RECOLLECTIONS OF THE FAIREST HOURS TO starry night, where no star sets, but one

No. 9.

Recollections to cheer the Latest Hours of Life.

life that bloomed all about the lowly church tower at Heim, under the fostering hand of the fair Justa. Piety and sacred beauty were here sweetly wedded together, as the church cast its holy shadow over the little garden, where the happy three would meet in the evening, while the sky, like the dome of a temple hung over them. It is pleasant to think that, in many a lowly village and unheard-of dwelling, some such isolated Eden in the world is now unfolding itself, and it may be so; though none but poets know it; for the gentle flowers of true joy ever delight to hide themselves in thickest foliage. Gottreich lived so blissfully in his hidden paradise, that he feared to speak of his joys except in the thanksgivings that filled up the greater part of his prayers.

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that had made him a poet, now made him a soldier; but now, no longer contented to play with its own beauty, would seize some certain object, and work for some certain purpose. The young priest scarcely dared to breathe his wishes to his father, but intrusted the secret intention with Justa, who demurred on account of the old man's feelings. But the old clergyman, mastered by the same patriotic ardor that had seized his son, blessed him for his holy purpose, and cheerfully bade him go and fight the battles of his country. "I," said he, "will see to the homilies, till Heaven shall restore peace to our wounded land."

So Gottreich went to his exercise as a common soldier; and, whenever he had opportu、 nity, used his powers as a preacher, to sustain the courage of his comrades. He closed his campaign, not without considerable active service, though, somewhat to his disappointment, without a wound. And now, as peace again brooded over the rescued country, Gottreich travelled homewards through towns and villages full of festivity, rejoicing in all he saw around him, but knowing that few were so happy as himself. As he pursued his way, he delighted himself with the thought, that at once he would take the burden of his duties from his father's mind, and the hand of Justa to make it light upon his own. As he drew nigh his native place, and saw the hills that rose a little beyond Heim, he could not avoid musing over his little manuel of sweet" Recollections;" and de

Nothing reminds a thoughtful youth so much of the last hour of life as the fairest and most intensely joyful hour of life; for those who are full of thoughts and feelings of love and joy, must also think much of death. So, in the fresh delight of life's Maymorning, Gottreich could not avoid thinking, that his morning star must one day shine as his evening star. Said he to himself, "Now is all clear and brilliant before me-the beauty and happiness of life; the splendor of the universe; the glory of the Creator; the worth and the power of the human heart; the constellations of eternal truths; the lustrous heaven of ideas;-I see and feel all clearly, surely, warmly; but as after the day comes the night, so, when I lie in the fading hour of life, all these things may be over-vised some new-glowing chapters on the reshadowed in the twilight, and hardly recognized even by the eyes of faith and love: for when we draw near to Heaven, Death holds the inverted telescope to the weary eye, and nothing is seen through it but a drear void space, stretching far away between us and all we love. But is this mere optical deception to be taken for the truth? Do not now my youthful powers, in their joyous unfolding, seize the truth better and surer than I can when all around seems fading to the fading eye, and weary heart of old age? I know very well, that is the truth which I see and feel now. Let me mark it well, and remember it; that the light of the morning may have a fair reflection in the eventide." So he occupied the fair May-morning in recording his glowing feelings in glowing words, under the title,-" Recollections of the Fairest Hours to cheer the Latest Hours of Life."

So the happy triad of love continued for a while, till the war broke out; and its first thunders so roused the heart of Gottreich from happy dreams, that he became a transformed man. The same fire of enthusiasm

union of friends. A gentle thunder-storm gathered over his head, and large drops fell to refresh the thirsty ground; and the wellknown peasantry, as he passed by, rejoiced at once in the welcome shower, and his returning. And now the little tower of Heim seemed to grow up out of the earth as he approached; and, as he stepped down into the bosom of the vale, the parsonage greeted his view, and all its windows shone in the evening glow. At each he looked for the expectant Justa; but all was still about the house. As he entered and found the lower rooms empty, a slight noise directed his attention to his father's chamber; and he entered softly. The apartment was filled with the splendor of the evening sky. There kneeled Justa, by the bed of his father, who sat looking into the heavens, while his pale, wasted countenance gleamed strangely in the rosy light.

Gottreich fell upon the old man's bosom, who stretched towards him his withered yellow hand, and said, "You have come just in time, my son."

Justa related in a few words, how the fa

eyes of a preserving angel over you. And think how a thousand gentle reflections of the eternal goodness, from heart to heart, from eye to eye, of mankind, have played around you, as the one light plays from sun to sun, from world to world, through all the universe.

"Oh think, in the darksome hour, how, in the springtide, the grave only seemed the

ther had over-wrought himself in attention to his duties, and had been now, for some days, half sunk in lethargy; seeming to take no more interest in all that had once been dearest to him. As she spoke, the old man heard not, but continued gazing upon the sun, setting now behind clouds of crimson and gold. Suddenly the heavens were overclouded; a dead calm lasted a few minutes; then fell a heavy shower of rain; the light-horizon of a new world, and how, even in the ning streamed through the chamber, and the fulness of life, you could think of better things thunder rolled among the hills. It seemed after death. Think that your life is ever surthat the disturbance had aroused the dying rounded with the universal life in which birth man from his stupor; "I hear," said he, "the and death are only the light, uppermost bilrain again; speak, children; for I must soon lows of an unfathomable ocean. And can you go.' The heavens discharged their fulness, forget, in the darksome hour, father, how and all life throughout the vale seemed re- great and good men have lived and died, freshed by the shower, as the sun broke forth|whose path you are now following? See the again, and changed the cloud-wrecks of the storm, into shapes and hues of wond'rous beauty. "See," said the enlivened old man, pointing to the sky,-" see the glorious work of God! And now, my son, tell me, for my last comfort here, something of the goodness and loveliness of the Almighty One, as you told us in your homilies in the spring."

Gottreich wept as he thought that the little manuel drawn up for his own use-the "Recollections of the Fairest Hours to cheer the Latest Hours of Life"-must be first read at his father's death-bed. When he mentioned them, the old man said, "Hasten and bring them." And so, with trembling voice, Gottreich began

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great spirits of the human race who stand on their mountain-towers, with the storms of life about and below, but never above them. Recall to mind the enthroned succession of sages and poets, who have illumined and inspired people after people, through so many ages."

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"Speak of our Redeemer," said the father, Yes; think, in the darksome hour, of Jesus Christ. Life is holy, and death is holy; for he has shared both with us. May he look upon you, in this last darksome hour, and show you His and your Father!"

A gentle burst of thunder rolled among the clouds awhile, and then the sun looked out again in mild beauty.

out of one root, draws life-sap for the glories of five hundred spring-tides."

"Do you mean me?" asked the father.

"And think, father, how the heart can "Oh think, in the darksome hour, how the love, and how many millions of souls may glory of heaven and earth once filled your live in love, nourished and supported by one bosom!-how you gazed by day into one in-heart-spring, as the oak for many centuries, finitude of beauty, and by night into another! Put away the unmeaning notion of void space, and surround yourself again, as a middle point, with the fulness and glory of innumerable suns and worlds, all full of life and love -splendor with splendor, grandeur with grandeur mingling. Soar, spirit, ages after ages, from world to world, you will ever be in the bosom of the infinite fulness, in no peril of falling into a dread void; for empty space is only between the worlds, and not around them all. Oh think, in the darksome hour, on the time when your heart burst forth in rapturous prayer to God!-on the day when the thought of the infinite, the eternal, opened in your mind."

"I am thinking of my mother, too," said the son; and Justa melted in tears as she saw that thoughts of love could so overcome the bitterness of death; while the old man, musing on his long-deceased wife, murmured softly," Meet again!"

Suddenly, the clouds were arranged in two dark mountain-peaks, between which the sun looked out with a kind farewell glance upon the earth.

"What a glorious countenance!" said the

dying man.

"It is the setting sun, father," said Got

Here the old man folded his hands in silent treich. prayer.

"Have you not known and felt present the Being, whose infinitude is not only of power and wisdom, but of love? Remember now the sweet hours of childhood, when the deep blue sky of day and the deep blue sky of night opened upon you like the soft kind

“Yes, I see that face again; and now”— said the father, thinking all the while of his departed wife.

Gottreich felt unable to continue his "Recollections," and go on to describe the joys of reunion upon earth, which he had penned in the morning; for how could he speak of

Religion-Christ the Physician.

solves," passed through a dozen editions in as many years. His style is highly figurative and sententious, and has the rare merit of inducing one to think as well as read. Some of his chapters are excellent readings for a Sunday morning; for example the following.

[Ed. S. C. Library.

of the worship of the Deity. It is an adoration purely of the spirit, a more sublime bow

A writer who enjoyed much celebrity in the beginning of the seventeenth century, was Owen Feltham. His book, called "Re-ing of the soul to the Godhead. And this is it which that Homer of philosophers avowed could bring a man to perfect happiness, if to his contemplation he joined a constant imitation of God, in justice, wisdom, and holiness. Nothing can carry us so near to God and heaven as this. The mind can walk beyond the sight of the eye, and, though in a cloud, can lift us into heaven while we live. Meditation is the soul's perspective glass, whereby, in her long remove, she discerneth God, as if he were near at hand. I persuade no man to make it his whole life's business. We have bodies as well as souls. And even this world, while we are in it, ought somewhat to be cared for. As those states are likely to flourish, where execution follows sound advisements, so is man, when contemplation is seconded by action. Contemplation generates; action propagates. Without the first the latter is defective. Without the last, the first is but abortive and embryous. Saint Bernard compares contemplation to Rachel, which was the more fair; but action to Leah, which was the more fruitful. I will neither always be busy and doing, nor ever shut up in nothing but thoughts. Yet, that which some would call idleness, I will call the sweetest part of my life, and that is my thinking. Surely God made so many varieties in his creatures as well for the inward soul as outward senses; though he made them primarily for his own free will and glory. He was a Monk of an honester age, that, being asked how he could endure that life without the pleasure of books, answered, the nature of the creatures was his library, wherein, when he pleased, he could muse upon God's deep oracles.

THE WORSHIP OF ADMIRATION. Whatsoever is rare and passionate, carries the soul to the thought of eternity, and contemplation gives it some glimpses of more absolute perfection, than here it is capable of. When I see the royalty of a state-show at some unwonted solemnity, my thoughts present me something more royal than this. When I see the most enchanting beauties that earth can show me, I yet think there is something far more glorious; methinks I see a kind of higher perfection peeping through the frailty of a face. When I hear the ravishing strains of a sweet-tuned voice, married to the warbles of the artful instrument, I apprehend by this a higher diapason, and do almost believe I hear a little deity whispering through the pory substance of the tongue. But this I can but grope after; I can neither find nor say what it is. When I read a rarely sententious man, I adinire him to my own impatiency. I cannot read some parts of Seneca, above two leaves together. He raises my soul to a contemplation, which sets me a thinking on more than I can imagine. So I am forced to cast him by and subside to an admiration. Such effects work poetry, when it looks to towering virtues. It gives up a man to raptures, and irradiates the soul with such high apprehensions, that all the glories which this world hath, hereby appear contemptible; of which the soft-souled Ovid gives a touch, when he complains the want.

"That sacred vigor, which had wont alone

T'enflame the poet's noblest breast, is gone." But this is when these excellencies incline to gravity and seriousness. For otherwise light airs turn us into sprightful actions, which breathe away in a loose laughter, not leaving half that impression behind them which serious considerations do; as if mirth were the excellency for the body, and meditation for the soul; as if one were for the contentment of this life, and the other eyeing to that of the life to come. All endeavors aspire to eminency; all eminencies do beget an admiration; and this makes me believe, that contemplative admiration is a large part

ON MORNING PRAYER. There is no doubt but prayer is needful daily, ever profitable, and at all times commendable. If it be for ourselves alone, it is necessary; and it is charitable when it is for others. At night it is our covering; in the morning it is our armor. So at all times it defends us from the malice of Satan, our own subordinations and betrayings, the unequal weather that the world assaults us with, and preserves us in the favor and esteem of Heaven. We are dependents upon the court while we are but petitioners there; so till we be denied and dismissed we have the protection thereof, which certainly is a privilege that a stranger cannot claim.

And albeit prayer should be the key of the day, and the lock of the night, yet I hold it, of the two, more needful in the morning, than when in the evening we commit ourselves to