It was no stolid want of sympathy,

No cold forgetfulness of mortal woe,
No curious hankering to purchase ease;
The Sexton had forgotten what death was,
For death provided him with home and bread,
And graves he dealt in, as some deal in farms.
The Sexton manfully pursued the way;
He turned, when near the bridge, for such a flush
Of crimson wandered o'er the snow, the fields
So glowed as if with summer's fire, his heart
Bounded to meet that bright gold glance of day.
Yet it felt wondrous cold, but 'twas so still,-
As if the frost had fastened on itself.

He reached the house of death,-a friendly house,
And sat in peace to see the wood-fire flash,
His numb and stiffened fingers spread to meet
The cheerful warmth, and then he spoke as one
Who came from living worlds, for in that house
There was a pensive figure in one seat.
The Sexton did not see that figure sad;

But the pale mother with her tear-stained eyes
Looked on, and drooped her head, the father too,
He looked and saw that youth,-the cold, cold form
Of wintry Death who sits by some sad hearts.
The Sexton yet remained, his mood was strong,
He loved to ease the burden of that woe,
So wondrous in its dread, wide agony.

When he stepped forth to take his homeward path,
('Twas a short saunter to the village church,)
A change was in the sky, a wild wind blew,
The frost had tired of silence, and now played
A merry battle-march with the light snow,
That whirled across the road in dizzy sport,

White wreathes for banners, and gay, sparkling sheets.
The last ray faded in the sleeping west,

Day had abandoned earth, and the weird night
That asks from human eye no sympathy,

Called up a thousand actors in its play.

From the soft hills that hem the meadows in,
The Sexton heard the music of the pines,-

A sudden gush of sounds, as when a flock

Of startled birds are beating through the air,
And tossing off the snow from their quick wings,
Then pauses of deep silence, that his ear
Accustomed to the sounds of cheerful day
Could not contain, and first the inward voice,-
"It is a bitter night, yet I have felt

More cold without anxiety; the snow

Beats heavily o'er the unsheltered road;

Huge drifts to-morrow, and hard sledding here."
Then came a heavier blast than all before,

And beat upon the cheerful Sexton's front,
As the broad, tossing billows breast the ship.
He ploughed along the way; nor fence, nor shrub,
And a dark curtain in the air; the stars

Were flickering, as the distant light-boat moored
Shifts to the pilot's eye each breaking wave.
His eye not eager sought the willow arch,
A little further to the bridge he thought;
And pausing beat his stout arms on his breast,
Then turned, and faced the wintry surge again ;-
One step, and then his feet sank down-the edge

It was of the deep brook that wandered on
Through the wide meadows, sinuous in its course,-
The Sexton's feet slipped on the glassy surface,
He was across-across that meadow brook.

He sank upon the snow and breathed a prayer,
His heart thrilled strongly with an icy fear;
His thoughts ran in dim shapes across his brain,
A tumult of wild images of woe;

And one lank, warring figure,-wintry Death
Stood on the bank, and said with gentle voice,-
"Yes! yes! across the brook thy feet have come,
The deep, black brook-'twas never known to freeze,
It has upborne thee in its icy scale,

Where but a feather's weight had turned the beam;
Thou, not in battle, nor in sharp disease,

But here within the peaceful village fields,

Hast, by the veriest chance, as thou mayst think,

Been guided, through such a sudden danger,

As no fear conjured in thy cheerful mind.
Yet by no chance, for this thy lesson is,

To teach thee when the burial and the tomb
Consign to rest the palsied shapes of life,

How grand that hour must be, when the bright soul
Led by my hand draws nigh to that deep stream,
Across whose icy flow no mortal walks,

In whose still, unvexed depths the works of men,
Still ever following, sink without return."

There was a laborer's cottage not afar,
Where now the toil was over, and they sat,
The family around their crackling fire
In merry mood, and heard the spinning wheel
Hum like the swarming bees in summer-time,
For all that wind's loud bluster, and the cold
That like a cunning thief crept round the hut.—
A lamentable sound they sudden hear,
A voice of wild despair, imploring aid.
The laborer listens, and the cries renew,

The voice comes from the meadow, and the dog
The laborer calls, and muffling in his frock,
He finds the Sexton near the brook sunk down,
And stiffening in the cold and icy night.

Next day they traced the Sexton's steps,

And found that but one narrow arch across

That meadow-brook the spanning frost had thrown,
As if in sport to prove its secret powers;
And there the Sexton crossed, that little arch,
Left him alive to guide the funeral train

That from the friendly house came forth in woe.

It taught this lesson, that in common hours

There hides deep meaning, and a sudden fear;

Nor need we track the deserts of the pole

To 'scape from sight of death, and life's dark night.

AFFIRMATIONS.

Divine Law creates Laws into beings, as well as essences and ele

ments.

There are Love-Spirit-Spirits, Love-Germ-Germs, and Love-AtomAtoms; or, Spirits, Souls and Bodies.

ZOAR.

On a plain, on the eastern bank of the canal connecting Cleveland and Portsmouth, some fifty miles south of Akron summit, stands the homely tile-covered village of Zoar. On the west, the river shore is bold, and is covered with its native dress of white walnut, sugar maple, and locust, with a luxuriant undergrowth of spikenard, rich-weed, and wild-pea vine; north and south are fine meadow grounds, and on the east, beautifully undulating uplands. Around the village are eight thousand acres of land, the proprietorship of which is vested in the villagers. Through this tract, there are nearly five miles in length of the canal, with three locks of ten feet each, serving to show the fall in that distance of the brisk Tuscarawas, on whose western bank, the canal for a part of its way is excavated and partly embanked.

Did one desire an example of what moderate, but unremitting industry, by the efforts of a few hundred human beings, co-operating for common benefit through a period of twenty years, can effect, no place better calcu lated for the purpose can be found than Zoar. In 1817 there was not, on the premises, one mark made by the hand of man. The wild deer and turkey held peaceable possession of the forest, and the finny inhabitants of the Tuscarawas knew not that in the human biped, they had an enemy. Such was the state of things in 1817. In 1839, between three and four thousand acres of the forest had fallen before the sturdy woodman, a portion of which has become verdant meadow ground, and the remainder bears evident marks of successful tillage. In place of the occasional red deer which were wont to glide among the trees, you may now see some three hundred cattle grazing in deep pastures, or as it may chance, standing before the well filled crib, and in either case furnishing ample testimony to the abundant provision made for them; besides these, the hills are sprin kled with merinoes, making thousands of white spots on the lively green. The noble horse, too, flourishes here in all the pride of subserviency to an animal which, if he is not more virtuous than his menial, has far outstriped him in the vices. Everything living has the appearance of stall-fed health, fulness and fatness.

In place of the native products of the soil, here grow at the present time the grain, grasses, and roots, which close observation has discovered to be adapted to the soil and climate. The production of necessaries has not alone been attended to; such comforts and luxuries as family skill and industry can procure, are here in close neighborhood, and if essential to their preservation, they are shielded from inclemencies by the greenhouse. The odors of the walnut, the peach, the orange, and the cinna mon, commingle in the same atmosphere. The vine is not overlooked, but is used, rather to furnish the ornamented wicker-wrought fruit-basket, than the inebriating decanter. The capacious flower garden is rarely sur passed in the taste of its variegated diagrams, or in the richness of the hues of their diversified borderings, where may be seen the prismatic colors, either in their separate state or in their thousand combinations.

In lieu of the water-falls, the whisperings of the zephyrs, the sighings of the breeze, and the rushings of the wind, and the songs of the wood bird, you now hear the puffings of the furnace, the clatter of mills, and Other sounds of industry.

But whence all this change? by whom was all this effected? The days of miracle are known but in history, and yet here it would seem the scene had changed as by charm. Did the unaided arm of man prostrate the wilderness, and replace it with the mart, and the best of all that the arts of civilization have attained to? and that in the brief term of twenty years? Let us trace it.

In the empire of Germany is a small king-governed dependency called Wirtemberg. No one of the despotisms of Europe is more despotic than this insignificant little "Koenigreich." Its monarch is well nigh absolute in his authority, and he and his princes and priests ask little, and will take no less, of the people, but to work and obey. Even kingcraft and priestcraft cannot retain all minds in a state of torpid inactivity on all subjects. One in a thousand must see the sun rise, be it his sovereign's pleasure, yea or nay; he cannot see the truth and fitness of natural phenomena contrary to a life-time of observation, though a monarch should command it, nor can he acknowledge any criterion of moral truth which contradicts his own perceptions, although it should promote the monarch's enjoyments. Thus it was in Wirtemberg. One reflecting subject, observing that there were elements in each man, which, by their natural operation on each other, under determined laws, must, in due time, bring his earthly existence to a close, arrived at the conclusion that, in his case, at least, the time had come when the sword must be beaten into a ploughshare: and he acted in conformity, and refused to bear arms. Another, unable to reason himself into the opinion of superiority irrespective of merit, and insensible of an increased feeling of respect when his head was bared, refused to doff his hat to the nobility. A third, ignorant of the channel of communication through which the teacher of dogmas became enlightened in his peculiar lore, and observing too, that works were not always the evidence, inasmuch as they were not always the accompaniments of faith, declined evincing his implicit reverence for the Pope's vicar, either by his contributions at the altar, or by presenting his body, a living sacrifice at the celebration of the holy mysteries. Others there were, whose minds took an independent course, and who like the preceding, had the moral courage to act out their own ethics. They shared a common fate, which was confinement in the Wirtemberg bastile. The German is not animated, obtrusive. It is problematical whether in his composition there be not a deficiency of the elements, essential to social happiness in its refinement. The tender emotions, which produce the exquisite in social life, cannot at most be in excess. If this be true, it may account for the fact that numbers of these persons had been inmates of the same prison for years, without any intimation of each other's peculiarities. At first sight their conscientious scruples were not recognized as having a common origin. In process of time they yielded common assent to their identity. It is not marvellous that this discovery should produce mutual sympathy, and form the basis of attachment in the case of the persecuted. On a closer comparison of their opinions and feelings, they agreed that in essentials they harmonized. About this time, some of the writings of Barclay and Penn, which had been translated into German, fell into their hands; these contained mysticisms so similar to those of Jacob Behman, which had already obtained their approbation, that they almost gave them their unquali. fied sanction. Application was now made to the constituted authority, to empower such of their number as had landed possessions, to dispose of

them, and for a permit to settle together in such district of the kingdom as could be obtained for their accommodation. To this prayer, they received for answer, that they must evacuate without delay, or their property would be confiscated. In this dilemma, it occurred to them to send a delegation to England, to ascertain whether they could not procure the aid, or protection of the adherents of Barclay and Penn. The mission was success. ful beyond their anticipation. The Friends in London took especial interest in the case. They chartered a vessel owned by members of the society, commanded by a member of the sect, and in a few weeks these "testimony-bearing" Wirtembergers were on the Atlantic, with sails trimmed, and rudder plying, to bear them to the port of Philadelphia. In the mean time, the Friends of London, “whose hearts the Lord" or something else "had opened," opened their purse-mouths just wide enough to let out three hundred pounds sterling, which was forwarded by a Philadelphia bound ship, which in due time arrived, with the donation and instructions to the Philadelphia Friends, to make disposal of it for the benefit of the emigrants. And ere they arrived, the Friends in Philadelphia and New York had collected and added a handsome sum. This preparation was not uncalled for. An epidemic was raging among the emigrants on board the ship, from the consequences of which the survivors did not recover for several months. The kind attentions bestowed upon the in valids, and the judicious arrangements for arresting the progress of the disease, and in every way improving the condition of the new comers, must reflect credit on them, whenever and wherever the story of it is detailed. Nor was the gratitude of the benefitted less praiseworthy. So thorough was their confidence, so binding their attachment to their benefactors, that they rejected all proffered assistance, if it came not through members of this sect.

The foreigners, restored to physical health-there were but two unfin. ished items of duty on the part of those who had voluntarily assumed the charge of providing for them, viz., a worldly settlement, and a spiritual establishment. The first could be advantageously effected by a few large landholders, who proposed to lay off a tract of unimproved land into lots of one hundred acres each, and make a gratuitous title in fee simple for the alternate lots; that is, the Germans were to take a lot, and leave one unoccupied until the whole number was accommodated. The other was to be attained by completing their conviction of the correctness of the religious principles of the Friends. This was to be done by a habit of regu lar attendance on meetings, some slight change of costume, and still more slight, of phraseology. The first was a sine qua non. The Germans were not sufficiently spiritual to comprehend the arguments in favor of the necessity of just so much formality of devotion as their benefactors urged upon them. This brought to light the necessity of more zeal and earnestness for the completion of a work which had promised to stand conspicu. ous on the page of revival history. This earnestness produced reaction, and the half made converts gave symptoms of not "staying put," even where they were. Some of them began to suspect sectarian dictation did not differ so much as did the garbs of the dictators. They became restive, and their mulishness, in their character of separatists, widened the space between them and their patrons, until confidence and patience on the part of both were exhausted. With this spiritual distrust, the Wirtembergers declined settling on the proposed lands. It is presumable, the sluggish nod