The fairy spell that childhood wears,
Its artlessness and truth,

The light that lives within the eye
And in the smile of youth,
The impress on the manly brow,
Wrought with the shade of care,
That tells of high and noble thought,
How beautiful they are!

And life how much is shed around, To bless and cheer us here,

When strength and energy are found
Its lesser ills to bear!

Although a cloud may sometimes rise,
A shadow sometimes rest
Upon our earthly pathway, still
'Tis beautiful and blessed.

FRIENDSHIP.

OUR viewless boundary is a chain
That passeth through each heart,
That, lengthened, soon contracts again,
That, rent, is always rent in vain ;
The links are loadstones to the train,
And can't be kept apart!

THEY AWOKE IN HEAVEN.

Translated from the German.

Wife. THOU hast slept well?

well,

Husband. As never before. Not even in childhood did I experience such a deep, soft, refreshing slumber. My old father, thou rememberest him when he stepped into the room in the morn ing, where we were waiting for him, used to say, in answer to our inquiry how he had slept, "Like the blessed." Like the blessed, I might say, have I slept; or, rather, like the blessed have I awakened. I feel myself new quickened, as if all weariness, and all need of sleep, were gone forever. Such vigor is in my limbs, such elasticity in my movements, that I believe I could fly, if I would.

W. And you are pleased with this place?

H. Indeed, I must say we have been in many a beautiful place together; but this is wonderful and beautiful beyond description. What trees, actually heaven high! They bear blossoms and fruit together. Their branches, swaying to the morning wind, cause the tree tops all to give forth melody, as if a host of feathered singers dwelt in them. Behind the trees the mountains tower up, their majestic forms rigidly defined in the pure air; and here and there clouds, glowing with all the hues of

sunrise and sunset, stretch along their sides, or float over their summits. Upon the highest peak, out of a milk-white, translucent, shimmering mist, there spring, as it were, the gates, and towers, and palaces of a splendid city. From this peak nearest us, there seems to gush a mighty water, which I may call a sea rather than a stream, and which, nevertheless, leaps down the numerous terraces of the mountain, not with fearful roaring, but with a melodious sound. Wide about us are sprinkled the drops which water the trees and flowers, and impart a delicious coolness to the air, making it ecstasy to breathe here. Look, too, at this bank whereon we stand! How luxuriant, and how thickly strown with wonderful flowers! We wander over it, and yet the spires of grass are not broken, nor are the flowers crushed by our footsteps. It is a solitary place; yet on all sides vistas open to us, and the horizon tempts us ever farther and farther on.

W. Hast thou seen all this often before, or dost thou see it to-day for the first time?

H. Notwithstanding all is so homelike to me here, and though every thing greets me as something long beloved, yet when I think of it, I must say, "No, I have never been here before."

W. And dost thou not wonder to see me again at thy side?

H. Indeed; and hast thou not somehow always been near me?

W. In a certain sense, I have; but in another,

not so. It is long since thine eyes have seen me. I disappeared from them once.

H. Ah! now there sweeps over my memory, as it were, a dark cloud

spent in weeping

days of anxiety, and nights only the painful thoughts and emotions which so recently absorbed me. Now they elude my grasp. I cannot distinctly comprehend them. They appear to me something mys

terious.

W. Think on the fourteenth of February.

H. How now! it is all clear to me. It was near noon. Four days hadst thou been sick. We had feared much for thee, but still had hope. Suddenly a faintness came over thee. Thou didst lean thy head upon my breast, didst sink back with a deep sigh. Thou diedst—yes, it is all over. Thou art dead.

W. I am dead; yet see, I live!

H. If thou art dead, and if I see thee, then do I really dream?

W. Thou dreamest not, for thou art awake.

H. Or, art thou sent down from heaven to earth, that I should see thee again for a short time, and then anew, through long years, lament thy disappearance ?

W. No; henceforth we shall never separate. I am indeed sent to thee, but not down upon the earth. Look around thee here. Where upon earth hast thou seen such trees-such waters? Look at thyself. Thou didst go about yonder, bowed be

neath the weight of years. Now thou art young again. Thou dost not walk-thou floatest. Thine eyes not only see, but see immeasurably far. Look inward upon thyself. Has it always been with thy heart as now?

H. Within me is a deep, unfathomable, everswelling, and yet entirely still and peaceful sea. Yes, when I look about me here, and when I feel thy hand in mine, then I must say I am blessed, I am in heaven.

W. Thou art.

H. And then must I be actually dead?

W. Thou art. Hast thou not lain sick in that very chamber where I died, and whither thou didst long to be brought? Has not thy son, day and night, without leaving thy side, sincerely and tenderly nursed thee? Hast thou not by day and night found open the blue eye of thy daughter, in which she vainly strove to hold back the forthwelling tears? Were there not then a deep mist and utter darkness spread over the faces of thy children, and over every thing around thee?

H. I AM DEAD! Lord of life and death, upon my knees I thank thee that thou hast fulfilled this so great thing in me, that thou hast led me to such high happiness, to such great honor-dead, and happy to be dead! Thou knowest, O Lord, how often that moment stood before me; how often I have prayed that thou thyself, since I was not able to do it, wouldst prepare me for that hour; that