away," he, at last, said to himself, "yes, even this sky which retreats now from my sight as I gaze into its beautiful depths. Heaven and earth must pass away, but the word of our Heavenly Father will never change. There will be a new Heaven and a new earth, and man alone will be preserved from the general destruction." He cannot return to me, but I shall go to him.'"

As Arthur stood, the only mourner over the grave of his brother, he wept when the wellremembered words were read, " Spare me a little, that I may recover my strength, before I go hence, and be no more seen." Those words were alone engraved on the humble tombstone of Lawrence Western.

"Whose portraits are these, grandmother?" said a little boy to an old lady, as he stood before a picture of two young men ?" Mother, will you tell me?" he continued, turning round, for the old lady had not answered him.-His grandmother was weeping. The child thought he had acted wrongly, and looked up to his mother, blushing deeply, and in silence, asking, by a look, what he had done?—"I am not angry with you, Arthur," said the old lady, smiling through her tears; "you are not old enough yet to weep for joy. That is the picture of two brothers. The younger bro

ther, whose hair is so bright and who

appears to speak so earnestly that the colour on his cheek deepens as it did in yours, when you came in this morning from running through the snow, was, when only twenty years of age, condemned to leave his country for acting wickedly. The elder brother was then about to become a clergyman; and was engaged to be married to a young lady whom he loved very much; but he gave up his opportunities of becoming rich, and what many considered to be his happiness; and left England with his guilty but penitent brother, to live, almost in poverty, among persons who had been sent out to that distant land, as a punishment for almost every sort of crime. "I am sure I should love that brother," interrupted the child. "I am sure you do love him," said the old lady; "He is your father!"

FRIENDSHIP.

"Their love was wonderful, the love of soul; Friendship in them her faithful self confess'd; No cheating semblance, no restrain'd controul, Of warring sentiments." Be thus express'd, When from these mortal bonds our spirits rest, The record of our holy union here,

Before the glorious God whom we revere. Have we not deeply fervent prayers addrest, (Conscious our home is in a purer sphere) That by no earthly trials e'er deprest, (Our soul's true friendship by his favour blest) Together that blest welcome we might hear? "Your trials now are past, your sins forgiven, Your faith and constant love approv'd in Heaven."

M

THE FIRST DAY OF DEATH.

Now every hope and fear is past,
And I may weep without restraint;
That gentle voice is hush'd at last,
Which never breath'd the last complaint;
The smile that o'er those features dwelt
In patient sweetness, welcoming
Thy ceaseless pain so deeply felt,
More calmly there is lingering.

Oft when in stillest sleep she doz'd,
I've thought, as now, my love had died;
But then again her eyes unclos'd

On me; and gentle words were sigh'd,
That sunk into my listening soul.-
The fresh bloom, that with health decay'd,
Now back into her face hath stole,
As if to mock my grief and fade.

THE FIRST DAY OF DEATH.

It cannot be; but when I

gaze

On the first loveliness of death:

The lids where still some timid rays

Gleam, as with struggling light beneath :
The waxen cheek now ting'd so slightly:-
The delicate threads, upon her brow,
Of that soft hair seem stirring lightly-
Those lips are surely breathing now.

Ah, no! I bend beside thy cheek,
And feel its coldness strike to mine;
Close to thine ear I vainly speak,
And clasp my trembling hand to thine.
My hot tear trickles o'er thy face,
But no faint, gradual movements spread
Waking to life one marble grace.
All tells me coldly, Thou art dead.

Thou; no, my Florence is not here;
Let

grave worms feed upon that bloom; That brow, so delicately clear,

With its blue wandering veins consume;
Let every ring, like palest gold,
Of that fair hair, all dimm'd, decay.
"Tis but the casket we behold,

Our God hath snatch'd the gem away.

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