. Thy father soon shall sleep it; hou be deserted upon earth: egard thee; thou wilt soon forget adst natural ties,-an orphan, lone, Abandoned to the wiles of wicked men, And women still more wicked. C. Father, father, Why do you look so terribly upon me? F. Hurt thee, darling? no! Has sorrow's violence so much of anger, C. You are not angry, then? F. Too well I love you. Come, dearest, come. C. All you have said I cannot now remember, LESSON CLV. Burial of the Young.-MRS. SIGourney. THERE was an open grave, and many an eye The young, unwearied form to that cold couch, There was a train Of young, fair females, with their brows of bloom, with mourning sire, and sorrowing friend, of those, who at her side were nursed e mother. Ah! and one was there, he fading of the summer rose, But Death to greet her as his bride. ween them. The pale lover watched er journey through the shadowy vale, st to his heart the ice of death om hers. There was a brilliant flush ch unearthly light, that hope would hang r the musings of her silent couch, d its pleasures? Whence that angel smile, portion? Whence that voice of joy, LESSON CLVI. = the Loss of Professor Fisher in the Albion.-BRAINARD. THE breath of air, that stirs the harp's soft string, Ere night, is sporting in the lightning's flash; So science whispered in thy charmed ear, LESSON CLVII. The Sunday School.-MRS. SIGOURNEY. GROUP after group are gathering;-such as pressed with a chastened glance, in modulation sweet. ere are, upon whose childish brows essed laborers in this humble sphere, LESSON CLVIII. 's Account of an Incident in the early History of America.*-SIR WALTER SCOTT. my wanderings, the transatlantic settlements caped me; more especially the country of New to which our native land has shaken from her runkard flings from him his treasures, so much cious in the eyes of God and of his children. usands of our best and most godly men-such teousness might come between the Almighty and and prevent the ruin of cities-are content to be ative is found in "Peveril of the Peak." The incident occurred lass.,-a village on the Connecticut river, about ninety miles -September 1st, 1675. The mysterious stranger, who appeared y as a deliverer, was Goffe, the regicide. Whalley, another of at condemned Charles I, was also concealed in the town of Had |