BY MRS. E. P. H.

Ir is a beautiful and pleasant thought, that the spirits of the departed, especially those who were young and pure upon earth, hover around us in our quiet hours. When the cares of the world press heavily upon the burdened soul, or adverse fortune or faithless friends cause us to turn away in heart sickness to the retirement of the pensive twilight hour, and all is still but the low music of the wind sighing through the trembling leaves-we can almost feel a soft breath upon our cheek, or hear the rustling of the presence of a loved spirit which renders the atmosphere more holy around us. The fevered brow seems fanned by a refreshing coolness, and we feel encouraged by the angel watcher to hope on, and trust confidingly in Him who doeth all things well-and who, in his own good time, to the faithful in heart will grant re-union and rest in heaven. And when the pillow is pressed for repose in the long and weary nights, but sleep refuses to nestle there, while the brain is crowded with troubled visions of the day, a bright face of angelic sweetness peers through the darkness, to guard, and soothe, and bear the evening orison to the eternal throne.

I knew a young mother, whose wealth of love was garnered upon her first-born, a fair bird of angel plumage, that rested in her bosom with confiding love. Long and intently did she watch in silence the sleeping boy, as if her whole soul were absorbed in his existence. But her

mind was not idle-yet scarcely did she seek to penetrate the thick veil that hid the future; for she felt that the little being was too pure for the dross of earth-and that his immortal spirit was destined to be an angel in Heaven. Oh! the love that existed between that parent and child. It was such as few can know, and fewer feel. Another and another occupied the place of the first-born; but scarcely was that love diminished, though so equally divided among each. Mysterious power of maternal ties!

"Daughter! give me thy heart!" in firm, but gentle tones, fell on her ear. "Give me thine idols," and the widowed mother's heart bled in its bitterness, when her fair-haired, delicate boy became an angel

To her little orphans, her spirit clung even more tenaciously, and together they braved the cold world. Clouds and darkness, anxiety, and care pressed heavily upon the soul, but the flitting of a seraph's face dispelled the gloom; and "mother! dear mother!" was like balm to the wounded spirits.

Years rolled on; a period short when past, but longvery long in passing-fraught as those years were with many trials. We might turn from page to page in the history of that mother's life, and find much that is dark and tearful; but a bright spot illumines its sadness—the Angel watcher is ever near.

The mother is no longer young. The storms of life have bleached the tresses that once shaded her young brow-and time and care have pencilled lines upon those smooth features. The sons have attained to manhood; and new thoughts, attachments, and motives must necessarily actuate them and though a mother's love can never die, she feels that they are in a measure estranged

from her and more frequent, perhaps, are the visits of the Angel watcher, with the bright seraphic face-and the low, sweet tones of "Mother! dear mother! come up hither!" sound joyfully prophetic.

To her, the angel is a little angel still; he has not grown old like the wearied of earth-but is of such as form that blest band which surround the Eternal's throne, and of that number of whom our Saviour said, “Of such is the kingdom of heaven."

I once knew twin sisters, very fair, pure and lovely, and bound together by indissoluble ties of affection. Joyously they sported in the morning of life-their tiny feet wandering beside the bubbling stream, to watch the glittering fish that frolicked in the glassy waters, like themselves, without any fixed aim or pursuit; or again they might be seen climbing the sunny hill-side, and gathering wild flowers to deck each other in fairy beauty; or twining a wreath of violets around the neck of a pet lamb, which looked up alternately to each with eyes of love and innocence. Or perchance they were filling a little basket with the delicious blushing strawberries that dotted the meadows, to present to their fond parents; or with their young hearts overflowing with benevolence, were tripping lightly to carry them to a neighboring cottage, where a poor and aged invalid would look the gratitude she could scarcely speak for such kind remembrance.

School days followed, and together they scanned the enlightening pages; new ideas were developed-new thoughts uttered-new feelings called forth. What a world of splendor, adaptation, and wisdom, burst upon the mental vision! The buoyant spirits were slightly hushed-the calm, serene beauty of young womanhood

was stamped on each fair brow. Stronger were the links of love rivetted that bound them together-one heart, one purpose, one faith was theirs—and they were inseparable. Inseparable? alas! that such ties should be severed, even for a season. Fever, and sickness, and pain paled one of the loved and loving; and the angel of mercy bore her immortal spirit to the Eden of the blest. Why clung the lone mourner to her solitude, like the dove bereft of her mate, shunning the society of those who would share her sorrows! Dearer far was the presence of the Angel watcher that looked in upon her loneliness, whispering hope and trust to meet in a brighter world. "Come, sister!" was music in her ears, and again the calm smile returned to her lips,- —a subdued joy to her eyes.

Thus passed three summers. Again the autumn wind moaned sadly for the departed warmth and freshness and glory; and the falling leaves covered the dead flowers. Mournful was the requiem of summer's farewell—but we knew that in a little time the glorious season would return again with unimpaired beauty. Unseen, unheard by all but the home weeper, was the urgent call, "Come with me, sister!" In the enjoyment of triumphant faith, she whispered in return, "I come, dearest!" and with the sound of the autumn blast she passed away.

Lonely is the dwelling of the bereaved parents through the weary day; but when sleep has pressed down the eyelids in the unexplained mystery of dreams, two bright faces from the spirit world look pityingly upon their sorrows, and in tones low as the snow-flake when it kisses the earth, they murmur-"Dear parents! we wait you; haste away!"

I know a lady, whom the frosts of more than sixty

winters have visited with their decaying influences, who is awaiting, with well trimmed lamp, the summons of her Master. The receding world, in its dioramic beauty, has left the impress of some bright passages, as well as of dark and cloudy seasons—or scenes of peril. The rainbow hues of life's morning are faded—the burning rays of the noon-tide sun have passed away-and a peaceful sunset and calm twilight approach. To her, the world has lost much of its power to charm, and seems but the threshold to a never-ending eternity. How changed from its appearance at our first setting out in life!

Oft in her sleeping and waking dreams, the companion of earlier years—the Angel watcher-dispels the darkness saying, "Come with me, beloved! to the new home prepared for us, where there is no more parting, nor sorrow. nor decay." And these visits are hailed as a happy omen-ere long they will be re-united in Heaven.

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