Through the dim dwelling, from the room

Wherein reposed the dead."

Oh! that unutterable sense of loss, which day and night seems consuming the soul! Go where we may, do what we will,-everywhere,—in everything, we see our buried child! In our daily round of duties, as we open a drawer, and discover a little dress or apron, or meet with the small, half-worn shoes, or chance upon some plaything, calling up the bright image of our departed one, how do new waves of sorrow successively break over us! Then those strange illusions, which but mock our misery.

"We can hear her voice,

And for her step we listen, and the

eye

Looks for her wonted coming, with a strange,
Forgetful earnestness."

And who can portray those unutterable longings, once more, oh, but once, to look upon that face now sleeping beneath the sod? And if for a time, busy thought comes up from the grave, and soars beyond the sky, it is often but to weary itself with vain strivings after some definite intelligence of the departed spirit. Some

times fancy pictures her child to the weeping mother, as turning away from the myriads of strange faces in its unfamiliar abode, with pinings for its early home, and for its loved ones there. Could I only have some assurance, will the heart whisper, that all is familiar and pleasant,—that its loving spirit is understood and satisfied! But how can even the angels minister to it with a mother's tenderness, or enter into its feelings with a mother's sympathy? I look up to the far-off sky, and long to penetrate the mystery, -not I trust from vain curiosity, but from a mother's intense desire to know something of her loved one's new abode. What is heaven? And

where is it? Do departed spirits still commune with earth? Alas! no tidings from that distant shore. Never-never, till I myself go through the dark way, shall I know aught of the sweet dove, which just now nestled lovingly in my arms, but which has gone forth into the mysterious spirit-land. Oh! these irrepressible yearnings, these wild questionings, to which, from nature's voice, comes no reply!

"Speak then, thou voice of God within,
Thou of the deep, low tone,

Answer me, through life's restless din,
Where is the spirit flown?

And the voice answered, 'Be thou still,

Enough to know is given;

Clouds, winds, and stars their task fulfil,
Thine is to trust in heaven.'"

And as days and weeks pass away, our suffering may become more exquisite even than in the first convulsive grief. It is not when we watch the parting soul, nor when we look upon the lifeless form, nor yet when we lay it in the grave, that we know the whole bitterness of bereavement ;—but it is when the lagging weeks have dragged by, and in our solitude, we awake to the full reality of our loss. This is the midnight of our sorrow-this the wormwood and the gall. To the wild tempest of grief has indeed succeeded a calm. It is not however the calm of a bright sunshine, but that of a still, wintry night. The fearful sobbings, the passionate gushes of sorrow may have died away, but the desolate silence that reigns within, tells but too truly of the storm which has swept over the soul.

But of all the sad days, perhaps to us the

saddest, if sorrow can be measured by degrees, was our Carrie's birth-day. The following is from a letter written by her father on this. mournful occasion.

The

"This is a sorrowful day to us both. fourth birth-day of our darling Caro is her first birth-day in heaven. She is not, for God took her. Or rather, she lives much more now than ever before; not here indeed in her sweet and precious body, but in the bright world above, with that sweeter and more precious spirit, which shone in those loving eyes, and which animated that beautiful form. We shall see her no more in the flesh. She cannot return to us, but we shall go to her. We shall see her-her own self-as our own human, darling child. We shall enjoy her as such, in all the ways of which our human nature in heaven is capable, as we enjoyed her here, only in a perfect way, and with sanctified human affections. She will bless us for all the pains we took to teach her of the Saviour, and to direct her childish thoughts and affections to him. She will remember all our parental care, and repay our parental affection a thousand fold.

"How sweet the thought that our darling child is now in heaven! How does her soul, so full of music here, now burst forth in the songs of the redeemed! How does the pure and poetic spirit that glowed upon us out of her large, melting eyes, now find full scope in the flowers and fragrance and music of heaven! And when we are on our homeward-bound way, will she not be the first to welcome us? And the next, may they not be our parents and brothers and sisters? Are there not family groups in heaven? Are the ties of natural affection annihilated just when human nature is perfected? Does their sanctification destroy them? And if not destroyed, are they overborne by the higher and universal affection which binds all to the blessed and adorable Lord God? If so, the effect of religion will be altogether different in heaven from what it is here. No! nothing good is there overborne, or cast into the shade by anything else that is good. All natural ties to the creature, there as here, will be subordinate to the principle of love to God, but not destroyed, or weakened by it. Rather they will receive strength and permanency by the perfection of the whole nature