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Consumption is fast hurrying her to her final rest,and although we, who watched her daily, saw not how fast she was fading, yet disease rests not day nor night. For many days, yea weeks, we have felt that she must leave us. Yet oftentimes blinded by that flattering disease, we hoped, and even thought, that soon we should hear her accustomed light step, and that soon she would take her former place in domestic affairs, but it was not to be so.

She was now waiting the will of "Him who doeth all things well," and earnestly desiring to behold the greatness and glory of him "who not having seen, she loved." All that now bound her to earth was her dear husband, and two rosy cheeked daughters that she felt needed a mother's kind and watchful care; that care which she herself knew how to value, for she had early been bereft of it. It cost many a struggle to give them up, but this she was enabled to do, for she felt that "the God who had sustained" her husband" in six trials, would be with him in the seventh," and also take care of her darling ones; and thus she was reconciled to whatever awaited her in the future.

As I left her on the evening of the eighth of September, I felt encouraged to leave her so well, and you may judge of my surprise when the next night I was called to see her die.

As I entered the house all was still-not even the pet dog welcomed me as usual; but all around me seemed to whisper that death was there. As I entered the chamber, Florence reached her hand towards me and whispered, "I am almost gone. 'Tis sweet to die in the arms of Jesus and feel that all is well."

She sank into a sweet slumber for a few moments, and then awoke and said a few words to us all-telling us how happy she was, and of the bright views of the Life before her. Just before her death, she called her husband to her, and told him that she saw the angels hovering round her calling "Sister spirit, come away."

Oh it was a sacred and solemn scene to see with what calmness and composure she "passed through the valley of the shadow of death, fearing no evil," but "with the rod and staff of God to support her," calmly bidding adieu to all the toils and cares of this life! She "fell asleep in Jesus" as she finished saying, "O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory? Thanks be to God, who giveth us the victory, through our Lord Jesus Christ."

Thus closed the life of one whom I had never

known but to love, and to whom I felt that death was gain.

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As we followed her to her final resting place, we wept, notwithstanding her request, Weep not for me," for we felt that we had lost a faithful counsellor and friend. But she has gone home, and we would not recall her. Let us profit by her example; and as far as she followed in the footsteps of her Divine Master, so far may we imitate her-and may we all be led to say, "Let me die the death of the righteous, and let my last end be like hers." Norwich, Conn.

THE HEART'S WAIL.

IT cometh with its holy light,

J. T. F.

The blessed Sabbath morn ; But my soul, darkened, dwells in night, Of light and beauty shorn.

Blank desolation is around,—
The air is vacancy,
A silent longing is the ground,
An anguish bends the sky.

In aching emptiness I raise

Towards heaven my yearning arms;
There shines the lustre of my days,
There glow life's ravished charms.
My heart calls to thee, precious child,
My beauteous, loving boy,
Of happy spirit, temper mild,
My only earthly joy.

I mourn thy absence; loudly rings
Each place the knell of bliss ;
And silent hope no longer sings
Of buoyant happiness.

I listen, but I cannot hear

Thy laughter, light and glad ;-
Oh, how I want thy smile to cheer
My heart, oppressed and sad.

My work for thee on earth is done,
My holy vigils o'er ;

And I can watch my darling one,

And wake for him no more.

Oh, once again to comfort him,

His sorrow kiss away! Rock him to sleep at twilight dim, And sing to him all day!

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to appropriate to himself the glory of the deed, killed his master while he was asleep, after the labor of the encounter, and buried him on the spot. He then returned to Hambye and persuaded his mistress that her husband had been killed in the conflict, and that himself had avenged his death by destroying the serpent; and finally that before her husband breathed his last, he expressed a wish that his widow would marry him. While she pondered in her heart whether to comply with this request, she was warned by the ghost of her husband that the death of him she deplored, was caused by the treachery of his page. This vision appearing nightly, she heeded the admonition, and became suspicious that it was but too true. She reported her suspicion to the judge, and the man was examined, confessed the crime, and was convicted. The unhappy lady, in commemoration of the event, caused this tower to be erected on the spot where her husband had slain the serpent, that she might see from her residence at Hambye the monument which her affections had caused her to place over his remains. I subjoin a translation which I have made from an old Norman French ballad, on this subject.

THE TREACHEROUS VALET.

WHERE Jersey's sea-girt island lies, An ancient tower doth stand, Whose turrets rising to the skies Look out on Gallia's strand.

The traveler who seeks to know The story it records,

Will hear a fearful tale of wo

Its history affords.

In days of chivalry (they say)
To love and glory dear,
A furious serpent found its way,
And made its dwelling here.

The trembling peasant often found
Its hideous jaws his tomb,
While quivering members scattered round
Proclaimed his comrades' doom.

From Normandy a valiant knight

To dare the monster came To die or vanquish in the fight,

And Hambye was his name.

In vain a young and beauteous wife
Allured by woman's charms,
He heeded neither love nor life,
When glory called to arms.

With kind embrace his leave he takes,

His way then fearless wends, A single page his escort makes,

And on his steps attends.

The monster marks the coming foe,
His crest is raised in ire,
His slimy lips with venom flow,
His eyes flash out with fire.

With quickening step the dauntless knight
His prowess hastes to prove,
His arm is ready for the fight,
No fears his bosom move.

With sure and steady aim a dart
Within his scales he drives,
The dragon keenly feels the smart,
In agony he writhes.

And now he tries to throw hisfolds
And on his victim rush,

The wary knight each feat beholds, And shuns the fatal crush.

And when the serpent dares advance To avenge his ebbing life,

Deep in his throat he thrusts his lance, And ends the mortal strife.

"The brave lord Hambye, may he live," Is shouted through the sky,

May heaven its choicest blessings give,"
The grateful peasant's cry.

O short lived triumph! wretched end
To this eventful day!
For treachery, fouler than a fiend,
Had marked him for its prey.

An unchaste flame had long possest
The bosom of his page,
The fire smouldering in his breast
Now burst forth in a rage.

And while his valiant master slept,

Nor dream'd of treacherous art, The faithless varlet softly crept

And stabbed him to the heart.

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O, who the deep despair shall paint
That seized the widowed dame ?
A pallid sickness made her faint,
Pervading all her frame.

But pitying heaven resolved to save
Her from the murderer's bed,
In mercy opens wide the grave,
The tomb gives up its dead.

In the dark watches of the night,
He leaves the silent tomb,
And standing in the widow's sight,
Reveals the bloody wound.

"Behold that mortal gash," says he,
"Implanted in my side,

It was the blow of treachery,
And by that blow I died,"

He said ;-then melting into air

Soon vanished from her view;
The dame revealed the strange affair,
And justice claimed her due.

They seize the wretch,-his conscious guilt
In trembling stands confest ;
The blood is now avenged, he spilt,

His master's ghost can rest.

And here upon these fertile lands,
Where he the serpent fought,
This tower his widow placed; it stands
To consecrate the spot.

She sees these turrets from afar,
They bless her weeping eyes,
She hails them as her polar star,
She hails them as she dies.

At evening hour or stilly night,
Among the forest trees,
A murmur soft and voices light

Are mingled with the breeze.

And airy forms are often seen,
Beneath the moon's mild ray,
In converse sweet upon the green,
Ere night is turned to day.

There are some caves on the north side of the island which are visited by strangers at low water. The access is somewhat difficult, and scarcely repays the labor, for these caves are on a very moderate scale.

The market at St. Helien is a very fine building, and well supplied with fish, flesh and fowl. Some fish are peculiar to these islands. There is a shell fish called the borné, being an abbreviation for the sea-ear, and so named from its resemblance to the human ear. It has but a single shell, and attaches itself to the rocks. It is very rich and luscious, considerably larger than the oyster, but very inferior in delicacy of flavor. The sands also abound with small eels, which are raked up at low water, and are very good eating.

There is a custom peculiar to these islands with respect to the sea-weed that grows on the rocks. This weed is called by the inhabitants Vareck, but is known to sailors on the coast of America, as the Gulf weed. It is considered of such importance that there are laws designating the seasons for cutting it, which are twice a year, and officers are appointed to make a fair division according to fixed regulations. At the season for harvesting it, the country people throughout the island, may be seen swarming on the rocks like bees. They carry their dinner with them, and live on the sea-shore. The weed is reaped with a hook. It is a frolicking time, and men and women join in the labor. I used to anticipate this time in my boyhood, with much pleasure, and enter into it with vast satisfaction. Even the sea-weed that floats ashore, is subject to a fair distribution, and cannot be gathered up at random. It may be well to give a reason for the importance attached to this weed. In the first place, it is used for manure, and is found to be an excellent fertilizer. The farmers plough it in the furrow; they spread it on the land in the Spring, and its unctuous qualities greatly enrich their pastures. In the second place, the less wealthy portion of the community use it for fuel. They spread it in the sun to dry, and then it makes a good steady fire. In such a mild climate, it answers such a purpose very well. There is but little wood on the island. The rich use coal, and the poor vareck, and for heating their ovens they make use of farze or gorse, which is bound up in faggots and left to dry. The ashes from the sea-weed are also highly esteemed as a manure.

The inhabitants of these islands are generally

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small in stature, but hardy, enterprising, frugal, industrious and moral. They are superlatively loyal and patriotic, and think as much of their little spot of native soil, as the American can think of his extended country. They are found in all parts of the world, though of course but very few in one place, and I have never found in different countries where I have traveled, any one from these islands in absolute poverty or asking assistance, unless overtaken by some unavoidable calamity such as sickness, fire or shipwreck. Milwaukie, Wis.

THE BIBLE.

C. F. LE FEVRE.

SCEPTIC, teach us not to doubt it!

While on life's broad sea we sail; What were life or death without it?

Human strength and efforts fail. Would ye have no rod and compass,

'Mid the darkness of the night? When the waves are dashing round us,

Would ye have no beacon light?

Sceptic, teach us not to doubt it!
Mariners upon the deep-

Every breeze but makes more real
Memories that never sleep.
Soon a dark line proudly gleameth!

Home! 'tis home! beyond the strand, While a joyful shout is echoed—

'Tis the sailor's cry of land.

Sceptic, teach us not to doubt it !

Promiser of joys like this,
Great the toils we could not suffer

For an hour so full of bliss.
So when our life's toils are ended,

We shall view the holy hill,
Where within our Father's mansion
New joys shall the spirit fill.

Sceptic, teach us not to doubt it!
It hath many an hour beguiled;
Like a green oasis smiling,

Smiling midst the desert wild.
There we've bathed in cooling waters-
There we've ate the bread of life;
While the heart renewed its vigor,

For life's journey and its strife.

Sceptic, teach us not to doubt it!

Would ye have us thus to die? Wrecked and lost amid the darkness! Whither! whither shall we fly?

No, the faith is strong that guides us; We believe that He who holds

Planets in their trackless courses, Safe beneath his care enfolds.

M. ELLEN HOLCOMB.

CHURCH PAPERS. NO. IV.

THE COMMUNION.

YOUR Committee propose at this time to consider briefly the uses of the Communion, and to examine the grounds of the prevalent objections urged against its observance.

It cannot but awaken, in the earnest and thoughtful mind, a fear that religion is not regarded generally as a personal interest, an individual concern, when many who have made a profession of it, neglect this service, and when the mass of worshipers of a Christian congregation retire on the Sabbath from the house of God before its celebration. It is painful fear; and many serious questions will present themselves for consideration, and we would wish that every one who withdraws would unburthen his heart and tell us freely and manfully what is the obstacle to his participation in the ordinance. The heart often yearns with love and sympathy for the thoughtless or the wavering, and feels an assurance that all hindrances and excuses would be dissipated by an honest and deliberate examination of them. Many, it may be, are unpersuaded of its efficacy; and many are withheld by secret objections and prejudices which they hardly dare scrutinize, or deliberately and openly experss.

A consideration then of the uses of the Communion, may bring conviction to one class of minds; and an examination of the excuses for its neglect, may dispel the doubt or delusion of another class; and your Committee cannot but regard the presentation of this subject by the Pulpits of our Faith, as likely to awaken attention and lead the minds of the hearers to clear and definite convictions of duty, and thus strengthen our bonds of union and religious fellowship, and confirm and render more effective our church organization; thus extend the true and legitimate influence of our faith over those who ostensibly profess it. The want of vitality in Christian faith is traceable perhaps mainly to the erroneous belief that the Church is the expounder of the truth, and that an occasional outward observance will meet all the requisitions

of society, and satisfy the conscience; and if the Church fail to insist upon peculiar ordinances, they may be safely left to individual option, and are binding only upon those who acknowledge their force and assume the obligation to observe them.

What then are the uses of the Communion? We believe in Jesus Christ, the Son of God; that he spake the words of truth and wisdom; that he lived a pure and holy life; that faith in him, obedience to his teachings, cherishing his spirit, alone can bring us peace and blessedness, and redeem us from the power of sin and evil; to deepen and confirm this belief, we need to come near unto him, to the very spirit of his life and trials and death, and put away, as it were, the centuries which roll between him and us, and look upon him in contemplation as an elder brother, an exemplar, the child of the same Parent and our Guide and Teacher and Master, dwelling in our midst, sharing our sorrows and griefs; the ever-present ideal of living and dying virtue. The great office of Christianity is to form his spirit in us, and make us his faithful disciples. This nearness to Christ, every heart should, above all things else, desire, if it would share in his triumphs and his glory. And in the Lord's Supper we endeavor to draw nigh unto him in spirit and communion, to a realization of his life and teachings, to feel that we are gaining juster views of life and duty, and are being sanctified through God's truth which he spake unto us. Believing that he requested his disciples thus to remember him, and desiring that we may be worthy of his name, we but obey our dying Master's command to do this in remembrance of him. It is a natural and grateful act of commemoration, free from all mystery or mysticism, all vagueness or superstition; an act which commends itself to every soul which loves the blessed Savior and truth, and who would obey his precepts.

In the early ages of the Church, all worshipers observed this command as a needful and established ordinance, and there was none of that exceeding sensitiveness in regard to its profanation which now prevails. It was regarded as intended for the edification of all who bore the Christian name, and not as a distinctive rite to be enjoyed only by the few. Those who partook at the Lord's Table were required only to believe in the Messiahship of Jesus, that he was a divinely commissioned Teacher, and that he spake the words of God's truth as one having authority, and who lived the doctrines he pro

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