By our path of trial thou plantest still

Thy lilies of consolation;

But the loveliest of all-to do thy will

Be it done in resignation!

Farewell, lovely earth, on whose bosom I lay;

Farewell, all ye dear ones, mourning;

Farewell, and forgive all the faults of my day:

My heart now in death is burning!

"It is burning!" repeated Henrik in a voice of suffering. "It is terrible! Mother! Mother!" said he, looking for her with a restless glance.

"Your mother is here!" said she, bending over him.

"Ah! then all is right!" said he again, calmly. Sing, my mother," added he, again closing his eyes "I am weary."

She sang

We part! but in parting our steps we bend
Alone towards that glorious morrow,

Where friend no more shall part from friend,
Where none knoweth heart-ache or sorrow!

Farewell! all is dark to my failing sight,
Your loved forms from my faint gaze rending,
'T is dark, but oh !-far beyond the night
I see light o'er the darkness ascending!

"Oh! if you only knew how serene it is! It is divine!" said the dying one, as he stretched forth his arms, and then dropped them again.

A change passed over the countenance of the young man; death had touched his heart gently, and its

pulsations ceased. At the same moment a wonderful inspiration animated the mother; her eyes beamed brightly, and never before had her voice had so beautiful, so clear a tone as whilst she sang

Thou callest, O Father! with glad accord

I come!-Ye dear ones we sever!

Now the pang is past!-now behold I the Lord-
Praise be thine, O Eternal, for ever!

Judge Frank was awoke out of his uneasy sleep by the song, whose tone seemed to have a something supernatural in it. A few moments passed before he could convince himself that the voice which he heard was really that of his wife.

He hastened with indescribable anxiety to the sick room; Elise yet sung the last verse as he entered, and casting his eyes on her countenance he exclaimed, "My God!" and clasped his hands together.

The song ceased: a dreadful consciousness thrust itself like a sword through the heart of the mother. She saw before her the corpse of her son, and with a faint cry of horror she sank, as if lifeless, upon the bed of death.

CHAPTER VIII.

ELISE TO CECILIA.

Two months later.

-

"WHEN I last wrote to you, my Cecilia, it was winter. Winter, severe icy winter, had also gathered itself about my heart-my life's joy was wrapped in his winding-sheet, and it seemed to me as if no more spring could bloom, no more life could exist; and that I should never again have the heart to write a cheerful or hopeful word. And now now it is spring! The lark sings again the ascension-song of the earth; the May sun diffuses his warming beams through my chamber, and the grass becomes already green upon the grave of my first-born, my favourite! And IO Lord! thou who smitest, thou also healest, and I will praise thee! for every affliction which thou sendest becomes good if it be only received with patience. And if thou concealest thyself for a season-as it appears to our weak vision— thou revealest thyself yet soon again, kinder and more glorious than before! For a little while and we see thee not, and again for a little while and we see thee, and our hearts rejoice and drink strength

and enjoyment out of the cup which thou, Almighty One! fillest eternally. Yes, every thing in life becomes good, if that life be only spent in God!

"But in those dark wintry hours it was often gloomy and tumultuous within me. Ah, Cecilia, I would not that he should die! He was my only son, my first-born child. I suffered most at his birth; I sang most beside his cradle; my heart leapt up first and highest with maternal joy at his childish play. He was my summer child, born in the midsummer of nature and of my life and my strength, and then -he was so full of life, so beautiful and good! No, I would not that he should die, or that my beautiful son should be laid in the black earth! And as the time drew nearer and nearer, and I saw that it must be-then it was dark in me. But the last night—Oh, it was a most wonderful night!-then it was otherwise. Do you know, Cecilia, that I sung gaily, triumphantly, by the death-bed of my first-born! Now I cannot comprehend it. But this night-he had during the foregoing day suffered much, and his sufferings had reconciled me to his death. They abated as death approached, and he besought of me, as he had often done in the years of his childhood, to sing him to sleep. I sang-I was able to sing. He received pleasure from the song, which increased in power, and with a heavenly smile, whilst heavenly pictures seemed to float before his eyes, he said, 'Ah, it is divine!' and I sang better and ever clearer. I saw

his eyes change themselves, his breath become suspended, and I knew that then was the moment of separation between soul and body-between me and him! but I did not then feel it, and I sang on. It seemed to me as if the song sustained the spirit and raised it to heaven. In that moment I was happy; for even I as well as he, was exalted above every earthly pain.

"The exclamation of my name awoke me from my blessed dream, and I saw the dead body of my sonafter this I saw nothing more.

"There was a long, deep stupor. When I recovered consciousness, I felt a heart beating against my temples. I raised my eyes and saw my husband; my head was resting on his breast, and with the tenderest words he was calling me back to life. My daughters stood around me weeping, and kissing my hands and my clothes. I also wept, and then I felt better. It was then morning, and the dawn came into my chamber. I threw my arms around my husband's neck, and said, 'Ernst love me! I will endeavour

"I could say no more, but he understood me, thanked me warmly, and pressed me close to his bosom.

"I did endeavour to be calm, and with God's help I succeeded. For several hours of the day I lay still on my bed. Eva, whose voice is remarkably sweet, read aloud to me. I arose for tea, and endeavoured