On mural slabs, names loved of yore Can now be scarcely read; A few brief years have left no more Memorials of the dead. Save those which pass from sire to son, Traditions that are bred In the heart's core, and make their own Memorials of the dead. A CHILD'S REQUIESCAT IN PACE. _ELIZA ALLEN STARR_. With the gray dawn's faintest break, Mother, faithfully I wake, Whispering softly for thy sake _Requiescat in pace_! When the sun's broad disk at height Floods the busy world with light, Breathes my soul with sighs contrite, _Requiescat in pace_! When the twilight shadows lone Wrap the home once, once thine own, Sobs my heart with broken moan, _Requiescat in pace_! Night, so solemn, grand, and still, Trances forest, meadow, rill; Hush, fond heart, adore His will, _Requiescat in pace_! THE SOLITARY SOUL. I died; but my soul did not wing its flight straight to the heaven- nest, and there repose in the bosom of Him who made it, as the minister who was with me said it would. Good old man! He had toiled among us, preaching baptizing, marrying, and burrying, until his hair had turned from nut-brown to frost-white; and he told me, as I lay dying, that the victory of the Cross was the only passport I needed to the joys of eternity; that a life like mine would meet its immediate reward. And it did; but, O my God! not as he had thought, and I had believed. As he prayed, earth's sights and sounds faded from me, and the strange, new life began. The wrench of agony with which soul and body parted left me breathless; and my spirit, like a lost child, turned frightened eyes towards home. I stood in a dim, wind-swept space. No gates of pearl or walls of jacinth met my gaze; no streaming glory smote my eyes; no voice bade me enter and put on the wedding garment. Hosts of pale shapes circled by, but no one saw me. All had their faces uplifted, and their hands--such patient, pathetic hands--were clasped on their hearts; and the air was heavy with the whisper, "Christ! Christ!" that came unceasingly from their lips. Above us, the clouds drifted and turned; about us, the horizon was blotted out; mist and grayness were everywhere. A voiceless wind swept by; and as I gazed, sore dismayed and saddened, a rent opened in the driving mass, and I saw a man standing with arms upraised. He was strangely vestured; silver and gold gleamed in his raiment, and a large cross was outlined upon his back. He held in his hands a chalice of gold, in which sparkled something too liquid for fire, too softly brilliant for water or wine. As this sight broke on our vision, two figures near me uttered a cry, whose rapturous sweetness filled space with melody; and, like the up- springing lark, borne aloft by the beauty of their song, they vanished; and those about me bowed their heads, and ceased their moan for a moment. "What is it?" I cried. "Who is the man? What was it he held in his hand?"