it her death-bed request," that all the letters which she had received from him, before and after her marriage, should be buried in the coffin with her." These, I found upon examination, were the papers before us. Several of them had suffered so much by time, that I could only pick out a few words; such as my soul ! lilies! roses! dearest angel! and the like. One of them, which was legible throughout, ran thus: "MADAM, "If you would know the greatness of my love, consider that of your own beauty. That blooming countenance, that snowy bosom, that graceful person, return every moment to my imagination: the brightness of your eyes hath hindered me from closing mine since I last saw you. You may still add to your beauties by a smile. A frown will make me the most wretched of men, as I am the most passionate of lovers." It filled the whole company with a deep melancholy, to compare the description of the letter with the person that occasioned it, who was now reduced to a few crumbling bones, and a little mouldering heap of earth. With much ado I deciphered another letter, which began with "My dear, dear wife." This gave me a curiosity to see how the style of one written in marriage differed from one written in courtship. To my surprise, I found the fondness rather augmented than lessened, though the panegyric turned upon a different accomplishment. The words were as follows: "Before this short absence from you, I did not know that I loved you so much as I really do; though, at the same time, I thought I loved you as much as possible. I am under great apprehension, lest you should have any uneasiness whilst I am defrauded of my share in it, and cannot think of tasting any pleasure that you do not partake with me. Pray, my dear, be careful of your health, if for no other reason but because you know I could not outlive you. It is natural in absence to make professions of an inviolable constancy; but towards so much merit it is scarce a virtue, especially when it is but a bare return to that of which you have given me such continued proof ever since our first acquaintance. I am, &c." It happened that the daughter of these two excellent persons was by when I was reading this letter. At the sight of the coffin, in which was the body of her mother, near that of her father, she melted into a flood of tears. As I had heard a great character of her virtue, and observed in her this instance of filial piety, I could not resist my natural inclination of giving advice to young people, and therefore addressed myself to her. "Young lady," said I, “you see how short is the possession of that beauty, in which nature has been so liberal to you. You find the melancholy sight before you is a contradiction to the first letter that you heard on that subject; whereas, you may observe, the second letter, which celebrates your mother's constancy, is itself, being found in this place, an argument of it. But, madam, I ought to caution you, not to think the bodies that lie before you your father and your mother. Know, their constancy is rewarded by a nobler union than by this mingling of their ashes, in a state where there is no danger or possibility of a second separation." LINES ON RELIGION AND VIRTUE. O why doth happiness so often flee From the high dome where pomp and power dwell? Wears a calm brow, and feels unmoved by fears? 'Tis not their outward circumstance and lot That gives men joy or sorrow,-thine the power, A pure, awakening influence,-thy voice And teach the weary wanderer to rejoice, Pointing to bright and glorious worlds to come, Where he will find a welcome and a home. How holy is thy light! how glad its beam, Over the peasant's cot, the monarch's dome. And in life's desert flow a living spring, To those who seek for peace, whose humble tale Though low their way, yet flowers have in it bloomed : Blest, too, such influence, where want and care, Patient to bear the worst. Oh! it does seem Oft, too, with hallowed ray, it lights the fire And cherished hope that to its idol turns ; The restless love that wildly looks beyond The present day, and paints in colours warm The varied fortunes of that youthful throng, Who with glad sunny eyes, and glowing cheeks, And thoughts of innocence are clustered round, To seek the approving smile that ready speaks-How thrills the mother's heart at every sound! O how without the aid of virtue firm, Could guardians fond fulfil the duty given? O piety to rear these souls for heaven? The sufferings they must meet, their daily strife. Till each full heart be wrung to agony, In every trial guide the loved ones on, O well the parent's heart with joy may glow, Quenching all hopes in darkness sad and drear. And of its future form could true have spoken? Though bright its hue, such cloud may soon be driven An altered thing away, and leave no token. Such, such is hope, uncertain—let the eye Of faith look up to heaven-but list! and hear Yon soft and gentle voice-'tis floating nigh, Like one in earnest prayer; the world's rude ear Marks not the pleading; neither could it bless The mother's heart, who now hath raised to heaven Her humble spirit, and in loneliness Prays fervent for her child. The zephyr breathing That cheers the soul when worn, and tempest-driven Can cheer the mourner weeping for the dead ; |