early beauty, and go down to the tomb mantled about with your own holiness.

"My sorrow is deep," said the mother, "but my faith in God is sure. Why should I lament that one so pure has gone to a happier home? Be like her, my dear young friend, and God will bless you.

Here, take this rose; it has lain upon her breast; place it upon thine, and let it be to thee a talisman of purity."

In many an hour of

I laid it next my heart. temptation it has protected me. tor and shield, thou sweet moss-rose.

Be still my moni

III. THE ROSE BAPTISM.

We stood on the shore of a beautiful pond. The dew was falling around us, silent as the descent of the Spirit, and the golden light of eve was fading from the woodland tops that overhung the water. We had been talking of romance, and poetry, and all holy things, of the moral influences of nature, of friends we loved, of the labors of the evangelists, of the holy love of pure hearts, of the few and transient meetings allotted us on earth, and of heaven as the only place where we can rest in our love. Our hearts had melted beneath the influence of fervent friendship, and the spot where we had reposed had become consecrated forever in our memories of the sacred hours of human life. Long had we lingered there, beneath the slender boughs

of the scented birch, unwilling to tear ourselves away from a place that had such power to sanctify our affections. The twinkling of the stars through the greenwood trees at last disturbed our quiet dreams. We came and stood by the rippling water. It was desecrated by an unholy name. The spirit of poesy fled at the sound. Our gospelpoet stood upon the wave-washed rock that overlooked the broad, gold-beaming pond. Annie placed in my hand a sweet wild rose she had plucked from the edge of the caving bank. I dipped it in the soft water that slept like a font at the base of the rock, and shook it over the clear smooth surface of the pond. The young evangelist spread out his hand, and blessed it with a new name, which no man knoweth save those in whom dwelleth the spirit that can feel its beauty. It was a simple rite, yet it seemed to us holy; and forever in our hearts will that name and scene be enshrined, as types of those awaiting hours when communions like this will be eternal.

IV. GABRIEL'S WIN G.

What a scene! O my soul, who can fathom the depth of thy emotion? Here we are at the summit of this rugged hill, and what glory breaks upon our view! the heavens, the sunset heavens ! and that broad oversweeping cloud! look at it, friends, spreading from north to south over all the broad sky.

"What a beautiful semblance of Gabriel's wing!" said the young clergyman of our party, who is ever forming holy similitudes from all lovely and glorious things in nature; "there are the white plumes spreading far across the heavens, and radiating from one small golden eye intensely brilliant it reminds me of those beautiful lines by Moore:

"When night, with wings of starry gloom,
O'ershadows all the earth and skies,
Like some dark beauteous bird, whose plume
Is sparkling with unnumbered eyes,—
That sacred gloom, those fires divine,

So grand, so countless, Lord, are thine."

The wing seemed to unfold more and more during the progress of our walk, and, when we came to the little lakelet of the hills, we found its whole bosom filled with the reflection. "The mirror of Gabriel's wing! "exclaimed one of the party; "O now, what a poetical name, if people would only pronounce it with sanctified lips!"

"No wonder," said our minister, no wonder that Peter thought he might walk upon the water, if the sea of Galilee were as smooth and glassy as this little pond. I know of no description," continued he," which could give us a more definite idea of the immense multitudes that gathered to hear our Saviour, than the simple account of his being obliged to take ship and launch out into the

sea, that he might be somewhat apart from the dense mass of people that thronged the shores."

The wing began soon to fade away in the twilight, and we returned with the image sealed in our memories, to be recalled thousands of times, with its train of holy associations, till that more glorious eve shall come, when, borne on Gabriel's wing above the earth, we enter the everlasting gardens of heaven. S. C. E.

WEALTH, FAME, BEAUTY.

BY A. C. THOMAS.

A VISION had I, and its varied array
A waking conception may seem;
But none against fancy will rashly inveigh,
Nor mock me for framing a dream,
If what I indite any truth shall display,
Allied to the moralist's theme.

I dreamed that a singular conjuror came,
And held up a mirror to view,

Wherein the enchantments of riches and fame,
Which mortals with ardor pursue,

And all the endearments that beauty may claim, Were shadowed in images true.

For riches, full oft, I in secret had sighed,
The means of a blessing to man;

The honors which fame had to others supplied,

I failed not in rapture to scan;

And haply I sought for a beautiful bride,
The crown of my every plan.

This magical mirror, I inwardly said,

The fulness of hope shall supply;

The joy of the heart, and the thought of the head, Shall here be unveiled to the eye;

And fancy in gladness my destiny read,

Believing fruition was nigh.