"'O! she was young who won my yielding heart,' No power of genius nor the pencils' art Could half the beauties of her mind portray, E'en when inspired; and how can this my lay? Two eyes that spoke what language ne'er can do, Soft as twin violets moist with early dew. In sylph-like symmetry her form combin'd, To prove the fond endearments of the mind, While on her brow benevolence and love Sat meekly, like to emblems from above, And every thought that had creation there, But made her face still more divinely fair." Her remains were conveyed to the city of Nauvoo, and there, after a few neighbours had wept, and sung, "Come to me; will ye come to the Saints that have died," and expressed their condolence to the deeply afflicted husband, buried, in the solitude of the night, by the side of her youngest child, that had died near six months before. The writer does not mourn for his dead as those that die without hope, knowing they are taken from many evils to come. He desires to dedicate the above faint sketch to his children, now in the wilderness, for the testimony of Jesus, lest time should obliterate from their young and tender minds the recollection of her person and some of her virtues, and thereby perpetuate the memory of the just, while that of the wicked shall rot. He desires the prayers of all Saints for himself and his children; and may the blessing of Almighty God rest upon all who love our Lord Jesus Christ in sincerity. Amen. LINES, _Suggested on reading the Author's first Letter in the Series_. BY MISS E. R. SNOW. "My heart is fix'd"--I know in whom I trust. 'Twas not for wealth--'twas not to gather heaps Of perishable things--'twas not to twine Around my brow a transitory wreath, A garland deck'd with gems of mortal praise, That I forsook the home of childhood; that I left the lap of ease--the halo rife With smiling friendship's soft and mellow tones-- Affection's fond caresses, and the cup O'erflowing with the sweets of social life, Where high refinement's richest pearls were strew'd. Ah no! a holier purpose fir'd my soul-- A nobler object prompted my pursuit: Eternal prospects open'd to my view, And hope's celestial torch within me burn'd. God, who commanded Abraham to leave His native country, and to offer up On the lone alter, where no eye beheld But His who never sleeps, an only son, Is still the same; and thousands who have made A covenant with him by sacrifice. Are bearing witness to the sacred truth. Jehovah speaking? Yes, as heretofore.