cial gift is allotted to them; believing that, whether it be great or small, it is not theirs, either to lose or to waste, but that they must one day render up to the Master his own, with usury.

I will not deny that the approach of old age has its sad aspect to a woman who has never married; and who, when her own generation dies out, no longer retains, or can expect to retain, any flesh-and-blood claim upon a single human being. When all the downward ties, which give to the decline of life a rightful comfort, and the interest in the new generation which brightens it with a perpetual hope, are to her either unknown, or indulged in chiefly on one side. Of course there are exceptions, where an aunt has been almost like a mother, and where a loving and lovable greataunt is as important a personage as any grandmother. Rut, generally speaking, a single woman must make up her mind that the close of her days will be more or less solitary.

Yet there is a solitude which old age feels to be as natural and satisfying as that rest which seems such an irksomeness to youth, but which gradually grows into the best blessing of our lives; and there is another solitude, so full of peace and hope, that it is like Jacob's sleep in the wilderness, at the foot of the ladder of angels.

The extreme loneliness, which afar off appears sad, may prove to be but as the quiet, dreamy hour, "between the lights," when the day's work

is done, and we lean back, closing our eyes, to think it all over before we finally go to rest, or to look forward, with faith and hope, unto the coming Morning.

A life in which the best has been made of all the materials granted to it, and through which the hand of the Great Designer can be plainly traced, whether its web be dark or bright, whether its pattern be clear or clouded, is not a life to be pitied; for it is a completed life. It has fulfilled its appointed course, and returns to the Giver of all breath, pure as

he gave it. Nor will he

forget it when he
counteth up his
jewels.

"TIME wears slippers of list, and his tread 18 noiseless. The days come softly dawning, one after another; they creep in at the windows; their fresh morning air is grateful to the lips as they pant for it; their music is sweet to the ears that listen to it; until, before we know it, a whole life of days has possession of the citadel, and time has taken us for its own."

T

EQUINOCTIAI.

HE Sun of Life has crossed the line; The summer-shine of lengthened light till, where I stand,

Faded and failed,

'Tis equal Day and equal Night.

One after one, as dwindling hours,

Youth's glowing hopes have dropped away, And soon may barely leave the gleam That coldly scores a winter's day.

I am not young, I am not old;

The flush of morn, the sunset calm, Paling, and deepening, each to each, Meet midway with a solemn charm.

One side I see the summer fields,

Not yet disrobed of all their green; While westerly, along the hills,

Flame the first tints of frosty sheen.

Ah, middle-point, where cloud and storm
Make battle-ground of this my life!
Where, even-matched, the Night and Day
Wage round me their September strife!

I bow me to the threatening gale:
I know when that is overpast,
Among the peaceful harvest-days,
An Indian-summer comes at last.

EPITAPH ON THE UNMATED.

No chosen spot of ground she called her own.
In pilgrim guise o'er earth she wandered on;
Yet always in her path some flowers were strown.
No dear ones were her own peculiar care,
So was her bounty free as heaven's air;
For every claim she had enough to spare.
And, loving more her heart to give than lend,
Though oft deceived in many a trusted friend,
She hoped, believed, and trusted to the end.
She had her joys; 't was joy to her to love,
To labor in the world with God above,

And tender hearts that ever near did move.
She had her griefs;- but they left peace behind,
And healing came on every stormy wind,

And still with silver every cloud was lined.
And every loss sublimed some low desire,
And every sorrow taught her to aspire,
Till waiting angels bade her "Go up higher."

E. S

A BEAUTIFUL THOUGHT.*

LESSING and blessed, this excellent man passed on to old age; and how beautiful that old age was, none, who had the privilege of knowing it, can

ever forget. It was the old age of the Christian scholar and the beloved man. His evening of life could not but be bright and serene, full of hope, and free from sadness. He had a kindly freshness of spirit, which made the society of the young pleasant to him; and they, on their part, were always happy to be with him, enjoying the goodnatured wisdom and the modest richness of his conversation. His faculties remained clear, active, and healthy to the last. Advancing years never for a moment closed the capacity, or abated the willingness, to receive new ideas. Though a lover of the past and the established, his opinions never hardened into prejudices. His intellectual vigor

From the Rev. Dr. Francis's Memoir of the Hon. John Davis.