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I sobbed aloud.

Nor could I look as they lowered the coffin. I shut my eyes, and for a moment felt as if I never oared to open them again.

When I looked up, ten thousand prismatic hues flashed upon my sight. The sun had burst from the thick clouds; and every round jewel of the rain caught a tint of beauty from his glowing rays.

“And there shall be no night there; and they need no candle, neither the light of the sun; for the Lord God giveth them light; and they shall reign forever and ever.”

Thus said the grey-haired man. Every word sank into my soul, and I drank in their inspiration. My mother was then an angel in heaven, glorious! radiant!

Heaven never seemed so near to me before. It was but for a moment.

The earth rattled upon her grave. The clouds grew gloomy and drifted together. A quick, heavy shower set the leaves to trembling. The branches swung and sighed. My heart grew sick again.

Must we all come to this?

We walked slowly on through the graveled walks. Somebody had dropped flowers along, red and white, and sprayB of mignionette, and they lind faded there.

The old sexton stood at the gate with his hat off. As I passed him, I caught the words, spoken softly, “God bless her.”

The Return.

The rain had oeased again. A flood of red sunshine bathed the little cottage. The wet jes- samine loaded the air with its perftime. It seemed, for the moment, as if everything around n the house looked doubly beautiful. The dark back-ground of clouds, not yet broken, was the only thing in unison with the sadness of our spirits.

She was not there! We saw the top of the old chair in which she always sat at the west win¬ dow.

Within—oh! how desolate! There was the little, low, rocking-chair by the corner; a stand by its side, on which lay the family Bible; and {there too, lying sadly, as if conscious that their work was done, my mother's old spectaoles were folded on the green-baize cover. I bent over and lifted her little work-basket. Everything was in order—the work all arranged—her little book of “Daily Food” in its accustomed nook.

I took it from thence and laid it in my bosom. God helping me, I will rend it as she did.

We sat down to supper, but could not talk, At every turn our eyes met something that called up tears and sighs afresh. Here, her choiee j; flowers, her favorite geranium just bursting into blossom. There a little porcelain vase, in which she bad kept her pennies for the church colleo- tion.

Hard indeed it seemed to realize how far she slept beneath our feet.

Can I forget this sorrow ? Shall I plunge into the follies of fashion again?

God forbid!

TIME'S HOUR-GLASS.

By LILIAS MAY.

Roar youth, in morn‘s glad prime, Hears ajoyons, sweet-toned chime, As, through Time‘s clear, crystal glass, Golden graina, bright-gleaming, pass; Bands of gold mark all the hours,

Clouds of grey trail overhead; Working with o'er-wrariad brain. Struggling on life‘s battle-plain, Care-worn man doth scarce] y know

Lii’o’s dark sands unceasing ﬂow.

Tho‘ they fall, unheard, on ﬂowers;

Dark-blue violets sweetly bloom, Crimson roses shed perfume; Gorgeous winged the moments fly, Tints of gold bedeck life's sky; Dazzied youth, amid the glow Heeds not tho’ the life-sands flow. Man, amid noon's busy life, Hears the din of worldly strife As through Time's dim, half-blurred glass, Pebbles, mixed with iron, pass; Pebbles, sounding harsh and loud, Fall, unheard, amid noon‘s crowd;

Iron-shod the moments trend,

lloary age, at even-time, llcaieth memory‘s unvoiced rhyme Chanting o‘er the Past again As a sweet, remembered strain: Through Time‘s scarred and dark-stained glass Slowly now the iifeaands pass; Yet uuhcnld their measured fail On Death‘s waiting, velvet pail: Tear-dimmed eyes, 'mid dust and gloom, Scarce can see the open tomb:

Dreamy hours glide softly by, Twilight shadows veil the sky; Feeble age doth scarcely know Soon the last life-sands will ﬂow.