ous thoughts as when in the immediate presence of death.

The burial service of the Episcopal Church, when fitly solemnized and accompanied by suitable music, has for me an intenser sublimity and grandeur than could be derived from any other source whatever. Not the finest concert to which I have ever listened had power to impart to me such complete pleasure. It exalts the soul from earth and far beyond the vanities of time. Surrounded by such elevating influences, who, illumined by the light of the Gospel faith, would suffer his imagination to grovel

"'Mid skulls and coffins, epitaphs and worms?"

Nay, rather, O wounded and despairing soul! turn thy weeping eyes heavenward, and there, in the glowing east, behold the Sun of Righteousness emerging in effulgent majesty from the thrall of nature's blackness, and hearken to a voice proclaiming, in tones of incomparable sweetness :-"I AM THE RESURRECTION, AND THE LIFE: HE THAT BELIEVETH IN ME, THOUGH HE WERE DEAD, YET SHALL HE LIVE AND WHOSOEVER LIVETH AND BELIEVETH IN ME SHALL NEVER DIE !"

Jean Paul Richter thus finely defines the grave:

"The grave is not dark; it is the shining footsteps of an angel that calls us. When the unknown hand hath sent the last arrow to the head of man, he bows before it; and the arrow removes the crown of thorns from his wounds." Therefore, let us-trusters in a bright eternity-we, who cherish the unwavering hope that, when the light of earth is fading from our mortal vision, the radiance of that City that needs no sun shall be dawning upon us; and that, when the ear shall become insensible to the sweetest of earth-born tones, voices and symphonies celestial shall greet our ascending spirits-let us, with hymns of faith and holy submission, commit the bodies of our departed to the ground-"earth to earth-ashes to ashesdust to dust"-looking for the day of universal resurrection, when they shall arise, purified from every taint of corruption, to be forever with the Lord.

Nor let the motives for advocating this beautiful practice be misconstrued; let it not be thought that a desire to imitate the dreary philosophy of that nation of old, who, impressed with the hollowness and transitoriness of terrestrial bliss, and having, moreover, no cheering knowledge of a state of future and permanent blessedness, wept above the

infant cradle and laughed over the new-made grave is ours-neither let it be thought that we would indulge in the solemn mockery of masses for the dead-being assured in the Holy Scriptures that where the tree falls there shall it lie;—or in mournful requiems that breathe but the wailings of anguish and the pleadings of unavailing passion. No; from a purer, a higher source emanates our consolation. As Christians we learn to view the sepulchre as a quiet, blossom-begirt couch, wherein may calmly slumber off his fatigue, life's weary pilgrim, while awaiting the consummation of all things temporal. Thus, with strains of solemn, tender music, would we compose our friends to their silent rest, thus hallow their tranquil slumbers, and thus deepen within our own bosoms, sacred impressions.

Flint, in his "Recollections of the Valley of the Mississippi," thus describes a German funeral which he witnessed: "I attended a funeral where there were a number of German settlers present. After I had performed such service as is usual on similar occasions, a most venerable-looking old man came forward, and asked me if I were willing that they should perform some of their peculiar rites. He opened a very ancient version of Lu

ther's Hymns, and they all began to sing in German, so loud that the woods echoed the strain. There was something affecting in the singing of these ancient people carrying one of their brethren to his last home, and using the language and rites which they had brought with them over the sea from the Vaterland, a word which often occurred in the hymn. It was a long, slow, and mournful air, which they sang, as they bore the body along; the words 'Mein Gott,'' Mein Bruder,' and 'Vaterland,' died away in distant echoes amongst the woods. I shall long remember that funeral hymn!"

"The Fatherland l'—with that sweet word

A burst of tears 'midst the strain was heard.

'Brother! were we there with thee

Rich would many a meeting be!

Many a broken garland bound,

Many a mourned and lost one found!

But our task is still to bear,

Still to breathe in changeful air ;
Loved and bright things to resign,

As even now this dust of thine;
Yet to hope!-to hope in Heaven,
Though flowers fall, and ties be riven-
Yet to pray! and wait the hand
Beckoning from the Fatherland!'

And the requiem died in the forest gloom;-
They had reached the Exile's lonely tomb!"

AUGUSTA BROWNE GARRETT.

The Springs of Association.

"And other days come back to me

With recollected music, though the tone

Is chang'd and solemn, like the cloudy groan
Of dying thunder on the distant wind."

ON order to ennoble and exalt the soul, the
Creator imbued it with the love of music as
a part of its vital essence; and thus many a
heart is full of melody, as if joybells within

it were chiming a ceaseless jubilate, which is incapable, or, it may be, undesirous of giving it intelligible utterance. The true office of the science of sweet sounds is to elevate our aspirations and thoughts to Paradise, from whence it emanates, where all is harmony; where the crystal streams, as they ripple through the green pastures, murmur praises, and the lowliest flowerets, when brushed by angel garments, breathe songs of adoration. Music is the language of immortality—the intimator of our heavenly destination, ever arousing within our souls, by its solemn monitory voicings,