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never rallied.

He sent for me to come to him, saying that he did not tbink he had many days to live; and his supposition was right. His calm clear spirit looked forward to its change with awe and reverence indeed, but with unclouded faith and sure hope. “Do you remember my old favourite Euripides ?” he said,

« τίς οίδεν εί το ζήν μέν έστι κατθανειν,
το κατθανειν δε ζην;

;” Aye,” said I,“ we christians can answer that question with a certainty which Euripides could not have looked forward to. We know that we

“ We know nothing touching ourselves,” said Milford, " we can but strive, and pray, and hope. There are the pains of death, in which the Church seems to think we may still fall away, and from these none of us have returned to lift the veil. On these matters let us forbear to speak. I will qnote to you once more, and it shall be a sentence as deep as any in Aristotle or Plato, evoeßer, ώ τέκνον,” says the great Mercurius, «ο γαρ ευσεβών άκρως φιλοσόφει."

Is it not," I asked after a pause, a great consolation to you, to think of meeting Gwendolen, and others that you bave loved, once more? Could you bear to die, were it not for such a faithful hope ?"

“Thou art right, Gerard. Such a hope I have-such a hope, after partaking in her ordinances, the Church encourages me to cherish-but no presumptuous certainty can find place in a frail and sinful heart. Thou didst not know my wife, my sweet Mary, nor yet that fair bright boy, whom it pleased God to take then, when he was fairest and brightest. Ab! my young friend, that was a sorer loss than even Gwendolen's. If gentleness and loveliness had availed to save him, he had never died. It was a gallant sight to see those two entwine their arms about each other, and play together in the sunshine. He was a gleeful child, the very sun of our household, the very apple of my eye. But it pleased God to take him in the early bloom of his grace and genius. Since then, not a day bas passed but I have thought of him, and never at any time would I have bad him here again, could I have recalled him by a wish. But it is a consoling hope that I may once more rejoin him and them, and leave them never more." He looked upwards, and clasped his hands in prayer. One word," he said a few minutes after, “as to my burial. I have left you all I have; not much ; but still a little addition to your comforts; and you must see me laid by my child. Let it be decent, but as simple as you can make it. Remember our sage old poet

• If, whilst we live, we stalk about the streets
Jostled by carmen, footposts, and fine apes
In silken coats, unminded, and scarce thought on;
It is not comely to be haled to the earth,
Like high-fed jadies upon a tilting-day,
In antic trappings.'"

So I perceived that I was to lose my friend ; and seeing that I have no relations that I know of, and but a few friends, it was a very bitter separation. He grew weaker and weaker day by day, and less and less able to converse; but all that he did say was marked by the same unwavering faith, and the same melancholy and sweet solemnity. The morning of his death was soft and warm, but somewhat gloomy, and there was a hush and a pause in external nature, which answered aptly to the stillness and silence of the death-chamber. All things seemed to wait for the passing spirit; and it was so profoundly quiet,

that I almost fancied we should hear it as it fled away. Who that has ever seen it can forget a death-bed? Can the feelings of awe, and suspense, and agony, and utter helplessness be ever banished from the mind? The pulse grew fainter and fainter, the breathing softer and slower; the soul was for many minutes hovering on the lip, but none could say at what moment it was taken into the hands of Him who gave it. But it was taken, and he fell asleep.

I buried him as he desired. There were few mourners and few spectators. That most wonderful of the services of our Church was read to a small band of followers, but never did it so scem to me to sound the very depths of our nature as it did that day. I walked out in the evening to gaze upon his grave; and as I paced through the village to the Church yard, the lightsome laugh, and the boisterous jest, and the coarse oath struck in strange inharmonious contrast on my ears, and brought forcibly to my mind those touching lines of the infidel poet, which have, ever since I first read them, been deeply imprinted in my memory

Heartless things
Are done and said i' the world; and many worms
And beasts and men live on; and mighty earth
From sea and mountain, city and wilderness,
In vesper low, or joyous orison,
Lifts still its solemn voice :--but thou art fled

1 had a higher and a holier hope for my friend than the infidel could have for his, but I could not go beyond bis deep and simple pathos, " But thou art fled.”

I have now to finish my pilgrimage alone. I do not think the journey will be a long one. May the end of it,

when it comes, find me as prepared to meet it as were Gwendolen and her father, and may my spirit be permitted to mingle in felicity with theirs !

THE LAND OF THE DEPARTED.*

Bright foam-crowned surges broke below,
Above high towered the rocks of ocean ;
There on the beach Cadwallon lay,
And with sweet song beguiled the day,

While round the wizard-band did blow
Soft gales to fan him with their gentle motion.

Cadwallon was an aged man,
Full ninety suns had o'er him travelled,
A sorcerer good and kind was he,
Well skilled in bardic minstrelsy ;

Earth's narrow bounds his mind outran,
And Nature's mystic lore with ease upravelled.

No secret from him could she keep,
Sun, moon, and stars lay all explored before him ;
The breezes waited his commands to blow;
For him the breakers roared or murmured low;

On billows' crests he floated o'er the deep,
And clouds upon their shadowy bosoms bore him.

While stretched upon the shore he lay,
Longing to seek Flattinnist o'er the surges,
(Island of heroes! where the blest
Enjoy a never-ending rest,

In the bright sun, and far removed away
From famine's gnawing tooth, and fell disease's scourges ;)

* The foundation of these Stanzas may be seen in an extract from Macpherson's History, quoted by Mr. Southey in the notes to his poem of Madoc.

+ Green Island, so says Mr. Southey.

Sudden a storm arose, and filled
The bay with murky clouds before it driving,
Beneath whose skirts the waves their crests upreared,
When lo! forth issuing from its womb appeared

A wondrous bark, whose snow-white sails well-filled Swelled to the wind-its oars were with the billows striving

But yet no mariners were there;
Instinct it was with life and motion ;
Chill terror seized the aged bard;
He saw no form, but words he heard

“ The boat of heroes waits-away with fear! “ Come, and behold Flattinnis o'er the ocean!"

The bark he entered, for a force
He could not challenge, in its chains had bound him:
The clouds roll round : the wind blows free;
On sails the shallop steadily:

Seven gloomy days and nights he held his course; Shrill voices screamed, and dull winds moaned around him.

His nature felt no wants the while;
At last with sudden fear he started ;
The waves rose mightily around-
The vessel quivered-when the sound

Broke from a thousand tongues, “ The isle ! the isle ! “ Behold! behold! the Land of the Departed !"

The clouds before him opened wide,
The calm bright land at once disclosing,
Bathed in a flood of gentle light,
That strengthened, not o'ertaxed the sight;

It lay along the rippling tide,
Like a fair dream in loveliness reposing,

N

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