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Sees a mansion more majestic

Than all those she saw before; Many a gallant, gay domestic

Bows before him at the door.

And they speak in gentle murmur,

When they answer to his call,
While he treads with footstep firmer,

Leading on from hall to hall.
And, while now she wonders blindly,

Nor the meaning can divine,
Proudly turns he round, and kindly, -

“All of this is mine and thine." Here he lives in state and bounty,

Lord of Burleigh, fair and free; Not a lord in all the county

Is so great a lord as he. All at once the color flushes

Her sweet face, from brow to chin: As it were with shame she blushes,

And her spirit changed within.

Then her countenance all over

Pale again as death did prove; But he clasped her like a lover,

And he cheered her soul with love. So she strove against her weakness,

Though at times her spirit sank; Shaped her heart, with woman's meekness,

To all duties of her rank: And a gentle consort made he,

And her gentle mind was such, That she grew a noble lady,

And the people loved her much.

But a trouble weighed upon her,

And perplexed her night and morn,
With the burden of an honor

Unto which she was not born.
Faint she grew, and ever fainter,

As she murmured,—“O, that he
Were once more that landscape painter,

Which did win my heart from me!”
So she drooped and drooped before him,

Fading slowly from his side;
Three fair children first she bore him,

Then, before her time, she died.

Weeping, weeping late and early,

Walking up and pacing down,
Deeply mourned the Lord of Burleigh,

Burleigh House, by Stamford town.
And he came to look upon her,

And he looked at her and said, -
“Bring the dress, and put it on her,

That she wore wheu she was wed.”
Then her people, softly treading,

Bore to earth her body dressed
In the dress that she was wed in,

That her spirit might have rest.


Joon Corysostom Mozart, the great German musical composer, was born in Saltzburg, January 27th, 1756. He died December 5th, 1791. Even in early youth he discovered wonderful musical talents, which were afterwards brought to the highest pitch of cultivation. His last and greatest composition engaged his attention on the very day of his death, which took place under the following affecting circumstances.

REQUIEM signifies rest; the name being taken from the first word of an old Latin service for the repose of the dead. It is, therefore, & hymn for the dead or in honor of the dead.

LAST MOMENTS OF MOZART. 1. A few months before the death of the celebrated Mozart, a mysterious stranger brought him an anonymous* letter, in which his terms for a requiem were required. Mozart gave them. Soon after the messenger returned, and paid a portion of the price in advance. To the composition of this requiem he gave the full strength of his powers. Failing to learn the name of him who had ordered it, his fancy soon began to connect something supernatural with the affair. The conviction seized him that he was composing a requiem for his own obsequies. While engaged in this work, and under this strange inspiration, he threw himself back, says his biographer, on his couch, faint and exhausted. His countenance was pale and emaciated; yet there was a strange fire in his eye, and the light of gratified joy on his brow that told of success.

2. His task was finished, and the melody, even to his exquisite sensibility, was perfect. It had occupied him for weeks; and, though his form was wasted by disease, yet the spirit seemed to acquire more vigor, and already claim kindred to immortality; for oft, as the sound of his own composition stole on his ear, it bore an unearthly sweetness that was to him too truly a warning of his future and fast coming doom.

3. Now it was finished, and, for the first time for many weeks, he sank into a quiet and refreshing slumber. A slight noise in the apartment awoke him, when, turning towards a fair young girl who entered, —“Emilie, my daughter,” said he, “come near to me-my task is over-the requiem is finished My requiem,” he added, and a sigh escaped him.

4. “Oh! say not so, my father,” said the girl, interrupting him, as tears stood in her eyes, "you must be better, you look better, for even now your cheek has a glow upon it; do let me

* For an analysis of the word anonymous, see Sanders & McElligott's Analysis, p. 88.

bring you something refreshing, and I am sure we will nurse you well again.”

5. “Do not deceive yourself, my love," said he; “ this wasted form can never be restored by human aid. From Heaven's mercy alone can I hope for succor; and it will be granted, Emilie, in the time of my utmost need; yes, in the hour of death, I will claim His help who is always ready to aid those who trust in Him; and soon, very soon, must this mortal frame be laid in its quiet sleeping place, and this restless soul return to Him who gave it.”

6. The dying father then raised himself on his couch ;"You spoke of refreshment, my daughter; it can still be afforded my fainting soul. Take these notes, the last I shall ever pen, and sit down to the instrument. Sing with them the hymn so beloved by your mother, and let me once more hear those tones which have been my delight since my earliest remembrance.”

Emilie did as she was desired ; and it seemed as if she sought a relief from her own thoughts; for, after running over a few chords of the piano, she commenced, in the sweetest roice, the following lines :

Spirit! thy labor is o'er,

Thy term of probation is run,
Thy steps are now bound for the untrodden shore,
. And the race of immortals begun.


Spirit! look not on the strife

Or the pleasures of earth with regret-
Pause not on the threshold of limitless life,

To mourn for the day that is set.

Spirit! no fetters can bind,

No wicked have power to molest;
There the weary, like thee—the wretched shall find,

A Heaven-a mansion of rest.

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7. As she concluded the last stanza, she dwelt for a few moments on the low, melancholy notes of the piece, and then waited in silence for the mild voice of her father's praise. He spoke not — and, with something like surprise, she turned towards him. He was laid back on the sofa, his face shaded in part by his hand, and his form reposing as if in slumber. Starting with fear, Emilie sprang towards him and seized his hand; but the touch paralyzed her, for she sank senseless by his side. He was gone! With the sound of the sweetest melody ever composed by human thought, his soul had winged its flight to regions of eternal bliss.


Horatius BONAR, D.D., is a distinguished clergyman of the Scottish Church. The beautiful lines below form one of his “Hymns of Faith and Hope;" which, to use his own words, “ are not the expressions of one man's or one party's faith and hope ; but are meant to speak what may be thought and spoken by all to whom the Church's ancient faith and bope are dear.”



'Tis not for man to trifle! Life is brief,

And sin is here.
Our age is but the falling of a leaf,

A dropping tear.
We have no time to sport away the hours,
All must be earnest in a world like ours.

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