The combined influence of these is neither slight nor trivial, but is needed to give form and completeness to character, just as innumerable light strokes of the chisel are needed to bring a statue like the Venus de Medici to perfection, or myriads of delicate touches of the pencil, in the hands of a Rafælle, to cause a heavenly Madonna to stand out from the canvass. A simple word, or event, not striking in itself, of no special significance to the eye or ear of a stranger, may by reason of its relations, to him who has the power to perceive, yield exquisite pleasure, or exquisite pain. An isolated sound may be wholly indifferent, neither musical nor otherwise, and yet, when brought into certain relations to other sounds, become the source of enchanting melody or harsh discord. So little things and common things are not always little and common-not little when they "strike th' electic chain, with which we're darkly bound." Away then, with that detestable spirit, which would measure all things by one fixed, unvarying standard and not according to their own law! Away with the fastidiousness of those who restlessly seek after novelty, who must drink their pleasures from a chalice to which none or few lips besides their own have been applied, who rather than admire and enjoy, pull to pieces the beautiful creations of genius because they have become common property. All honor, therefore, and a place second to none, be awarded to the highly educated accomplished woman!

A SONNET.

WHEN Capt. Sherwell and Dr. Edmund Clarke ascended to the summit of Mount Blanc, they were much surprised to observe the greater apparent distance and feebler splendor of the moon and stars. "The cloudless canopy of heaven was of a very dark blue, but with a slight reddishness in tae tinge, so as rather to resemble a beautiful deep violet than indigo. The vault of heaven appeared prodigiously high and distant. After two days' march upward, the blue expanse seemed to have receded from us much faster than we had climbed towards it."

When bold Enterprise, by thrilling hope and fears-
Alternate sway'd, hath each dread peril pass'd,

And Mount Blanc's snow-bound summit reached at last,
Remoter shine th' eternal starry spheres,

More distant walks the moon 'mid darkest blue;
Heaven's cloudless dome dilates and higher seems;
And way worn pilgrim sees, with wondering view,
Each star decline and pale its wonted beams!
So, when Ambition hath from life's low vale
Our footsteps lured, when, danger's path defied,
We've gained at length, with fortune's fav'ring gale,
The "promised land,"-the pinnacle of pride-
The Phantom Bliss thus mocks our cheated eyes,
For as we mount the dear delusion flies.-GORDON.

THE LAST HOURS OF MRS. HANNAH WOOD.
Prepared from a Letter, written by her Son.

BY REV. E. H. HOFFHEINS.

RELIGION shines in every situation and circumstance of life; but, as an incontestible evidence of its own purity and power, it is most transcendent on the eve of dissolution. The Christian, then, "like the sun, looks largest when he sets." Humanity naturally trembles at the idea of death. To close the eyes on the most lovely objects, to become a pale, lifeless corpse; and, concealed from mortal view, to be consigned over to the prey of worms and corruption, are circumstances which we naturally shudder at. But to see a soul, with all those views before it, not merely armed with fortitude, not merely made willing by resignation, but smiling with calm delight at the appearance, and rejoicing with unspeakable joy at their sensible approach, is a fact which speaks volumes in favor of the religion of Him

Who taught us how to live; and Oh! too high
The price of knowledge, taught us how to die!

The truth of the above sentiment is strikingly illustrated in the history of the last hours of the subject of this brief memoir.

The piety of Mrs. Wood, unlike that of many others, was of a permanent, deep and growing nature, and became brighter and more glowing as she approached her latter end.

A few days before her death, her son, an only son, who had been absent from home, returned, and though weak and much reduced by sickness, yet, she grasped his hand with unspeakable joy, and addressed him in the following animated strain: "God," said she, "my dear son, has been very gracious this afternoon: he sent my son from me, but he sent himself to me. O, I am very happy! I am going to my mansion in the skies. I shall soon be there; and Oh! I shall be glad to receive you to it. You shall come in, but you shall never go out; no, never!" Being much exhausted, she paused a little, and then said: "If ever you have a family, tell the children they had a grandmother who feared God, and found the comforts of it on her death-bed. And tell your partner, I shall be glad to see her in heaven: when you come to glory, you must bring her with you. Let me tell you, by my own experience, when you come to lie upon your death-bed, an interest in Jesus will be found a precious possession. O, what a mercy of mercies, that we should be brought out of the bondage of Egypt, and united together in the kingdom of God's dear Son!" She then exhorted him most earnestly, to be faithful as a minister of the everlasting gospel, and

prayed that his labors might be blessed to the salvation of many souls.

Being fatigued, she rested a little while, after which she again renewed her triumphant language, being elated into transports, in speaking of the boundless love of Christ and his salvation. She exclaimed, "it is a glorious salvation!—a free, unmerited salvation!-a full, complete salvation!-a perfect, eternal salvation! It is a deliverance from every enemy. It is a supply of every want. It is all I can wish for in time. It is all I need in death. It is all I shall want in eternity." Adverting to her adorable Redeemer, she repeated, with great feeling, the following lines of Mr. Connicks:

I long to see those hands which made me blest,
Those feet which travel'd to procure my rest:
I long to see that dear, that sacred head,
Which bowed, when on it all my sins were laid.
The angels wait; my Saviour calls,--Farewell!
I go, with him in endless peace to dwell.

After a short pause, she continued:

I long to behold him array'd

With glory and light from above;
The King in his beauty display'd-
His beauty of holiest love.

I trust, through his grace, to be there,
Where Jesus has fixed his abode:
Oh, when shall we meet in the air,
And fly to the Mount of my God?

On accidentally hearing the name of one of her friends, who had called to see her, she entreated earnestly she might see him; upon entering the room, she took hold of his hand, and said, "Ah! my friend, I am dying, but I am going to glory; I shall soon see my dear heavenly Father. God bless God bless you, and be with you, till I meet you there. I shall be glad to see you. Farewell!"

Another friend of hers happening to call, who had lost a pious i son in the prime of life, she spoke to her with great affection, and said: "Ah, Mrs. M., I shall soon be in glory; I shall soon see your dear child Samuel; I loved him dearly; we shall soon meet again, and in God's time you shall join us."

She then desired to hear the fifty-fourth chapter of Isaiah read. At the fifth verse she cried out, "My Maker is my husband, the Lord of hosts is his name." And again, "God called me as a woman forsaken and grieved in spirit." After this she lay quiet, being much fatigued; her mind seemed wholly conversant with heavenly things, but was too much exhausted for further conversation. Frequent convulsive fits came over her. In the intervals, however, her mind seemed to retain its elevated"

state. She spoke with great pleasure of her speedy departure, and dwelt with rapture upon her glorious inheritance. "Oh, how happy shall I be," said she, "to see you all there!"

She desired a friend, who sat near her, to sing the following hymn:

From all that dwell below the skies,

Let the Creator's praise arise;

Let the Redeemer's name be sung,

Through every land, by every tongue.

Eternal are thy mercies, Lord,

Eternal truth attends thy word,

Thy praise shall sound from shore to shore,
Till suns shall rise and set no more.

She attempted to join, herself, but her voice faltered. When this was finished, she again expressed the great joy she felt in the prospect of death, and said, "Come, sing me another, sing me this

Hosannah to Jesus on high,

Another has entered his rest;
Another escaped to the sky,

And lodged in Emanuel's breast.

But her friends were too much affected at the scene before them, and did not attempt to sing. After this she did not speak much, her strength had failed, her eyes lost their vivacity, and her change seemed approaching very fast. But by what little could be made out, she seemed very happy and perfectly composed. At one time she was heard saying, "I shall see him as he is: I shall be forever near him, and behold his face; my eyes shall behold him; I shall see him for myself, and not another." In this happy and blessed frame of mind she continued, until her ransomed soul was released from its earthly tenement. Shortly before she was heard to say, in a low whisper, "Blessed be God-blessed be God!"

Such, dear reader is the happy end of God's children. "Mark the perfect man, and behold the upright, for the end of that man is peace." May it be our inestimable privilege to share the blessedness of the christian's dying hours.

THE VOICE OF GOD.

"I heard thy voice in the garden, and I was afraid.”

Amidst the thrilling leaves thy voice,
At evening's fall drew near;
Father! and did not man rejoice
That blessed sound to hear?

Did not his heart within him burn,
Touch'd by the solemn tone?
Not so! for, never to return,
Its purity was gone.

Therefore, 'midst holy stream and bower,
His spirit shook with dread,
And call'd the cedars, in that hour,
To veil his conscious head.

Oh! in each wind, each fountain flow,
Each whisper of the shade,

Grant me, my God, thy voice to know,
And not to be afraid!

BE KIND TO THE LOVED ONES AT HOME.

Be kind to thy Father, for when thou wert young
Who loved thee more fondly than he?

He caught the first accents that fell from thy tongue,
And joined in thy innocent glee;

Be kind to thy Father, for now he is old,

His locks intermingled with gray;

His footsteps are feeble -once fearless and bold-
Thy father is passing away.

Be kind to thy Mother, for low on her brow

May traces of sorrow be seen;

Oh, well may'st thou comfort and cherish her now,
For gentle and kind has she been.

Remember thy Mother, for thee will she pray,
As long as God giveth her breath;

With actions of kindness then cheer her lone way
E'en to the dark valley of death.

Be kind to thy Brother-his heart will have dearth
If the smiles of thy joy be withdrawn;

The flowers of feeling will fade at their birth.
If the view of affection be gone.

Be kind to thy Brother, wherever you are,

The love of a brother should be

An ornament fairer and richer by far,
Than pearls from the depth of the sea.

Be kind to thy Sister-not many may know
The depth of true sisterly love;

The wealth of the ocean lies fathoms below
The surface that sparkles above.

Be kind to thy Father once fearless and bold,
Be kind to thy Mother so near;

Be kind to thy Brother, nor show thy heart cold,
Be kind to thy sister so dear.

THE STRANGER'S HEART.

The stranger's heart! oh, wound it not!
A yearning anguish is its lot;

In the green shadow of thy tree,

The stranger finds do rest with thee.

Thou think'st the vine's low, rustling leaves
Glad music round thy household eaves;
To him that sound hath sorrow's tone-

The stranger's heart is with his own.

Thou think'st thy children's laughing play
A lovely sight at fall of day;

Then are the stranger's thoughts opprest-
His mother's voice comes o'er his breast.
Thou think'st it sweet, when friend to friend
Beneath one roof in prayer may blend;
Then doth the stranger's eye grow dim-
Far, far are those who prayed with him.
Thy hearth, thy home, thy vintage land-
The voices of thy kindred hand:
Oh, midst them all when blest thou art,
Deal gently with the stranger's heart!