Their deep and thoughtful happiness required No herald pomp. Buds of the snowy rose, On brow and bosom, were the only gems Of the young fair-hair'd bride, whose ringlets fell Down to her shoulders:--nature's simple veil Of wondrous grace. A few true hearted friends Witness'd the marriage-rite, with cheering smiles And fervent blessings. And the coming years With all their tests of sunshine or of shade, Belied no nuptial promise, striving each With ardent emulation to surpass Its predecessor in the heavenward path Of duty and improvement. Bertha's prayers Were ever round them as a thread of gold Wove daily in the warp and woof of life. In their felicity she found her own Reduplicated. In good deeds to all Who sought her aid, or felt the sting of woe, With unimpaired benevolence she wrought, And tireless sympathy. Ordain'd she seem'd To show the beauty of the life that hath God for its end. Clearer its brightness gleam'd As nearer to its heavenly goal it drew. The smile staid with her till she went above, Death harm'd it not. Her passport to that clime Where Love begun on earth, doth end in joy, Forevermore. IN MEMORIAM. REV. DR. T. M. COOLEY, For more than sixty years Pastor of one Church in East Granville, Mass., died there in 1859, aged 83. Not in the pulpit where he joy'd to bear The message of salvation, not beside His study-lamp, nor in the fireside chair, Encircled by those dearest ones who found In him their life of life, nor in the homes Of his beloved flock, sharing with them All sympathies of sorrow or of joy, Is seen the faithful Shepherd. He hath gone To yon blest Country where he long'd to be, To stand before the Great White Throne, and join That hymn of praise for which his course below Gave preparation. At one post he stood From youth till fourscore years, averse to change Though oft-times tempted. For he did not deem Restless ambition or desire of gold Fit counterpoise for that most sacred love Born in the inner chambers of the soul, And intertwining with a golden mesh Pastor and people. Like some lofty tree Whose untransplanted roots in freshness meet The living waters, and whose leaf is green 'Mid winter's gather'd frost, serene he stood, More fondly honor'd for each added year, While 'neath his shadow drew with reverent love Successive generations. Hoary Time Linger'd with blessings for his latest day, And now 'neath turf embalm'd with tears he sleeps, Waiting the resurrection of the just. MADAM OLIVIA PHELPS, Widow of the late ANSON G. PHELPS, Esq., died at New York, April 24th, 1859, aged 74.