ever sharing his last shilling with some poor man; a poet who never desecrated his genius for fame or gold; a hero, whose last act was a deed of sacrifice for those he loved. And is this life to be swallowed up in gloom? Should this grave be called a 'sad' one over which penitent sighs and pharasaical petitions for mercy must resound? Oh! my Balder, I know you would submit to even this error of a gloomy, intolerant formalist, with the quiet smile which was your only weapon against all assaults. But we, your friends, are not yet at peace, but in the midst of warfare. We must struggle for the weak who allow themselves to be intimidated by formulas preferring to leave their free souls in imprisonment than to shake themselves free from the hands of their tyrants, to learn to know and love this earth instead of despising its beauty in view of an imaginary world to come. Despise an earth, which has contained you, my Balder, a sky to which your noble eyes have been raised? no, a thousand times no! such a world is no vale of tears, and even in the bitterest woe beside your grave, we still have a feeling of triumph--we have possessed you, and all the calamities of life are richly compensated for, by the certainty that your great heart lives on in ours--Balder--my friend--my brother--" His voice suddenly failed, he pressed his clenched hand to his eyes and turned away, but the next instant regained his composure and motioned to the singers, who stood in a dense mass behind him. Instantly a quartette choir, whose voices at first low and unsteady from agitation, became gradually clearer and more powerful, began a song, which Mohr had composed to the air of _Integer vitae_: Brother, ere in the dust thy form we lay, We'll to thy worth a loving tribute pay; Thy virtues rare, and kindly heart, which were A comfort on life's way. Fearless thy earnest, noble soul did stand, Not mid the lofty masters of the land, But with thy brothers, 'mong their lowly huts, A member of their band. O! chosen one, for whom we proudly weep. Of whom thy friends a loved remembrance keep, How patiently thy weary lot was borne Till peaceful thou did'st sleep! Rejoice we at thy absence; gone before Thy pleasures and thy pains on earth are o'er; Rest thou, while on through strife and woe We heavenward soar.