AMANDA.

BY MISS B. 8. EGERTON.

A LOVELY child lay sleeping upon its pillow. The long silken lashes resting upon its white cheek, the soft brown hair clustering gracefully around its forehead, while such an expression of spiritual beauty rested upon its countenance, that an angel might have paused on his glittering wing, uncertain whether he looked upon a being of earth, or a seraph from some higher sphere. The youthful mother as she gazed upon it, bent still closer, half fearful that it had ceased to breathe, so pale and still it slept, and her fears vanished only when the low musical laugh came upon her ear, and the bright eyes opening looked up to her's, beaming with happiness and love.

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Years passed away bringing their changes to all, and no less so to the beautiful child, who now numbered her sixteenth summer. So fair, so delicate that a glance at once conveyed an idea of entire dependence, such as the gentle floweret claims of the embowering shrubbery. But that countenance of almost celestial beauty, it is vain to attempt a description. I might tell you of the

dark glorious eyes, of the rich glossy brown hair, shading the pure brilliancy of the fair pale cheek, for the lily and not the rose, still held ascendency there, but I could not tell you of the spirit radiating every feature, speaking forth in every look and sitting enthroned in the dazzling of the lovelit eye. The artist may draw with perfect truth a miniature of the scene before him, but he cannot paint the sunlight that imparts to it perhaps its only charm. Nor was it the mere outline or regularity of features, but the expression, the lighting up and breathing forth of the pure spirit within which gave the fascinating power and threw its bright halo around her. Like some ministering spirit she glided on, diffusing light and cheerfulness, while those around her rather felt than saw her influence. Those who knew her only as a slight acquaintance, perceived not the deep resistless current beneath the bright sunny wave. How could they know of the unwavering tireless devotion, the unweaned kindness, the love deeper and purer than many in this cold world are capable of feeling? But by those who knew her, those who could justly estimate the priceless qualities of mind and heart with which nature had endowed her, how fondly cherished, how dearly loved was the noble, generous, self-sacrificing girl! The purity of her motives, the unselfishness of her every action, the deep and perfect truthfulness which seemed to form an inherent principle in her character,

ever retained the affections of those she once gained. In the language of one who knew her well, "she was most dearly prized by those who knew her best."

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Again years have passed away. The maiden is sleeping upon her pillow, but it is the long last sleep of death. The destroying angel breathed upon her, and she faded and passed away. burning tears which fell upon the marble forehead could not awaken her; words of affection were unheard; and the anguish of those she loved was for the first time unheeded. Still, calm and pale she slept. "How beautiful even in death," was the involuntary exclamation of one, to whom she was dearer than all else in the world beside, as she looked upon her clothed in the habiliments of the grave; but she felt that the casket only was there, and turned away in such deep and bitter agony as she had never known before. O, God only knows or can know the unspeakable anguish of the crushed heart! The withering, blighting influence of sorrow which paralizes, as it were, our every faculty by its very intensity.

It was a beautiful day in autumn we were called to consign our hearts dearest treasure to the cold and silent earth. The warm bright rays of the sun fell upon the earth, clothing it in light and loveliness, but to us a shadow rested upon every created thing, a shadow cast by our own sad

thoughts. The birds were caroling their sweetest songs, but to us it was a requiem for the dead. Even the air seemed breathing a melody so intensely mournful, that tears flowed fast and free though their source had before been as a sealed fountain. But who could endure the last sad ceremony of committing dust to dust, the very memory of which, brings a thrill of anguish so intense that the spirit shrinks before it, were it not for the living hope of a glorious resurrection. We know, for the word of our God shall stand forever, that though "the dust return to earth as it was, the spirit shall return unto God who gave it." Glory

and honor be unto Him whose name alone is Jehovah, for the priceless gift of immortality, for the blessed assurance that though separated on earth, we shall meet in Heaven.

THE PERCEPTION OF BEAUTY.

BY REV. ROBERT B. FAIRBAIRN.

THE ability to perceive beauty is common to mankind. No one can be insensible to the pleasures to be derived from a beautiful object. Any one may relish sweet strains of music, or experience pleasure in viewing the works of nature. A beautiful landscape, a fine poem, or an exalted sentiment has the power of exciting this emotion in any who have the common feelings of humanity. It has been truly said, that we may "look on a mighty sea, a troubled sky, or on any of the splendid pictures, which the Lord of the universe spreads before his creatures, and we need no long course of study, no series of academic lectures on light and shade, to enable us to feel their grandeur or their beauty."

But the degrees of delight, which different person experience, on viewing a beautiful object, are far from being the same. While only the most common beauties will administer pleasure to the uninstructed observer, there are others, not so obvious, which will excite the same emotion in a much higher degree, in one of keener sensibilities. The marble statue may please the uncultivated