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It seems as if thine ardent soul,

When drawing near its blissful goal,
Kindles with that reflected ray,

Whose brightness ne'er shall pass away;
As mountain peaks, all wreath'd with snow,
Catch the first morning sunbeam's glow,
And seem unto the valleys round
With dazzling beams of glory crown'd.

Long may thy genius, christian sage!
Like a rich garment clothe thy age;
Long may thy mind, with ardent glow,
On all around its light bestow;
And may my spirit treasure well,
My memory delighted dwell,
Upon the accents of that tongue
Where such a tuneful rapture hung."

They may say what they will of the beauty of youth," said Ellen; "nothing is more beautiful to soul, if not to sense, than old age, when found in the way of cheerful godliness.'

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"I think, my dears," said Mrs. Vernon, "I must call on aunt Anna to read the lines she wrote Edward on his attaining his sixteenth birthday." The request was made known to the kind aunt, who had been reading the poems as they were passed to her, and she, with a pleased look, instantly complied:

A BIRTH-DAY REMEMBRANCE AND ADMONITION.

With joy I hail your natal day, my dearest youthful friend,
Yet solemn, earnest thoughts must still with kindly feelings blend;
I dare not let light laughter, or mere giddy careless mirth,
Be my only mode of greeting the anniversary of your birth.

'Tis sunshine glitt'ring through tears that makes the heavenly bow,
And mingled light and shadow blend with all things here below;
E'en thus, while joy thrills in my heart, my eyes o'erflow with tears,
And my blessings on your youthful head are not unmix'd with fears.

The light of sixteen summers fair upon your life has shone,
And well your studious mind has stored the wealth of days now gone;
But sterner duties call you forth-the path of life grows steep,
And lurking from the casual glance are many pitfalls deep.

All the flowery fields of childhood your feet have wander'd through,
And now the gate of manhood stands wide open to your view;
Your foot is on its threshold, your heart beats strong and high,
Hope sits enthroned upon your brow, and kindles in your eye.

What staff, young pilgrim, shall sustain your footsteps in the way,
Which eagerly and joyously you enter on to-day?

What chart will you consult, your safest path to tell?
What radiant lamp will you secure, all darkness to dispel ?

Oh! these are solemn questions, for life's track on every side
Abounds with treacherous quicksands, and the wisest need a guide;
And, trust me, on the guide they choose the issue all depends,
Whether the journey they pursue to bliss or misery tends.

There is a staff that never fail'd the weakest pilgrim's hand,
By its support the feeblest one with strength erect shall stand;
There is a lamp that quenchless light has ever purely given,
A chart that clearly marks the road that leads from earth to heaven.

God's sacred Book-the Eternal Mind reveal'd in words to man,
This is the chart whereon is mark'd life's comprehensive plan;
This is the staff on which to lean, throughout the weariest way,
This is the lamp shall cheer you on with its unerring ray.

Then falter not, but choose at once this ever faithful guide,
And with a love "as strong as death" by its commands abide;
Oh! then, whate'er your portion here, your footsteps cannot err,
Wisdom shall be your watchful guard, and peace your comforter.

No fervent prayers of friends can shield from harm your youthful head,

No mortal tenderness with joy your future pathway spread :
But if your steadfast heart be right, your mind illumed with truth,
No bitter woe can darken long your manhood or your youth.

Now deem not that this birth-day strain assumes too grave a tone,
An anxious love, a solemn joy, within my heart has grown;
Your future welfare is a theme momentous in my eyes,
Your onward life I fondly hope will gain the noblest prize.

And ever, as with future years, your natal day comes round,
May friends with joy as warm as mine your heart and home surround;
May choicest blessings smooth for you life's steep and rugged road,
And heavenly grace still lead you on, to happiness and God.

Edward rose from his seat by Jane, and crossing the room, took his aunt's hand, as he leaned over her chair-back; there was nothing said, but his looks told he had valued the advice, and more the affection that prompted it.

"I suppose, aunt," said Etty, speaking into the ear-trumpet, "you called Edward 'Young Friend' in those lines because of the rhyme-nephew is an awkward word in verse."

"Ah!" said aunt Anna, willing to vindicate her stanzas, "the names of kindred are very sweet and dear, but after all they merge in the name of friend. Friends are always the kindred of the heartkindred are not always friends. But we are each and all happy, my Etty, in being both."

"Well, we have had a good many melodious mystifications this evening," ejaculated Etty, with a pretended yawn.

"Now Etty," exclaimed Ellen, "we really will rebel if you become too critical, for you proposed this mélange, this olla podrida.

"In plain English, this hodge-podge,” said Etty. "It's really too bad," resumed Ellen; "you shall be punished, you critic! in a way few critics would like. You shall give us something better."

"Agreed, agreed," exclaimed they all. "Come, Etty, a stanza in recompense for all the saucy things you have chosen to say."

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"A stanza! You know I deal in no such light wares," replied Etty. "I say my thoughts, I don't sing them. I have too much mercy on the English language to torture it."

"You would torture the language, as you call it, only it is too tough for you, and you can't manage it. Come, no excuse, a stanza, or no more criticism," said Philip.

"Well, if you will have a stanza, I'll give you one that will perhaps contain a reason why I cannot give you the benefit of any more criticism, at least to night:

My thoughts have a very saucy trick,

Of scampering away,

Just as I want them to be quick,

And tell me what to say.

E'en so this moment they have fled,

And left me but-an empty head."

There was a general laugh at this sally; Mrs. Vernon quietly remarking,

"Etty would not like us to take her estimate of the condition of her head."

The papers and note-books on this were laid aside, and the group, drawing closer round the cheerful fire, began to talk of the morrow's separations; and it was not until long past their usual hour that they retired to rest.

CHAPTER XVI.

AN INCONCLUSIVE CONCLUSION.

THE reader has now passed many an evening with the family circle described. Shall we take a parting look at them on the morning of separation? They had met for their winter vacation under circumstances of anxiety. The brightness of their affectionate joy at seeing each other had been shaded by impending clouds. Yet they had not yielded to repining, they had resolved to make the present happy, let the future be what it might,and Providence had been better than their fears. The clouds had rolled away and showed the clear serene sky above. Not one of the group, from the oldest to the youngest, had ever doubted that there was a bright sky beyond the threatening clouds; and that faith had quieted complaint and nerved exertion. But they were grateful to be permitted to see what they had believed-to realize their expectation and as anxiety had somewhat tempered their joy in meeting, so hope soothed their grief at parting.

They breakfasted early, and it was arranged that the young men should go in the morning, and that Jane should go by the coach at noon, to the distant railway station, from whence she would soon reach her destination.

After the conclusion of the cheerful morning meal, and the devotions that made the family one