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business of living She shrank from no task after that which seemed at all necessary. A melancholy debility had settled on the mind of her father, and she took charge of his business, his house, everything. She was the idol of the whole neighborhood, and many a laughing maiden, merrier than she was thoughtful, was pointed to Effie Stanton as a noble pattern of a

woman.

words she calmly kissed them one by one, and slept serenely.

Six years afterwards I stood on this bank. Effie was a woman. Her eye was full of light, her step firm and graceful, and in everything she was beautiful. She stood by my side, and we spoke of that fearful night when Henry swam so bravely with George. Her eye filled with tears as she heard me speak of her noble brother, now occupying a high place among the professional men of our great city.

“Yes,” said she," he is worthy of all our love. To me he has been more than brother ever was to sister. I tremble when I think of God's taking him too !”

“God forbid that he should die now, in the strength and promise of his youth.”

“Ah, who can foretell aught ?" said she ;“he may yet die suddenly. His health is not good, and he is very weak.”

There seemed to be something prophetic in her sadness that night. A month later, after a brilliant forensic effort at the bar of the Supreme Court in New York, he retired to his hotel, and never left it again till we carried him to his mother's side in the old graveyard.

Effie, dear Effie," said he one day not long before his death, "you are alone now. I need not ask you to cherish our father. But, Effie, you will love some one ere long. It is sad to think that our Effie is to be left to strangers, and that some one will have to love and care for her whom we have never known. Father's mind is too weak to depend on.

Be strong, dear sister, in yourself, and never, never leave Woodbank. You will bury me there, and then stay near to watch us, will you not ? You will be rich, very rich when father dies, and you must make it a condition of your marriage that your husband shall retain Woodbank always, and that you shall be buried with us when you die."

Effie promised all, and received the last kiss of her brother with pale but tearless face, and I led her from his clay.

This trial had the effect to nerve her to the

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I don't know how she happened to meet Mr. Wheaton. I believe it was while travelling. At all events she never has had occasion to regret the meeting. Woodbank was a happy place when Effie's husband came to it. And again the smiles of joy lit the dear old rooms, and again the sunshine fell holily on the greensward before the door. They made a feast for all the country-side when they came home in June, and the old park was filled with the gay and happy villagers. And if Effie's face did sometimes lose that smile of calm delight, if a shadow did come across her sunny forehead, it was dispelled in an instant by the soft kisses of the lost ones whom she was mourning, and whose arms she never ceased to feel around her as of old.

There is yet another grave in the churchyard, made since then. Mr. Stanton sleeps by his sweet wife and noble sons. The companionship of the grave, how beautiful! And Effie comes not seldom, when the departing sun tinges the old church-spire, and her heart so full of joy, of calm and placid joy in her husband and her children, will then, in spite of herself, come up in her throat and choke her, and she cannot keep the tears from running freely down her yet full and fair cheeks, when she reads their names over, one by one, and remembers their voices and their holy love, and her heart flies back, back through the long sad years, and she thinks of Woodbank in the olden time. Yet, after all, few homes are as happy as hers is now--few faces so full of the evidence of serene happiness as the face of my Cousin Effe.

Gar

A LETTER FROM THE DOVE'S NEST.

WHERE is the Dove's Nest ? Ah, dear reader, that is precisely the point upon which we cannot enlighten you. But a few days since, a communication fell into our hands which was thus dated, purporting to have been written originally by Lilla to her friend Lizzy; (now don't be alarmed, gentle reader. There is no scandal in it-not a particle ;) and we think we must present you with the letter, or at least with a part of it. She talks sensibly. But who is Miss Lilla ? You are too hard for us again. The most we know is that she writes rather sensibly, and that she dates from the Dove's Nest.-EDITOR.

I live in a world of my own creation, Lizzy. Forms long since passed from earth meet my eye, and are hovering near me. Voices hushed in death still are ringing in my ears. In my day life I seem to dwell in dream-land. Indeed, you have called me a “foolish dreamer," and said I "lived so much in a castle," that, like Jane Taylor, "you feared I forgot sometimes that I lived in a house." I can only say in self-defence that when at home, I have a realizing sense of being the possessor of a house, and a large one too. I have become a notable housewife, skilled in all the mysteries of Miss Leslie's Cook Book, and wage Quixotic battles against cobwebs and all other things which endanger my hard-earned reputation for neatness. But I do not deny that I am a dreamer, and never happier than when in the embrace of Morpheus. In the time when the night-god waves over man his sceptre of silence, my spirit has drank in long draughts of bliss. Melodious, sweet, fleeting strains, like the rushing of angels' wings as they sweep by the earth, bringing with them air fresh from heaven, loaded with perfume as from the land of spices, ravish me.

Voices low and pleasant as the breathing of a slumbering infant, dreaming of whispering spirits, fall upon my listening ear. Gentle thoughts of departed friends, withered leaves revived by memory's warm breath, come floating by, and anon I hear a wail like the cry of a crushed, despairing spirit, when the last heart-string has broken, because the miserly earth has taken its only treasure to hide it in its own harsh bosom. At times I have found my

self transported, by invisible hands, to gardens lovely as a painter would desire to transfer to his waiting canvas, where flowers bloomed white as the snow-flake which falls gently, confidingly to earth's cold breast, rosy as if fresh from the touch of angels' fingers. Silently have I sometimes sunk down into the depths of ocean. Palaces of crystal, beautiful, brilliant, and graceful as those which the frost king builds in the chill morn, to vanish with the sun's kiss, gladdened my eye. Lovely maidens, with faces placid as childhood's, wandered at will among groves of coral, while clouds of fragrant incense floated in the air, seeming as those which are cradled upon the azure western sky at even. Soft tales of love were whispered in the ears of rosy-breasted shells, that they might re-echo them in the ears of loved ones. Then it was revealed to me that the sounds of the sea, which still linger in these beautiful tenants of the deep when they are brought from their watery home to the green earth, are but echoes of heart-throbbings. Sometimes to me have they whispered that an offering has been laid upon the shrine of my own heart, and waking, their tones were still ringing upon its quivering strings. Did you ever hear, Lizzy, the music called Spirit Waltz, by Beethoven ? It is such melody as makes one think. Ilow intranced its inspired author must have been to have composed it. Now a low, sweet strain is heard, as if his spirit held communion with itself. Pleasant thoughts are his, but quiet, sad ones. Then wild, rich, triumphant tones fall upon the startled ear. Visions of light, glorious splendor, had burst upon him. Now a gush of mournful tenderness, like the lay of the wounded heart, then a joyful outburst, as if a balm had been found for the tortured spirit, and it was rejoicing in recovered happiness.

I have just been to Niagara. I never before felt the true meaning of the word glorious. Glorious, glorious Niagara! How can man essay to describe thee? I would as soon strive to copy the lightning's vivid glare, or echo the thunders of the rushing whirlwind. I would I had been the first Indian who saw thee. How must his eye have revelled in thy majestic

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amount of labor; and if all its energies were not brought into vigorous action during the day, the deficiency was atoned for during sleep; and again, I have likened fancy to an exacting tyrannical queen, who, reigning in the time when the stars come out, jealous and indignant that her fetters are cast off and her reign interrupted during the cares and business of the day, exacts the more perfect obedience to her commands, wielding an iron sceptre, when allowed to exercise undisputed authority. But, dear Lizzy, I am grown tiresome. Yours ever,

LILLA.

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PART 1.

The Sabbath was drawing to a close. Stillness, so sacred as to make one feel solemn, reigned. The sun, now hid, sent along the sky floods of golden light, and made earth glorious. It was a season calculated to subdue the heart and lead it to God.

There was one-memory recalls her now as she seemed then-who at that sweet hour was holding communion with the “ Father of lights." Only fourteen summers had passed over her, and they had been the witnesses to her protracted sufferings. The developments of her mind and heart had been too great for her seeble frame, and at that tender age she displayed the ripe attainments, judgment, and emotions of a woman. No one could look on her beautiful countenance, in which were blended the lines of intellectual strength, with the inost exquisite traces of female loveliness, without admiration and love. sighed as they perceived in these very developments the signs of a short but brilliant life. We did not think to keep her long, and supposed our hearts were gradually preparing for a separation we knew must be painful above

words to describe. But we did not know our own hearts, not having perceived that her very sufferings and early departure in prospect, had more strongly endeared her to us.

We said it was a holy stillness which pervaded all things that Sabbath evening, the last she was to spend with us on earth. Had we known that before another sunset even, she would be sleeping in death, that scene consecrated to affection would have been marred by grief, and dissipated by anticipated sorrow. Providence wisely has bid the future. For a long time not a word was spoken, till her own voice broke the silence.

" " I would not live alway, I ask not to stay,' how beautiful and yet how solemn! Brother and sister, will you not sing them for me?"

Inspired by the occasion, we sang the hymn throughout. The young sufferer caught the poet's enthusiasm, and seemed to forget for a while the pains of earth. We were all brought into a unison with her feelings, as we united in the last lines :

But many

“ Where the saints of all ages in harmony meet,

Their Saviour and brethren transpor to grect, While the anthems of raptare unceasingly roll, And the smile of the Lord is the feast of the soul."

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but no earthly voice, not even a mother's, could recall the departing spirit. One feeble gasp, and the work of death was complete. She breathed out her life in her brother's arms, and she seemed truly taking rest in sleep."

After death that beautiful countenance was wreathed with the same smile she was wont to wear when alive, and as we saw that we remembered a favorite stanza which she herself loved when with us on earth, and which was found copied among her papers :

" But there beamed a smile So fixed, so holy, from that marble brow ; Death gazed and left it there-he dared not steal The signet ring of heaven."

As the music ceased, her countenance was all radiant with smiles as she exclaimed, “How sweet! and IT IS ALL TRUE!” The evening incense then was offered on the family altar,

we all bowed around the throne of grace, we had some realization of the exceeding value of His friendship, who promises to accompany his children through the valley of the shadow of death. The evening itself so still and so glorious, the music so sweet and inspiring, the evening prayer so filled with the earnest breathings of a pious father's heart, all combined to prepare that family for the solemn “ to-morrow.” And now in looking back to that scene, we have no doubt we were guided by the watchful Redeemer into such a course as should best prepare the dear sufferer for the great change so near.

The morning came, beautiful as ever smiled on the earth, but it could not animate the dying. A feeble pulse, excessive languor, and a gradual sinking away, painfully told us of the separation near. The mother could not endure it, but left the room sobbing in heart-breaking agony, “Dear child, she is going !" The father, his heart aching with grief, not for her, but for those that should survive, groaned with irrepressible agony. An invalid brother, who for two years had been her constant companion in the sick-room, wept aloud; whilst her only sister gave way to an incontrollable burst of grief. An older brother laid her head on his breast at her request, and there she slept sweetly as an infant. Not a clond filted across her beautiful countenance, the screnity of which was but a true index to that which reigned within.

At length the father controlled his feelings sufficiently to inquire of the departing:

My daughter, can you trust the Saviour at this trying moment ?"

For one moment she unclosed her eyes, and their glance, so full of hope almost realized, plainly indicated, that she knew in whom she believed.” Iler only reply was one which united self-distrust with hope, such as a sinner redeemed by Christ should always have.

I think I can!They were her last words. Again she slept quietly for a few moments, and then an expression of pain shot across her countenance like a flash of lightning across the sky, when no cloud is perceptible. The final struggle was come. “My daughter! my daughter!" exclaimed the distressed mother;

Such was the death of this lovely and gifted girl. She had suffered much, yet suffered patiently. She saw life fading away, but faith led her to realize that a brighter day would dawn. She had many tears to shed over shortcomings and imperfections, yet she drew comfort from thinking of a country where the inhabitants shall no more say “I am sick," and “ God shall wipe all tears from their eyes.” She was a timid, feeble child, the most shrinking of her sex, and yet she calmly met the universal enemy, before whom stout hearts and brave have trembled. She met not her end in the mad frenzy of battle, but in the calm retreat of home. She died young, yet died very happy in the fullest confidence in Jesus, the crucified, as an all-sufficient Saviour. It was a cheering triumph of Christianity over the timidity of childhood, and the just fears of a sinner. Were Christianity the grossest delusion ever imposed on mankind, still we are ready to say in sach cases as this, “Let me die the death of the righteous, and let my last end be like his."

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Drops his blue fringed lids, and holds them close,
And hooting at the glorious sun in heaven,
Cries out' Where is it?'"

young intidel.

ness,“ may it not sometimes require greater credulity to disbelieve than to believe certain alleged truths ? For instance, a thousand men testify to you that on the morning of the 20th of November, 1832, they all saw the heavens kindled into a perfect blaze with the most brilliant meteors, which rained along the sky like fire-drops, and that for hours. You were asleep at the time, and so were many others. The phenomenon transcends all previous facts of that kind. Such a thing had never before been seen as a continuous storm of meteors ! And yet would you risk your character for good sense on a denial of what so many witnesses unite in asserting ?"

* Yes, yes; I know your eloquent illustrations," replied the youth, tardily; " as eloquent a year or two ago against religion as they now are in its favor! Your face has two sides which you can shift to suit the times, and your tongue certainly is forked, since a short time ago it hissed out its hatred against religion with the venom of a serpent, and now, forsouth, the same tongue is dripping with honey and love for the same object !"

An expression of agony was apparent in the young Christian's face at this allusion to his previous history, but he controlled his feelings and proceeded with his argument.

“I was speaking of credulity. Here is the Bible, fortified with evidence from antiquity, from nature, from the soul of man, from its surprising adaptations to man

as we everywhere find hiin, in fact with evidence from every source. Yesterday you were compelled to acknowledge that man must have some religion or other. He is so constituted that you cannot exterminate from his nature that very want. Now I put it to you as an honest reasoner to choose which man shall have, Paganism, with its horrid pollutions; Mohammedanism, with its gross sensuality and known imposture; Deism, with its loose mora and uncertain future ; Atheism, with its licentiousness in this world and its eternal sleep; or the

very Christianity you profess to hate so bit? terly ?"

The youth thus pressed by the eloquent logic up to a point he wished to evade, now substituted invective and sarcasm for argument, and in so doing amply verified the assertion of the poet concerning the nature of infidelity :

" The owlet Atheism, Sailing on obscene wings athwart the noon,

“Say what you will," he replied, bitterly, “ about the excellence, beauty, and credibility of Christianity, you know that many of its professors are most barefaced and contemptible hypocrites! and the Bible itself commands us to judge a systern by its fruits."

Suppose I grant all this, have you done justice to your own candor to forget many who actually exemplify the doctrines they love, and fix your attention on a few who you know do not comply with their profession ? Ah, my young friend, I heard you once speak of a consistent and pious mother. Must she be forgotten, and only some lying hypocrite remembered ?" This application was too pungent for the

His argument was annihilated, and even his sneers had spent their whole force on himself. And now he bared the serpent in his heart as he exclaimed angrily :

“ Well, I tell you now once for all that I will not believe such trash. I hate it heartily, and the more heartily the more I think of it!" And so be rushed from the room. “ Poor boy !" said his friend with tears. “I fear I have ruined him beyond recovery. O God of mercy, undo the awful work of those years when I affected to disbelieve thy Holy Word!"

The youth alluded to enjoyed religious privileges from childhood, but unfortunately at a public school was thrown into the society of a young insidel, whose talents fascinated him. His own precocious intellect had attached the young man to him, although there was such a disparity of years. It was not long before that intercourse had sapped his early education, and in the brilliant sallies of his accomplished friend he learned to doubt, then to deride, then to disbelieve, then to hate the Christian religion. Time rolled on, and with it grew into a passion the youth's infidelity, until he advocated it with such bitterness as might be expected from a gray-headed skeptic.

Not many months after this painful seduction of a young heart from the religion his mother had taught him, the young man was convinced of his error, and became a humble Christian, and that through a mightier agency than hu

His first desire now was to rescue that gifted youth from the abyss into which he had

man.

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