[In the grave-yard of the First Presbyterian Church, in Easton, Pa., there is a simple, modest tomb-stone with this inscription, "OUR LITTLE JOHNNY." This tomb, which marks the resting-place of a sweet, precocious boy, is the scene of the following verses, written by his Mother.-ED.]

"Tis past, 'tis o'er, my beautiful hath faded-
The grave now holds my treasure, and the sod
Rests on this bosom's idol! Have I made it
My soul's deep worship, and forgot my God?--
If
80, O Mightiest, to thy chastening rod

I bow submissive. 'Neath this churchyard stone
"Tis well that thus my prized, my gifted lies
Down in that dark, cold, silent bed alone,
Mourned by the night-wind's sad and fitful sighs;
Watched by the wakeful stars' soft, pitying, pensive eyes.

O ye pure orbs, why steal ye thus at even
So voiceless and so mournful? Have you all
Forgot the exulting shout that rang through heaven,
When first among you rolled this glowing ball,
Warm from God's hand? Where now the joyous call
Ye bright ones, that adorn
Of his glad sons?

Yon cloudless firmament, my anxious ears
List for your hymns in vain; and coming morn.
In her bright robe, that hides your fading spheres,
Shows me Earth's graves all wet, all glittering with your

tears.

Why weep you thus for her in night and sadness?
Are there no graves but hers? Has she alone
Lost her primeval lustre? Shall not gladness
Visit again this lone, this stricken one?-
How is her beauty changed, her splendour gone!--
Daughter of heaven, thy glorious brow is clouded-
Tombs are thy children's birthright-death their dower!
O lost, degenerate one, in darkness shrouded,
Dimmed is thy gold, bright pageant of an hour;
And sin's dread serpents hiss within thy fairest bower.

Weep on, ye pitying orbs, though vain your weeping;-
With tears her graves bedew; she, only she
Mourns her departed. None with you are sleeping---
You have no vault, no tomb, no cemetery;
Sinless, immortal, deathless, strong, and free!
Can ye give nought but tears? Have you no power
To heal her griefs? no balm to soothe her pain?--
O for some mighty hand, some favouring hour!
Descend, descend, and break this torturing chain,
Bind up her bleeding heart, and bid her smile again.

"Tis vain, all vain: yet hath she consolation;
'Tis earth to earth, 'tis dust to dust we give-
The spirit cannot die. The termination
Of wo, is death,-man dies that he may live-
Dies but a holier being to receive!
The enraptured soul, upspringing, chainless, free,
Exulting, trembling, spreads her untried wing!
Hark! hear ye not that heavenly harmony?
"Tis the glad song that the redeemed sing,
"Where is thy victory, grave! O Death, where is thy
sting?"

Weep not, thou stricken one, though darkness o'er thee,
And sin, and hell, have cast this mournful pall;
Fair, bright, unnumbered years are yet before thee;
Arise, and shine, thou holiest of them all!
Thy very dust shall live. Forth from the thrall
Of the dark tomb thy slumbering ones shall rise!
Hark! the Archangel's voice, the trumpet's call!
Earth shall be made a heaven, the joy of joys,
The ransomed of her God, the wonder of the skies!

AUNT RACHEL.

BY MRS. E. C. KINNEY.

nity, her fortunes had in early life been united to "a small pattern of a man" in every sense of the adjective. She obeyed, to the letter of the law, the divine mandate, 66 Let the wife see that she reverence her husband;" while, by an irresistible law of mind, her weaker half was quietly guided by the stronger. The illmatched but peaceful pair owned and occupied one of the amplest dwellings of the village, and were the possessors of a flourishing farm some three miles distant. Thus Aunt Rachel's purse, though not as large as her heart, often added to her unuttered prayers its untrumpeted alms. Her house was the home of hospitality, and while her immediate family consisted only of her passive spouse, herself, and servants, she generally headed a large well-filled board. Teaching the Scriptures at home, and preaching wherever and whenever the spirit moved, were considered a divine right with which her meek Jeremiah never interfered. The good Book was placed beside her daily at the breakfast-table, and after the meal was over, her family and guests enjoyed a scriptural feast, enriched by the modulations of her heaventoned voice.

WHO that ever saw her, could forget her? That serene face-in which benignity lent its radiance to classic features, marked by strength of purpose and resolute action; that figure the very ideal of the Roman Matron-that, clad in the sober habit of the Quaker, assumed no stateliness of carriage, but moved to the inborn grace and dignity of a Scripture prophetess; while the snowy kerchief folded across her bosom, seemed the brooding wing of the dove, whose pure and peaceful spirit dwelt within. She looked not over forty when I first saw her; but had been called Aunt Rachel by the reverent villagers for many years, as she came among them in the sacred character of a preacher; had won all ears by her truthful, melodious tones, and all hearts by the love that overflowed her own, and like an ever-living spring, made green all her pleasant borders. The term aunt, in her case, was evidently one of respect and endearment; not as applied to the doctress, nurse, or spinster-gossip of the village. It was used in part as a compromise for the Mrs. or Madam, that would have offended her Yea and Nay sect, as the atmosphere of sacredness that surrounded her, to a conventional people, quite forbade the oriental Rachel, even though it brought to mind, in its simplicity, the beautiful Scripture heroine; for Aunt Rachel's admirers were not confined to the Society of Friends; she recognised numerous friends among "the world's people" also. Nor were her ministrations limited to her own sect: wherever a sick-bed was approachable, there was found Aunt Rachel; not with the budget of nostrums and loud voice of expostulation; but moving, like a noiseless spirit, to smooth the sufferer's pillow-whispering in gentle tone the consoling word, or sending the voiceless prayer to Heaven, whose response was peace, nestling silently to the heart of the dying. Among the young people of the village, was To the young people of the neighbourhood, a beautiful maiden, who attached herself to Aunt Rachel was emphatically "a mother in Aunt Rachel at first sight, and became, in the Israel." Her inexpressibly gentle manner, course of time, to her as a daughter. The united with a keen perception, and delicate affection between them, exceeding even the appreciation of all their pleasures, pains, and ties of nature, could only be compared to the prospects, gained confidence unasked, and love attachment of Naomi and Ruth. Indeed Alice unstinted. Thus without the remotest charac- became so enthusiastic in her love at one time, teristic of an intermeddler, she became the re- that she would fain have forsaken her home pository of all heart-secrets-the mother-con- and sect, declaring to Aunt Rachel, "Where fessor of the youthful community. Aunt thou livest, I will live-thy people shall be my Rachel was not a maiden lady: by some unac- people, and thy God, my God!” But the kind countable accident, or some imperceptible affi- | expostulation of her less impassioned friend,

Aunt Rachel's, was a name familiar not only to the neighbouring towns, but to the cities also; and dearly was it revered in the "city of Brotherly Love," whose " 'yearly meetings"— despite their inevitable rainy accompaniment, she always attended. Whenever moved by the spirit to preach at a distance, the male members of the meeting to which she belonged awaited her bidding, vying with one another for the honour of conducting her to the appointed place. Thus without egotism, assumption or strife, she swayed all hearts, as gently and caressingly as the sweet southwest moves the vernal grove, or the rejoicing flowers.

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28

prevailed over her impulses so far as to pre-commingle with her own, and whose manly beau

vent a public renunciation of her religion, and
she endeavoured to content herself, by listen-
ing in private to the inspired lessons of her
sacred teacher; or hand in hand with her,
leaving in spirit the tumultuous world, and
"getting into the quiet," as Aunt Rachel de-
Alice
fined their seasons of silent worship.
was the daughter of a retired merchant, who
had left the city to finish his days in seclusion,
competence, and the free air of the country.
The lovely companion of his youth had yielded
her life in presenting him a daughter, and
grief once settled on his heart, like a bird of
night, departed not till she hatched a melan-
choly brood, that lived a fluttering life, but
He became
never forsook their secret nest.
stern and morose, and even the smiles of his
motherless daughter had no sunshiny influence
to draw forth the gloomy fledglings that he
Alice's nature, ever
cherished in his bosom.
brimming with love, needed only the touch of
sympathy to overflow, and her affection for
Aunt Rachel was the outgushing of a heart
whose deep had never till then been stirred.
What a scene for a painter was it, when she
sat at the feet of her spiritual teacher, her blue
eyes-like dewy violets opening to the light of
heaven-looking up to the countenance where
"majestic sweetness sat enthroned"-whose
sublime beauty formed a fitting contrast to the
poetic loveliness of the fair creature beside
her!

-

One regret mingled with their daily com-
munion: it was on the part of Aunt Rachel,
had
that her only child - her darling son
married just previous to her acquaintance with
Alice; that she could not take the lovely girl
to her bosom as a daughter literally as well as
She was the realization of the
spiritually.
fair, ideal-bride she had depicted for her son;
and he-she said it with the self-consciousness
that becomes true greatness, and is not in
opposition to humility, for she had trained him
-was the noble being that could have appre-
But
ciated and cherished the confiding Alice!
Aunt Rachel's son, who lived at a distance
from her, had a friend, who was the companion
of his youth; they had grown up to manhood
together, and now were united in a professional
business. Next to her son, he was dearest to
No
her heart, and was as yet unmarried.
wonder then, that the Quakeress often spoke of
him in the highest terms to Alice, and even
intimated the fond wish that, when they should
meet, an attachment might spring up between
them.

To such intimations the maiden re-
sponded with natural enthusiasm; for in her
love for Aunt Rachel, and the romance of her
nature, she began to indulge soft dreams of a
lordly and loving being whose ardent soul would

ty would fill her admiring eye, as the embodiment
of her early imaginings. After a while, this
project became a subject of daily conversation
Aun t
between the Friend and her protégée-an idea
that took such hold of their imaginations, that
it seemed something actually settled.
Rachel's belief that they were designed by
heaven for each other, gave a sacredness to
so nearly perfection, that she never
the subject; and to her partial eye both parties
Whether she mentioned the
dreamed they could be anything less in each
other's eyes.
safely infer that this pet plan was not concealed
matter in her letters, we cannot say; but may
secrets to keep from his friend.
from her darling son, and that he had no

were

66

One spring morning, as Alice was gathering wild flowers in her father's woodland, she was surprised by a sudden apparition crossing her path, whose form and face corresponded so entirely with her ideal of Wallace-as Aunt Rachel called her unmated mate-that she started, and inadvertently uttered some exclaThe gentlemation that drew the stranger's attention; to support herself against a tree. when her agitation so increased, that she had man taking her excitement for alarm, stepped towards her, and bowing respectfully, apologized for his intrusion, adding that the inviting spring atmosphere had led him farther destly begging her to add some flowers he had from his duties than he intended; when, mohimself been gathering, to her bouquet, he bade her good morning, calling her name, much to her surprise: while she scarcely recovered herself sufficiently to receive with graciousness Thank you, sir!” either the apology, or the flowers; but stammering out, "Not at all," she watched him as he left the wood in the direction of the village. He was out of sight "And he before Alice recovered her composure, and more like a vision than a reality. "It cannot be long did she sit, pondering over what seemed spoke my name," thought she. that Wallace has come to the village unknown to Aunt Rachel-yet it must be he; or why did voice thrill through me, like the music of my I feel so when he appeared? and why did his dreams? Perhaps he surprised me purposely, preferring such to a formal first-meeting. Possibly Aunt Rachel sent him to the wood, thinkShe is right-a person ing I might be there. of such appearance must have a noble mind gined Wallace to be! But I must hasten home; and nature! How strikingly he is what I imathere is, no doubt, a message for me there from Aunt Rachel." Here the young lady made a strike her mind and produce a change of sudden start, and with it, a new idea seemed to expression on her countenance. As she walked