besides, my dearest, I wish you to know what a man he was; you will the better comprehend my regret, his empire over me--all that I will some day confide to you." Corinne took the papers, which Oswald always carried about him, and with a faltering voice began---- "Oh, ye just! beloved of the Lord! ye speak of death without a fear; to you it is but a change of homes; and this ye leave may be the least of all. Innumerable worlds that shine through yon infinitude of space! unknown communities of His creatures--children! strewn through the firmament, ranged beneath its concave, let our praises rise with yours! We know not your condition, nor your share of God's free bounty; but in thinking over life and death, the past, the future, we participate in the interests of all intelligent, all sentient beings, however distant be their dwelling-places. Assembled spheres! wide-scattered families! ye sing with us, Glory to the Lord of heaven! the King of earth! the Spirit of the universe! whose will transforms sterility to harvest, darkness to light, and death to life eternal. Assuredly the end of the just man deserves our envy; but few of us, or of our sires before us, have looked on such a death. Where is he who shall meet the eye of Omnipotence unawed? Where is he who hath loved God without once wavering? Who served him from his youth up, and, in his age, finds nothing to remember with remorse? Where is the man, in all his actions moral, who has not been led by flattery, or scared by slander? So rare a model were worthy of imitation; but where exists it? If such be amongst us, how ought our respect to follow him! Let us beg to be present at his death, as at the loveliest of human spectacles. Take courage, and surround the bed, whence he will rise no more! He knows it, yet is all serene: a heavenly halo seems to crown his brow. He says, with the Apostle, 'I know in whom I have believed;' and this reliance, as his strength decays, lights up his features still. Already he beholds his celestial home, yet unforgetful of the one he leaves. He is God's own; but turns not stoically from ties that lent a charm to his past life. His faithful partner, by the law of nature, will be the first to follow him. He dries her tears, and tells her they shall meet in heaven! even there unable to expect felicity without her. Next, he reminds her of the happy days that they have led together; not to afflict the heart of such dear friend, but to increase their mutual confidence in their Lord's pardoning grace. The tender love he ever bore his life's companion now seeks to soften her regrets; to bid her revel in the sweet idea that their two beings grew from the same stem; and that this union may prove one defence, one guarantee the more, against the terrors of that dark futurity wherein God's pity is the sole refuge of our startled thoughts. But how conceive the thousand feelings that pierce a constant heart, when one vast solitude