Most lovely thou! in beauty's rarest truth!

A cherub's face, the breathing blush of youth;

A smile more sweet than seemed to mortal given;

An eye that spoke, and beamed the light of heaven;

A temper like the balmy summer sky,

That soothes, and warms, and cheers, when life beats high;
A bounding spirit, which, in sportive chase,
Gave, as it moved, a fresh and varying grace;
A voice whose music warbled notes of mirth,
Its tones unearthly, or scarce formed for earth;
A mind, which kindled with each passing thought,
And gathered treasures, when they least were sought;
These were thy bright attractions; these had power
To spread a nameless charm o'er every hour.
But that, which, more than all, could bliss impart,
Was thy warm love, thy tender, buoyant heart,
Thy ceaseless flow of feeling, like the rill,
That fills its sunny banks, and deepens still;
Thy chief delight to fix thy parents' gaze,

Win their fond kiss, or gain their modest praise.

When sickness came, though short, and hurried o'er,
It made thee more an angel than before.

How patient, tender, gentle, though disease
Preyed on thy life! - how anxious still to please!
How oft around thy mother's neck entwined,
Thy arms were folded, as to Heaven resigned!
How oft thy kisses on her pallid cheek

Spoke all thy love, as language ne'er could speak!
E'en the last whisper of thy parting breath
Asked, and received, a mother's kiss, in death.

But oh! how vain by art, or words, to tell,

What ne'er was told, -affection's magic spell!
More vain to tell that sorrow of the soul,

That works in secret, works beyond control,

When death strikes down, with sudden crush and power,

Parental hope, and blasts its opening flower.

Most vain to tell, how deep that long despair,

Which time ne'er heals, which time can scarce impair

My child, my darling child, how oft with thee
Have I passed hours of blameless ecstasy!
How oft have wandered, oft have paused to hear
Thy playful thoughts fall sweetly on my ear!
How oft have caught a hint beyond thy age,
Fit to instruct the wise, or charm the sage!
How oft, with pure delight, have turned to see
Thy beauty felt by all, except by thee;
Thy modest kindness, and thy searching glance;
Thy eager movements, and thy graceful dance;
And, while I gazed with all a father's pride,
Concealed a joy, worth all on earth beside!

How changed the scene! In every favorite walk

I miss thy flying steps, thy artless talk;

Where'er I turn, I feel thee ever near;

Some frail memorial comes, some image dear.

Each spot still breathes of thee- each garden flower
Tells of the past, in sunshine, or in shower;
And here the chair, and there the sofa stands,
Pressed by thy form, or polished by thy hands.
My home, how full of thee! - But where art thou?
Gone, like the sunbeam from the mountain's brow;
But, unlike that, once passed the fated bourn,
Bright beam of heaven, thou never shalt return.
Yet, yet, it soothes my heart on thee to dwell;
LOUISA, darling child, farewell, farewell!

The following prayer, written while under the immediate influence of this affliction, I find in his Commonplace-Book:

A PRAYER WRITTEN IN MAY, 1831.

O! Almighty God, our merciful Father, who dost not afflict the children of men but for wise ends, we humbly entreat Thee to look down with thy favor upon us thy afflicted servants, bowed down with sorrow for the loss of a dearly beloved child. Pour comfort into our hearts; teach us the ways of consolation; enable us to be resigned to thy will, and to feel in this sad event the workings of thy

mysterious, but beneficent Providence. O! heal the wounds which, by thy will, now make our souls to bleed. Give us to know more of Thee and of ourselves. Let us receive light from thy blessed influences on our broken spirits. Show us the paths of true religion and peace, and direct our steps therein. Thou knowest our misery and despair; Thou alone canst succor and support us. May we learn that even in this calamity, Thou hast in store blessings for us. O, preserve, protect, and keep in Thy holy care, the two remaining children who are left to us. May they grow up and become blessings to their parents, and their friends, and their country, and serve Thee with true and devout hearts.

Thou art teaching us what shadows we are, and what shadows we pursue. O, may we improve this afflicting event, by more humility and devout affection, more ardent piety, and more love to mankind, and grant us that spirit of gratitude, which shall lead us to Thee, the source of all wisdom and power and goodness, and to adore and bless Thy holy name ever more. Amen.

It was at this period, also, that my father made a translation of the beautiful epitaph on Miss Dolman, written by Shenstone. The epitaph and translation are as follows:

Ah! Maria,

Puellarum elegantissima,

Ah! flora venustatis abrepta!
Heu, quanto minus

Cum reliquis versari,

Quam tui meminisse.

TRANSLATION.

Maria, ah! most lovely! snatched away

E 'en in the flower of beauty's rare display,

To dwell with Thee, in thought, how much more dear,

Than to hold converse with the living here.

Earnestly my father now pursued his labors, to bury in them his sorrows. And besides his judicial and professorial duties, he interested himself in the formation and establishment of the Cemetery at Mount Auburn, taking a prominent part in this scheme. Towards the autumn of the year 1831, all the arrangements having been made, the consecration of this beautiful spot, as a resting-place for the dead, took place on September 24th, and my father delivered an address on the occasion.

In the thoughts incident to such a duty, there was much to move his sensibilities, and much also to solace his wounded heart. In writing his address, he found a refuge from busy cares, and an outlet for crowding recollections, which found in utterance their best relief.

The time appointed for the consecration, was one of the serenest of those melancholy days, which mark the early New England autumn. The preceding day had been rainy, but the clouds had now disappeared, and a dewy freshness filled the clear atmosphere. As the gathering crowds assembled, they wound now through the opening aisles of sombre evergreens, carpeted by the brown soft needles of the pines, and overarched by a green roof, whose foliage, almost impenetrable to the sun, admitted a dim, religious light, and now through open passages, bordered by the flaming crimsons of the sumac, the dazzling yellow of shivering birches and sycamores, and the dark purple-red of the oak. The songs of thousands of birds made the woods vocal, and the lifting breeze sighed through the mourning pines, and shook the brilliantly painted leaves in the sunshine. The spot where the address was delivered was a deep

dell in the cemetery, hollowed out like a bowl, and surrounded by an amphitheatre of hills. In the centre was a small pond, over one part of which a staging for the speaker was erected, fashioned of unshorn pine boughs and young trees, and decorated with festoons of flowers interwoven with the variegated leaves of the forest, while the sides of the amphitheatre were covered with rude benches arranged among the trees for the audience.

The crowd at last assembled, and the dell was lined with life. The services commenced with a prayer, and as the clergyman arose, there was a rustle among the rising audience like a shiver of wind through the trees, and then a complete silence. Then was heard his voice invoking the blessing of God. The scene was novel and impressive beyond description, and the whole assembly seemed subdued to reverential feeling by this simple service in the great church of nature. As soon as he had finished, a band, stationed under a little clump of trees, played the reverend psalm of "Old Hundred" as a symphony, after which a few voices began to sing a hymn written for the occasion. Instantly the circle of singers widened among the audience, until the whole host lifted up their voices together in one vast choral, that swelled into the sky and sounded down the aisles of the wood with a grandeur of effect beyond that of dome or cathedral. There were at least six thousand persons in the dell, almost every one of whom, inspired by the occasion, joined in the singing, and such was the vastness of the mass of sound, that all the little detail of discord was lost in the ascending volume of harmony. An electric thrill seemed to pervade the air when the last sound of voices died away, which touched every heart.