not found in objects presented to the outward sense. I traced it, during the several opportunities that I had for observing her, and could not believe myself mistaken. The impression was, that some glorious things had been revealed, as in visions of the night, to the baby, around whom we at least assuredly know that those angels were busy, who are "ministering spirits, sent forth to minister to them that shall be heirs of salvation." And who will deny that an immortal and ransomed soul, unpolluted by actual sin, and on the point of crossing the threshold of heaven, may have perceptions, and enjoy revelations quite inconceivable to us, in our depraved and darkened stage of perpetually out-breaking iniquity? How foolish is the wisdom of the wise, when brought to bear upon a point of which neither they nor I can know any thing! We cannot refer to our own infancy, because-even if memory could, under any circumstances, wander so far back as to our cradleswe were not of the number of those to whom, exclusively, these remarks apply-infants chosen to early glory, before the world could put in its plea for a share of them.

The tiny bell will yet spring up among the heather, distinguished by its soft tint from the rougher and more abiding plants around it. Not formed, like them, to sustain the rude crush of careless footsteps, we anticipate its early doom in the fragile tenderness of its aspect. It was not so with the lovely antitype: she bore the impress of health and longevity; and the blight that laid her low, ere six months had passed over her, was no constitutional malady. I should rather trace the resemblance in this, that both bore too much the hue of heaven to abide long

on earth. What I mean by the hue of heaven, as regards the babe, was that singular expression to which I have before alluded. Her beautiful brow was thoughtful, even to a careless eye; and the grace that reigned in every movement of her head and limbs, was truly majestic. You could not study her countenance without fancying that she communed with a brighter world; and that something of calm sadness hung over her view of sensible things. I was struck by the manner in which she would take hold of her young brothers, steadying the boy's face between her delicate hands, and gazing upon it with a kind of perplexed earnestness, as if other images were floating in her mind. Be it as it may, this we joyously know, that no sooner had the soft lid fallen for the last time over the clear, intelligent eye, than the spirit gained an accession of knowledge to which the proudest attainments of reasoning man in his full maturity, are as the winding of the earthworm through his dark and slimy crevices, compared with the loftiest flight of the eagle towards the morning sun. It is no questionable speculation: " I say unto you," said the LORD JESUS CHRIST, "that in heaven, their angels do always behold the face of my Father, which is in heaven." Oh, it is delicious to think of the rapture that is experienced by the glorified soul of such a one, when, mounting to the innumerable company of angels, and to the spirits of just men made perfect, it sings the song of the redeemed, at the moment of becoming acquainted with the mystery of redemption ! "Unto him that loved us, and washed us from our sins in his own blood," is the sound first heard, on entering the everlasting gates; and then to learn the story of Christ's cross at

the foot of Christ's throne! to gaze on the Lamb that had been slain, while the tale of that propitiatory slaughter is drunk in amid the songs of heaven! To look back upon the world, while its snares are first unfolded, and know that it is fully, and for ever escaped! Oh, ye weeping mothers! bring such thoughts as these to the death-beds, the coffins, the graves of your happy, happy little ones, and you will feel that God does give you wages for nursing, through a few short tearful days, those children for Him.

I shall not again see the sweet infant bell of the heath rise up, without a tear for the gentle babe, through whose blue veins flowed blood not alien to me and mine, and whose lovely aspect frequently comes before me, in the silent hour, to melt my heart into sympathy with those who owned a much nearer tie; but I will look up, and rejoice; for precious is her lot, and her rest is very glorious.

"Beautiful baby! art thou sleeping
Ne'er to unclose that beaming eye?
Deaf to the voice of a mother's weeping,
All unmoved by a father's sigh!

Wilt thou forsake the breast that bore thee,
Seeking a lone, a distant spot,

To bid the cold, damp sod close o'er thee,
Amid the slumb'rers who waken not !"

Mother, loved mother, I am not sleeping ;
Father, look up to the soft blue sky,

Where the glittering stars bright watch are keeping,
Singing and shining, there am I,

Warm was the tender breast that bore me;
'Twas sweet, my mother, to rest with thee:
But I was chosen-thou must restore me

To the fonder bosom that bled for me.

I lingered below, till just discerning

My father's voice, and my mother's smile, Love's infant lesson my heart was learning, But oft my spirit was sad the while.

Hast thou ne'er marked thy baby dreaming?
Sawest thou no radiance o'er her spread?
Oh, rich and pure were the bright rays streaming,
The songs of heaven were round my bed.

And when I waked, though thou wast bending
With looks almost like my sunny dreams,

My soul to that softer world was tending,
My home was still with the songs and beams.

My brothers-my heart grew daily fonder,
When gazing on each young smiling face,
But I yearned for the brothers, who, sparkling yonder,
Had sung to me oft, from their beauteous place.

Oh! many a lonely hour of weeping

Thou hast passed by their forsaken bed; But sorrow no more, they are not sleeping, They linger not with the silent dead.

Could I show thee mine, and my brothers' dwelling,
Could I sing thee the songs we are singing here,
Could I tell thee the tales that we are telling,
Oh where, my mother, would be thy tear!

For we on milk-white wings are sailing,

Where rainbow tints surround the throne, And while tall seraphs their eyes are veiling We see the face of the HOLY ONE.

And we, when heaven's high arch rejoices With thundering notes of raptured praise, We, thine own babes, with loud sweet voices, The frequent hallelujah raise.

And we, oh we are closely pressing

Where stands the Lamb for sinners slain :Hark! "Glory, honour, power and blessing," Away! we are called to swell the strain.

Mother, loved mother, we are not sleeping; Father, look up where the bright stars be; Where all the planets their watch are keeping, Singing and shining, there are we.

C. E.