yet maiden delicacy forbade. One alternative remained: their vows of affection had been heard and registered in heaven, and they were now witnessed and recorded on earth; they were married. But the usual demonstrations of joy which accompany the bridal were wanting: hearts which bled to think of the separation which was probably so soon to follow, eyes from which tear-drops were falling, and deep solemnity and silence, were there.

Somers sunk daily, and so rapidly, that the journey was abandoned, and all thought of leaving the valley relinquished. The sands of his life had escaped one by one, and it was evident that but few remained. His voice grew fainter, his distress became greater, until at last wearied nature bowed under accumulated suffering; yet his patience failed not, nor was he forsaken by his God. His language to those dear friends of his who were weeping around his bed of death was, "Weep not for me; I am happy in suffering here what my God sees best for me to suffer, and I shall be eternally happy with him, and with you hereafter." When some one ventured to speak of the success which had attended the short period of his ministry, he quickly replied in accents of the deepest humility, "O, mention it not to me: give Jesus the praise; his

blood has wrought it all; were I to preach a thousand years, Christ, and him crucified, should be all my theme." For several hours previous to his death, he had lain speechless and apparently insensible. Anxious to know whether his faith was still unvarying, his faithful Mary, who was bending over him with all the anguish of a bleeding heart, lowered her head, and, in a gentle whisper, inquired if he knew who was speaking to him? "Oh yes!" was his reply, in a voice almost suffocated with the gathering damps of death; while at the same time, with an effort of which he could not have been supposed capable, he threw his arms around her, and clasped her to his bosom; "oh yes! you are my dear Mary, and in heaven I shall not forget you." Then, with the last effort and accents of ebbing existence, he poured out a prayer to his heavenly father, pressed the lips of his beautiful Mary to his own, and on them, with his last kiss, breathed out his soul, and fell asleep in Jesus.

'He faded, not as the sun, which sets in clouds
And gloom; but as the morning star, which melts
And mingles in the glorious light of day.'

Near the head of the valley, on the bank of a clear stream that there descends from the mountain, is a

burial ground, over which a few large graceful elms spread their branches, and wave their light feathery tassels; and here, in this secluded retreat, far away from the busy and bustling world, repose the remains of the youthful, the prayerful, the successful, and the lamented Milman Somers. I saw the multitude which, with mournful step and slow, followed him to his last restingplace, and many a hat was there lifted to conceal that softening of the heart and hide those tears which all rugged bosoms are ashamed to exhibit. I have heard the muffled drum, and the low death dirge; I have seen the glitter and pageantry of wealth and pride: but they could never make such deep and lasting impressions, as the spontaneous and affecting respect paid to this humble missionary of Christ. It was the tribute paid to departed excellence, by the best and holiest feelings of the heart. I saw the widowed bride as, with grief too profound for tears, she pressed her white hand on his marble forehead; and, as his comely head was lowered into the grave, I reflected on the mysterious providence which cuts off in the morning of life, from the sweets of domestic bliss, and in the full promise of extensive usefulness, such an individual; while the wretch who lives only to spread the contaminations of vice, who is a curse to his family and

neighbourhood, lives to old age, despising every thing sacred, and, to the last, trifling with his God. The satisfactory and consoling result of all was, ' even so, Father, for so it seemeth good in thy sight!'

W. G.

SAMSON.

THERE stands a pile in Gaza. Crowd on crowd
Have gathered 'neath its arches; and the hum
Of voiceful merriment re-echoes round.
With gorgeous pomp, lit by the golden sun,
In state luxurious and imposing, rest
The lords of the Philistines. Dagon's form
Swells, like some vast-proportioned statue, near,
And, blending earth's with ocean's wonders, ends
In folds voluminous along the ground.

O'er fretted shaft and architrave, are seen
Groups above groups, down-gazing, far beneath,
Where, like the surges of a stormy sea,
Gay multitudes are moving. Music sounds;
And laugh, and jeer, and shout, alternate rise.

Who stands before the assemblage, still and sad,