Now reft of all, faint, feeble, prest with age, We mark her feelings in the last great stage; The feverish hopes, the fears, the cares of life, No more oppress her with torturing strife; The chivalrous spirit of her early day Has passed with beauty and with youth away. As oft the traveller who beholds the sun Sinking before him ere yet his journey's done, Regrets in vain to lose its noontide power, Yet hails the coolness of the evening hour, She feels a holy and divine repose Rest on her spirit in the twilight close; Although her passions ruled in their might, Now vanquished, brighter burns the inward light, Guiding the spirit by its sacred ray To cast its mortal oil and cares away, And list its summons to eternal day. Tossed on a restless ocean, and surviving a long and stormy voyage, how the sight of the verdant hills and spires of the nearing port must cheer the wearied mariner! Joy has its sunbeams to light up every countenance. Merry the song that keeps tune with the revolving capstan. Old memories are awakened and dormant affections roused; the husband, the father, the exile, each has a train of though laden with bright anticipations. Fancy and hope hasten to wave their magic wings over the elated heart, and contribute the balm of ideal charms to make even one moment of mortal life a happiness without alloy. The wearied mariner returning home, quaffing a cup of joy, is a faint but truthful simile to represent the pious soul in sight of the port of eternal bliss, where loved ones are hailing from afar their welcome to the successful mariner from the troubled sea of time. Life has its storms and its calms, its casualties and dangers; it also has the bright twilight in the shadow of those eternal hills where existence is immortal and joy beatific and unclouded. Alvira, the heroine of our sketch, is now the faithful soul standing on the bark in view of her eternal home. The consolations promised by her sainted guardian have twice tolled the death knell; once more some great joy will strike the last fibre of her heart long tuned to spiritual happiness, and will break the last chain that imprisons a spirit longing to soar on high. In the deceptive phases of the consumptive malady she rallied at times; she felt stronger--would venture out to the homes of the poor, and faint at the alter of Jesus. In her weakness she did not moderate her austerities, save where the express command of her spiritual director manifested to her the will of God. Her little cottage was surrounded daily by the poor and sick, who were her friends, and many and sincere were the blessings invoked over their benefactress.