This glorious sunset I behold, This lovely closing scene of day, The western sky embathed in gold, The calm, low murmurings that play Upon the quiet ear of eve;— Yon fields, in waving beauty spread, The summer-rose now paling here, The sunflower’s gently drooping head, Proclaim the day, the hour near, O’er which, for aye, I vainly grieve! No more the rapture now, that grew Within our hearts, pale sleeping _one_! While dwelling on that gorgeous view Unfolded by the setting sun— No more thy loved, thy lonely flowers Will bend to kiss the gentle hand Outstretched to train their heavenward bloom; No more that angel form will stand Beside me, in the twilight gloom, To light with love my darkened hours! * * * * * THE CHAMBER OF LIFE AND DEATH. BY PROFESSOR ALDEN. CHAPTER I. A light was seen gleaming at an unusual hour, in one of the rooms of —— college. The sole occupant of said room was Willard Carlton, a member of the junior class. He was a diligent and successful student, but was not wont to trim the midnight lamp. By a wise employment of sunlight, by avoiding the loss of isolated moments, he accomplished as much mental labor as the laws of health would allow, and devoted a large portion of the night to refreshing sleep. The light attracted the attention of a friend and fellow student, who was laying the foundation of a life of suffering, by prolonging his night studies to the morning hours. He repaired to Carlton’s room, and found him leaning upon his table, his countenance marked with deep dejection. “Are you ill?” said Temple. “I am not,” said Carlton, pointing to a seat. “I knew there must be some cause for your being up at this late hour, I thought it could be nothing less than sickness.” “It is something more than sickness.” “Is it any thing in regard to which I can be of any service to you? I am entirely at your command.” “Thank you—you can do nothing for me. I have received a letter from home.” “It contains bad news.” “Yes.” “Is your father ill?” “My father is well; but I am informed that another—friend has a mortal disease.” “Another friend! a lady?” Carlton bowed his head in reply. Temple was silent. He knew that Carlton had no relative in his native place except his father. He inferred at once the nature of his connection with the invalid whose situation caused such deep solicitude. He felt a little hurt at the reserve with which he had been treated.