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[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 so, 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
Of his glad sons? Ye bright ones, that adorn
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, "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 ill-
matched 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 preach-
ing 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 break-
fast-table, and after the meal was over, her
family and guests enjoyed a scriptural feast,
enriched by the modulations of her heaven-
toned 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 figurethe 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,bers of the meeting to which she belonged 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. To the young people of the neighbourhood, Aunt Rachel was emphatically "a mother in Israel." Her inexpressibly gentle manner, united with a keen perception, and delicate appreciation of all their pleasures, pains, and prospects, gained confidence unasked, and love unstinted.

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 mem

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.

Among the young people of the village, was a beautiful maiden, who attached herself to Aunt Rachel at first sight, and became, in the course of time, to her as a daughter. The affection between them, exceeding even the ties of nature, could only be compared to the attachment of Naomi and Ruth. Indeed Alice 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,

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prevailed over her impulses so far as to prevent a public renunciation of her religion, and she endeavoured to content herself, by listening 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 defined their seasons of silent worship. Alice 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 melancholy brood, that lived a fluttering life, but never forsook their secret nest. He became stern and morose, and even the smiles of his motherless daughter had no sunshiny influence to draw forth the gloomy fledglings that he cherished in his bosom. Alice's nature, ever 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!

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

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 exclamation that drew the stranger's attention; when her agitation so increased, that she had to support herself against a tree. The gentleman 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 from his duties than he intended; when, modestly begging her to add some flowers he had himself 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 either the apology, or the flowers; but stammering out, "Not at all,"-"Thank you, sir!" she watched him as he left the wood in the direction of the village. He was out of sight before Alice recovered her composure, and long did she sit, pondering over what seemed more like a vision than a reality. "And he

One regret mingled with their daily communion: it was on the part of Aunt Rachel, 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 spiritually. She was the realization of the 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-spoke my name," thought she. "It cannot be ciated and cherished the confiding Alice! But 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 her heart, and was as yet unmarried. No 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 responded 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

She is right-a person

that Wallace has come to the village unknown
to Aunt Rachel-yet it must be he; or why did
I feel so when he appeared? and why did his
voice thrill through me, like the music of my
dreams? Perhaps he surprised me purposely,
preferring such to a formal first-meeting. Pos-
sibly Aunt Rachel sent him to the wood, think-
ing I might be there.
of such appearance must have a noble mind
and nature! How strikingly he is what I ima-
gined Wallace to be! But I must hasten home;
there is, no doubt, a message for me there from
Aunt Rachel." Here the young lady made a
sudden start, and with it, a new idea seemed to
strike her mind and produce a change of
expression on her countenance. As she walked

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