consciousness came that she was still in the land of her kindred. Joy was the companion of every heart, and hope smiled in richest glory on all.

Florinda was possessed of a poetical mind of a high order, and her imagination sometimes swayed the sceptre over her reason and judgment. She had thought much of early death, and a strong presentiment that she was doomed to be early called, took possession of her mind, till she felt her life was wasting, and her days numbered. But she recovered, and moved in the paths of domestic duties with the same sweetness and gentleness that marked the closing scene of her imaginative death. The influence of that hour lingered around the hearts of all the group through all after life; they felt the beauty of religious trust, and the loveliness of a Christian's departure. It hallowed more thoroughly their mutual affection, and brought into more vigorous and continued exercise their religious feelings. And those who look in at this day, upon the happy circle in Roseville Glen, will there see the beauty of hallowed love,-affection sanctified by affection.

THE KINGDOM ABOVE.

How chilling and sad is the fearful gloom
Of the coffin and shroud, of the pall and tomb!
How cold is the eye, when the light of love
Hath fled to its fount in the kingdom above!

And the relict heart, with its pulseless grief,—
How silent it lies, like a fallen leaf!
All the bright visions it tenderly wove
Are faded and fled to the kingdom above.

But, soft as the ray of the vernal sun,
The hallowing hope of heaven beams on;
And the gentle voice of the heavenly Dove
Is calling our hearts to the kingdom above.

No longer the shroud and the pall wear gloom; They are travelling robes to a fairer home; Where hearts that were linked by an earthly love Will meet to inherit a kingdom above.

S. C. E.

ART THOU A CHRISTIAN ?

ART thou a Christian? Follow, then, in peace,
The rugged pathway that thy Master trod;
And, though at every step thy toils increase,

Nearer and nearer comest thou to God.

O'er barren hills, through vales without a rose, Deserts to whom no freshening founts are given, Where'er the Pilot of thy pathway goes,

Follow in gladness to the rest of heaven.

Art thou forsaken ? Cold and dark indeed
The fate unsoothed by sympathetic tears!
And well the stricken heart unstanched may bleed,
With no soft, pitying voice to lull its fears.
"Look up, thou poor forsaken!" Jesus sped,
All trustful, through a lot as dark as thine;
And know'st thou not, that, wheresoe'er he led,
The path tends onward to a rest divine?

Or art thou needy? Hath not fortune given
Her fairy favors to thy lowly shed?
Well, even HE, the Heir of earth and heaven,
Had not a spot to lay his weary head.
And yet he murmured not, nor was in doubt!
The raven and the lily have their trust;
And shall the lamp of heavenly light go out

In souls ordained to conquer mortal dust?

Art thou reviled? Do foes ensnare thy feet?

Do proud ones mock thee, and thy friends betray? Thou canst not drain the bitter from the sweet,

Nor pluck the rose, and throw the thorn away. But, like thy Saviour, turn the other cheek,

When one is struck, and say, "Thou art forgiven!" Like him be faithful, and like him be meek,

And speed, as he sped, hopefully to heaven!

TRENTON FALLS.

A SHADOW in the hollow of God's hand

Art thou, wild, awful glen! where man may kneel, Undazzled by God's love, and calmly gaze

Into his holy and most loving eyes.

The moon, just o'er the crag soft glancing, smiles,
And dimpling wavelets look a sweet response.

A heavy volume, dropping from the rocks,

Is broken in ten thousand diamonds;

And the white, silvery mist, uprising, meets

The moonbeams on their way, and steals their smiles.

The shadows are most awful; and the roar
Of dashing waves falls on the timid ear
Like midnight thunders. Beauty, too, is thine;
Not such alone as dwells in tree and flower,
In jetting fountain, and stern, moss-clad rocks;
'Tis something indefinable and vast,·
A feeling in the soul as though the light
Of heaven had fallen through the stars,
And hid itself within the dim ravine.

While I gaze on thy wild, broken waters,
I recall a tender tale I knew in youth,
Of one who loved without a hope. He came,
Delirious in his fancy, at just such an hour,
To ramble o'er these rocks. An artist he,-
Not in his toils alone, but in his heart.
He drew his lady-love upon the air,