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There all the air is balm, and the peach is the

emblem of beauty, And the streets still re-echo the names of the trees

of the forest, As if they fain would appease the Dryads whose

haunts they molested. There from the troubled sea had Evangeline landed,

an exile, Finding among the children of Penn a home and a

country. There old René Leblanc had died; and when he

departed, Saw at his side only one of all his hundred descend

ants. Something at least there was in the friendly streets

of the city, Something that spake to her heart, and made her

no longer a stranger; And her ear was pleased with the Thee and Thou

of the Quakers, For it recalled the past, the old Acadian country, Where all men were equal, and all were brothers

and sisters. So when the fruitless search, the disappointed en

deavour, Ended, to re-commence no more upon earth, un

complaining, Thither, as leaves to the light, were turned her

thoughts and her footsteps. As from the mountain's top the rainy mists of the

morning Roll away, and afar we behold the landscape beSun-illumined, with shining rivers, and cities, and

hamlets, Su fell the mists from her mind, and she saw the

world far below her, Dark no longer, but all'illumined with love ; and

the pathway

low us,

Which she had climbed so far, lying smooth and

fair in the distance. Gabriel was not forgotten. Within her heart was

his image, Clothed in the beauty of love and youth, as last she

beheld him, Only more beautiful made by his deathlike silence

and absence. Into her thoughts of him time entered not, for it

was not. Over him years had no power; he was not changed,

but transfigured ; He had become to her heart as one who is dead,

and not absent; Patience, and abnegation of self, and devotion to

others, This was the lesson a life of trial and sorrow had

taught her. So was her love diffused, but, like to some odorous

spices, Suffered no waste nor loss, though filling the air

with aroma. Other hope had she none, nor wish in life, but to

follow Meekly, with reverent steps, the sacred feet of her

Saviour. Thus many years she lived as a Sister of Mercy;

frequenting Lonely and wretched roofs in the crowded lanes of

the city, Where distress and want concealed themselves from

the sunlight, Where disease and sorrow in garrets languished

neglected. Night after night, when the world was asleep, as

the watchinan repeated Loud, through the gusty streets, that all was well High at some lonely window he saw the light of

in the city,

her taper.

Day after day, in the grey of the dawn, as slow

through the suburbs Plodded the German fariner, with flowers and fruits

from the market, Met he the meek, pale face, returning home from

its watchings.

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Then it came to pass that a pestilence fell on the

city, Presaged by wondrous signs, and mostly by flocks

of wild pigeons, Darkening the sun in their flight, with naught in

their craws but an acorn, And, as the tides of the sea arise in the month of

September, Flooding some silver stream, till it spreads to a

lake in the meadow, So death flooded life, and, o'erflowing its natural

margin, Spread to a brackish lake the silver stream of

existence. Wealth had no power to bribe, nor beauty to

charm, the oppressor ; But all perished alike beneath the scourge of his

anger ; Only, alas! the poor, who had neither friends nor

attendants, Crept away to die in the almshouse-home of the

homeless. Then in the suburbs it stood, in the midst of mea

dows and woodlands ; Now the city surrounds it; but still, with its gate

way and wicket Meek, in the midst of splendour, its humble walls

seem to echo Softly the words of the Lord :-" The poor ye

always have with you." Thither, by night and by day, came the Sister of

Mercy. The dying

looked up into her face, and thought, indeed, to

behold there Gleams of celestial light encircle her forehead with

splendour, Such as the artist paints o'er the brows of saints

and apostles, Or such as hangs by night o'er a city seen at a

distance. | Unto their eyes it seemed the lamps of the city

celestial, Into whose shining gates ere long their spirits

would enter.

Thus, on a Sabbath morn, through the streets

deserted and silent, Wending her quiet way, she entered the door of

the almshouse. Sweet on the summer air was the odour of flowers

in the garden; And she paused on her way to gather the fairest

among them, That the dying once more might rejoice in their

fragrance and beauty. Then, as she mounted the stairs to the corridors,

cooled by the east wind, Distant and soft on her ear fell the chimes from the

belfry of Christ Church, And, intermingled with these, across the meadows

were wafted Sounds of psalms, that were sung by the Swedes

in their church at Wicaco. Soft as descending wings fell the calm of the hour

on her spirit: Something within her said—“At length thy trials

are ended ;" And, with light in her looks, she entered the cham

bers of sickness. Noiselessly moved about the assiduous, careful

attendants,

time;

Moistening the feverish lip, and the aching brow,

and in silence Closing the sightless eyes of the dead, and conceal

ing their faces, Where on their pallets they lay, like drifts of snow

by the roadside. Many a languid head, upraised as Evangeline

entered, Turned on its pillow of pain to gaze while she

passed, for her presence Fell on their hearts like a ray of the sun on the

walls of a prison. And, as she looked around, she saw how death, the

consoler, Laying his hand upon many a heart, bad healed it

for ever. Many familiar forms had disappeared in the nightVacant their places were, or filled already by

strangers. Suddenly, as if arrested by fear or a feeling of

wonder, Still she stood, with her colourless lips apart, while

a shudder Ran through her frame, and, forgotten, the flowerets

dropped from her fingers, And from her eyes and cheeks the light and bloom

of the morning. Then there escaped from her lips a cry of such ter

rible anguish, That the dying heard it, and started up from their

pillows. On the pallet before her was stretched the form of

an old man. Long, and thin, and gray, were the locks that

shaded his temples ; But, as he lay in the morning light, his face for a

moment

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