salem. Ps. cxxii. 6. It was evidently a favorite subject. He unfolded in a feeling but reproving manner the causes and evils of strife and disquietude in Christ's church, and strikingly contrasted them with her peace. On the latter topic his spirit moved in its element. His heart deeply sympathized with the peaceful spirit of his Master-it was the atmosphere he loved to breathe among God's people, and its perpetual reign in the glorified state of the church was the occasion of strains of the most natural and overpowering eloquence. The usually calm and languid eye of the speaker flashed with heavenly fire. Yet there was no effort. He sunk again into the quiet development of his subject, without seeming to notice that the elements had been moved, and that he had directed the storm. He dwelt briefly upon the power of the prayer of faith, and showed its relation to the peace of the church. Here again the deep of his benevolent heart was moved. Every word and every emotion. carried him to the object at which he aimed - the hearts of the people. Their feelings were arraigned against the obstinacy of their wills, and they resolved to act. When the sermon closed, and the audience were retiring, but few remarks were made concerning the preacher. It was forbidden by his own unpretending manner and the strength of the resolution he had caused to be formed, which absorbed all other thoughts. The recollection of my acquaintance with this young Summerfield of the West, is mingled with a melancholy sweetness, from the fact, that he descended shortly after to a martyr's grave. The messenger of death found him soothing the dying pillow of the victims of a raging epidemic, when thousands were fleeing from the devoted city in which he labored. He chose to be found about his Master's work, and go, when called to glory, from exposure and suffering for his Master's sake. He wished to cease at once to work and live, and his wish was granted. I retired to the unpretending comforts of the log house of my friend with feelings purified by the influence by which I had been surrounded. The services of the following day, though of a deeply interesting character, the length of this narrative forbids me to detail. Not the least of the sources of interest was a further acquaintance with "aunt Nelly," whom we have introduced to the reader, and whose remarkable history we reserve for another article. I returned home on Monday morning, not only greatly invigorated for my arduous duties, but feeling it had been to me a profitable and interesting excursion. THE COSTLIEST GIFT. BY MISS S. H. BROWNE. THE everlasting hills Rear their cold crested foreheads to the sky, No! from our best-beloved, Put far the gross, the treacherous, sensual thing, The diamond-lighted grot Of deep Golconda hath a blazing store; Bid them pour largely out. No-no - affection's debt Can ne'er be cancelled by a boon like this: Bring, then, the holy flowers, The subtlest spell Omnipotence hath wrought, No-they are pure and fair, And meet on friendship's altar-stone to lay; Search not the generous earth; Rob not her bosom of its cherished things, Hath love no more to give? No greener garland for its idol's fane? Give then to overbear, Folly, temptation, weakness, fear and sin, Unfold the glorious way, Which spirits of immortal name have trod; Light to regain the track, (Lost for a while mid those that downward trod,) Strength to pass onward, boldly onward, lend, Till Hope and Faith triumphantly shall blend, Ne'er to turn faltering back. Oh, 't is a nobler thing One earth-wrought bond from off a soul to break, ་ WHOSOEVER thou art that sufferest, try not to dissipate thy sorrow by the breath of the world, nor drown its voice in thoughtless merriment. It is a treacherous peace that is purchased by indulgence. Rather take this sorrow to thy heart, and make it a part of thee, and it shall nourish thee till thou art strong again. O, IF we had spiritual organs, to see and hear things now invisible to us, we should behold the whole air filled with the departing souls of that vast multitude which every moment dies, should behold them streaming up like their vapors heavenward and hear the startling blast of the archangel's trump sounding incessant through the universe and proclaiming the awful judgment day. Truly the soul departs not alone on its last journey, but spirits of its kind attend it, when not ministering angels; and they go in families to the unknown land! Neither in life nor in death are we alone. NOTICES. WE have received from Miss H. F. Gould, as a gift of friendship, and therefore doubly valuable, several pieces of music recently published, the words written and the music arranged by herself. We have been long looking forward with impatience to the appearance of these and others now in course of publication, as destined to supply a want long felt by the musical public. Words which one is not ashamed to sing before people of good taste, and music which is not so superficial and ephemeral as to find in such its fitting companionship, have been hitherto called for almost in vain. "The Burial of Allston," "Childhood's Dream," and "Come home, come home," are some of the pieces alluded to. The words are new and in Miss Gould's happiest vein. The music is, if we are not mistaken, arranged from the choicest European masters, and the execution faultless. The publisher, Mr. Reed, has conferred a great favor on the musical world, which will, we hope, be duly appreciated. We take this opportunity to say that our friends who buy music, will meet with the most courteous and gentlemanly reception at Mr. Reed's Music Store, in Tremont Row, Boston, and find there probably the most extensive assortment in the city. |