were now lifting up their voices in a psalm to that Being whom their pastor had taught them ever to bless and to revere. La Roche sat, his figure bending gently forward, his eyes half closed, lifted up in silent devotion. A lamp placed near him threw its light strong on his head, and marked the shadowy lines of age across the paleness of his brow, thinly covered with gray hairs. The music ceased: La Roche sat for a moment, and nature wrung a few tears from him. His people were loud in their grief.

Mr. arose.

was not less affected than they. La Roche "Father of mercies," said he, "forgive these tears; assist thy servant to lift up his soul to thee; to lift to thee the souls of thy people. My friends, it is good so to do; at all seasons it is good; but in the days of our distress, what a privilege it is! Well saith the sacred book Trust in the Lord; at all times trust in the Lord.' When every other support fails us, when the fountains of worldly comfort are dried up, let us then seek those living waters which flow from the throne of God. 'Tis only from the belief of the goodness and wisdom of a Supreme Being, that our calamities can be borne in that manner which becomes a man.

"Human wisdom is here of little use; for, in proportion as it bestows comfort, it represses feeling, without which we may cease to be hurt by calamity, but we shall also cease to enjoy happiness. I will not bid you be insensible, my friends; I cannot, I cannot, if I would;" (his tears flowed afresh ;) "I feel too much myself, and I am not ashamed of my feelings; but therefore may I the more willingly be heard; therefore have I prayed God to give me strength to speak to you, to direct you to him, not with empty words, but with these tears; not from speculation, but from experience; that while you see me suffer, you may know also my consolation.

"You behold the mourner of his only child, the last earthly stay and blessing of his declining years! Such a child, too:

It becomes not me to speak of her virtues; yet it is but gratitude to mention them, because they were exerted towards myself. Not many days ago you saw her young, beautiful, virtuous, and happy ye who are parents will judge of my felicity then-ye will judge of my affliction now. But I look towards him who struck me; I see the hand of a Father amidst the chastenings of my God.

"O, could I make you feel what it is to pour out the heart when it is pressed down with many sorrows, to pour it out with confidence to Him in whose hands are life and death, on whose power awaits all that the first enjoys, and in contemplation of whom disappears all that the last can inflict! For we are not as those who die without hope; we know that our Redeemer liveth-that we shall live with him, with our friends, his servants, in that blessed land where sorrow is unknown, and happiness is endless as it is perfect. Go, then, mourn not for me; I have not lost my child; but a little while and we shall meet again, never to be separated. But ye are also my children; would ye that I should not grieve without comfort? So live as she lived; that when your death cometh, it may be the death of the righteous, and your latter end like his."

Such was the exhortation of La Roche; his audience answered it with their tears. The good old man had dried up his at the altar of the Lord; his countenance had lost its sadness, and assumed the glow of faith and of hope. Mr.

followed him into his house. The inspiration of the pulpit was past: at sight of him, the scene of their last meeting rushed again on his mind. La Roche threw his arms round his neck, and watered it with his tears. The other was equally affected; they went together in silence into the parlor, where the evening service was wont to be performed. The curtains of the organ were open; La Roche started back at the sight.

"O, my friend," said he, and his tears burst forth again. o 98, 116.

e 185.

Mr. now recollected himself; he stepped forward and drew the curtains close; the old man wiped off his tears, and, taking his friend's hand," You see my weakness,” said he; "'tis the weakness of humanity; but my comfort is not therefore lost." "I heard you," said the other, "in the pulpit; I rejoice that such consolation is yours." “It is, my friend," said he, " and I trust I shall ever hold it fast. If there are any who doubt our faith, let them think of what importance religion is to calamity, and forbear to weaken its force; if they cannot restore our happiness, let them not take away the solace of our affliction." MACKENZIE.

FIRMNESS.

BE firm! one constant element in luck

Is genuine, solid, old Teutonic pluck;
See yon tall shaft; it felt the earthquake's thrill
Clung to its base, and greets the sunrise still.

Stick to your aim; the mongrel's hold will slip,
But only crowbars loose the bull-dog's grip;
Small as he looks, the jaw that never yields
Drags down the bellowing monarch of the fields!

Yet in opinions look not always back;

Your wake is nothing, mind the coming track;
Leave what you've done for what you have to do
Don't be "consistent," but be simply true.

Don't catch the fidgets; you have found your place
Just in the focus of a nervous race,

Fretful to change and rabid to discuss,

Full of excitements, always in a fuss.

Think of the patriarchs; then compare as men These lean-cheeked maniacs of the tongue and pen! Run, if you like, but try to keep your breath;

And with new notions,

Work like a man, but don't be worked to death;
- let me change the rule,
Don't strike the iron till it's slightly cool.

Choose well your set; our feeble nature seeks
The aid of clubs, the countenance of cliques;
And with this object settle first of all

Your weight of metal and your size of ball,
Track not the steps of such as hold you cheap,-
Too mean to prize, though good enough to keep.
The "real, genuine, no-mistake Tom Thumbs
Are little people fed on great men's crumbs.
Yet keep no followers of that hateful brood,
That basely mingles with its wholesome food
The tumid reptile, which, the poet said,
Doth wear a precious jewel in his head.

If the wild filly, "Progress," thou wouldst ride,
Have young companions ever at thy side;

But, wouldst thou stride the stanch old nag "Success," Go with thine elders, though they please thee less.

Shun such as lounge through afternoons and eves,
And on thy dial write, " Beware of thieves!"
Felon of minutes, never taught to feel
The worth of treasures which thy fingers steal,
Pick my left pocket of its silver dime,

But

spare the right, it holds my golden time!

HOLMES

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22

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INDIAN SUMMER IN NEW ENGLAND.

What can be

It is now the early advance of autumn. more beautiful or more attractive than this season in New England? The sultry heat of summer has passed away, and a delicious coolness at evening succeeds the genial warmth of the day. The labors of the husbandman approach their natural termination, and he gladdens with the near prospect of his promised reward.

The earth swells with the increase of vegetation. The fields wave with their yellow and luxuriant harvests. The trees put forth the darkest foliage, half shading and half revealing their ripened fruits, to tempt the appetite of man, and proclaim the goodness of his Creator. Even in scenes of another sort, where Nature reigns alone in her own majesty, there is much to awaken religious enthusiasm.

As yet, the forests stand clothed in their dress of undecayed magnificence. The winds, that rustle through their tops, scarcely disturb the silence of the shades below. The mountains and the valleys glow in warm green, of lively russet. The rivulets flow on with a noiseless current, reflecting back the images of many a glossy insect, that dips his wings in their cooling waters. The mornings and evenings are still vocal with the notes of a thousand warblers, that plume their wings for a later flight.

Above all, the clear blue sky, the long and sunny calms, the scarcely whispering breezes, the brilliant sunsets, lit up with all the wondrous magnificence of light, and shade, and color, and slowly settling down into a pure and transparent twilight. These, these are days and scenes which even the cold cannot behold without emotion, but on which the meditative and pious gaze with profound admiration; for they breathe of holier and happier regions beyond the grave.

STORY.