For memory brings to me again The dear ones that are laid to rest, And scenes ’mid which they bore a part In lovely visions haunt my breast; Their looks, their words, their beaming smiles, Soft tears from out my eyelids press; They’re with me through the waking day, My nightly slumbers gently bless; And still I pause in mortal fear, For life is sweet—and death is drear. My faithful friends whose gentle deeds Of kindness words were poor to tell; My daily walks, my favorite flowers, The page where genius throws its spell, And Nature with its varied hues, Where spring and summer brightly glows, By many a fine and subtle link Of custom round my being grows; And still I pause in mortal fear, For life is sweet—and death is drear. Kind Lord! subdue this trembling dread, My spirit nerve with firmer zeal, Death is the portal of our life, Its promised good Thou wilt reveal; And in thy word I read with joy The blessings that believers share, And peace within my bosom steals, The heavenly peace that springs from prayer; No more I pause in mortal fear, The grave is sweet when Thou art near. * * * * * A YEAR AND A DAY: OR THE WILL. BY MRS. CAROLINE H. BUTLER. (_Concluded from page 199._) CHAPTER IV. We will take a brief retrospect of the last two years in the life of Crayford. Upon a pleasant summer evening, two gentlemen, mounted on fine, spirited steeds, came gayly cantering down the gentle slope of a hill, and across the rustic bridge which formed the entrance to a small village in the interior of Pennsylvania, just as a party of merry milk-maids were returning the same way from the green pastures beyond. The road, or rather lane, was here quite narrow, and observing the rapid approach of the equestrians, the girls hastily stepping aside into the deep grass, stood still for them to pass by. Instead of doing so, however, they slackened their pace, and one of them reining in his steed, gazed impertinently into the blushing faces of the village girls. “By heavens!” he exclaimed, in a low voice to his companion, “what a pair of eyes that little witch has in the blue petticoat—and what a shape! look at her, Hastings.”