When morning came over the laughing earth, the light looked into that still chamber tremblingly, as if it feared to break the solemn gloom. Still they remained there—those pale watchers beside the dead—and with her head yet leaning on her mother’s breast, and a faint smile upon her parted lips, lay the cold lifeless form of the beautiful one who had gone from them forever. That dying smile—it beamed upon their hearts like sunlight from heaven. It was the seal of Love’s triumph, of the soul’s immortality, and told of a reunion beyond the grave. Not long did those aged and lonely parents survive her. Gently and easily they were called unto their celestial home. And for him who had so loved her—still he wanders on the earth, working his Master’s will, lonely yet not desolate. He shut his heart above that deep and quiet sorrow, as above a shrine whose lifeless ashes might never be rekindled by the fire of earthly love. Of Emma and of her early death, few ever heard him speak, but all who saw him, knew that the hopes and affections which engross the heart of man had been forever torn from his, and that amid the changes of his career his calm soul lifted its thoughts upward to the heaven of heavens where _she_ now dwells, with an eager and imploring cry—“how long, oh Lord—how long.” * * * * * THE ANGEL’S VISIT. BY MRS. S. ANNA LEWIS. One December evening cold, Filled with sorrows manifold, To the sere and sallow wold With an elfin step I stole, To hold converse with my soul Of the loved and lost of yore, Dwelling on the shadowy shore— The Spirit-shore. Very lonely was my breast— On that night no genial guest By its hearth-stone paused to rest; Dim the lamp of Hope did gleam O’er my young heart’s darkened stream; And I sought from mystic store In that lamp new oil to pour— Fresh oil to pour. Dark and drear and desolate, On a mossy crag I sate, Watching through the heavenly gate Many a solemn Angel-band Marching to the Spirit-land, When Love tapping on the door Of my heart, did there implore— A Home implore. Trembling, shivering, timid-hearted, From that holy dream I started, As a ghost of the departed From the gates of light had drifted, And with icy fingers lifted Up the latchet of the door Of my doating heart once more— Ah me! once more! Then aside I dashed the tear, Lower bent my mental ear, More distinct the taps to hear, And thoughtless did begin To tell Love to enter in. When an Angel sought this shore To defeat him at the door— My lone heart’s door.