How! gains the leak so fast? Slacken not sail yet At inlet or island; SENTIMENTAL MUSIC.-FITZ-GREene Halleck. Sounds as of far off bells came on his ears; 'Twas Yankee Doodle, played by Scudder's band. He muttered, as he lingered, listening, Something of freedom, and our happy land; Then sketched, as to his home he hurried fast, This sentimental song-his saddest, and his last: 66 'Young thoughts have music in them, love, And happiness their theme; And music wanders in the wind That lulls a morning dream. When life is but an April day, "There's music in the forest leaves The first wild bird that drinks the dew From violets of the spring, Has music in his song, and in The fluttering of his wing. "There's music in the dash of waves, When the swift bark cleaves their foam; There's music heard upon her deck The mariner's song of home When moon and star-beams, smiling, meet, And there is music once a week In Scudder's balcony. "But the music of young thoughts too soon And from our morning dreams we wake And childhood's frolic hours are brief, Their memory comes to chill the heart, "To-day the forest leaves are green; And the maiden's laugh be changed, ere long, Where are the forest birds; The answer is a silent one, More eloquent than words. "The moonlight music of the waves In storms is heard no more, When the livid lightning mocks the wreck And the mariner's song of home has ceased- And music ceases, when it rains, In Scudder's balcony. THE ELDER'S FUNERAL.-PROFESSOR WILSON. How beautiful to the eve and to the heart rise up, in a pastoral region, the green, silent hills from the dissolving snowwreaths that yet linger at their feet! A few warm, sunny days, and a few breezy and melting nights, have seemed to create the sweet season of spring out of the winter's bleakest desolation. We can scarcely believe that such brightness of verdure could have been shrouded in the snow, blending itself, as it now does, so vividly with the deep blue of heaven. With the revival of nature, our own souls feel restored. Happiness becomes milder, meeker, and richer in pensive thought; while sorrow catches a faint tinge of joy, and reposes itself on the quietness of earth's opening breast. Then is youth rejoicing, manhood sedate, and old age resigned. The child shakes his golden curls in his glee; he of riper life hails the coming year with temperate exultation, and the eye, that has been touched with dimness, in the general spirit of delight, forgets or fears not the shadows of the grave. On such a vernal day as this did we, who had visited the Elder on his death-bed, walk together to his house in the Hazel-glen, to accompany his body to the place of burial. On the night he died, it seemed to be the dead of winter. On the day he was buried, it seemed to be the birth of spring. The old pastor and I were alone for awhile, as we pursued our path up the glen, by the banks of the little burn. It had cleared itself off from the melted snow, and ran so pellucid a race, that every stone and pebble was visible in its yellow channel. The willows, the alders, and the birches, the fairest and the earliest of our native hill trees, seemed almost tinged with a verdant light, as if they were budding; and beneath them, here and there, peeped out, as in the pleasure of new existence, the primrose, lonely, or in little families and flocks. The bee had not yet ventured to leave his cell, yet the flowers reminded one of his murmur. A few insects were dancing in the air, and here and there some little moorland bird, touched at the heart with the warm, sunny change, was piping his love-sweet song among the braes. It was just such a day as a grave, meditative man, like him we were about to inter, would have chosen to walk over his farm in religious contentment with his lot. That was the thought that entered the pastor's heart, as we paused to enjoy one brighter gleam of the sun in a little meadow-field of peculiar beauty."This is the last day of the week, and on that day often did the Elder walk through this little happy kingdom of his own, with some of his grandchildren beside and around him, and often his Bible in his hand. It is, you feel, a solitary place; all the vale is one seclusion; and often have its quiet bounds been a place of undisturbed meditation and prayer." We now came in sight of the cottage, and beyond it the termination of the glen. There the high hills came sloping gently down; and a little waterfall, in the distance, gave animation to a scene of perfect repose. We were now joined by various small parties coming to the funeral through openings among the hills; all sedate, but none sad, and every greeting was that of kindness and peace. The Elder had died full of years; and there was no need why any out of his own household should We weep. A long life of piety had been beautifully closed; and, therefore, we were all going to commit the body to the earth, assured, as far as human beings may be so assured, that the soul was in heaven. As the party increased on our approach to the house, there was even cheerfulness among us. spoke of the early and bright promise of spring; of the sorrows and the joys of other families; of marriages and births; of the new schoolmaster; of to-morrow's Sabbath. There was no topic, of which, on any common occasion, it might have been fitting to speak, that did not now perhaps occupy, for a few moments, some one or other of the group, till we found ourselves ascending the green sward before the cottage, and stood before the bare branches of the sycamores. Then we were all silent, and, after a short pause, reverently entered into the house of death. At the door, the son received us with a calm, humble, and untroubled face; and, in his manner toward the old minister, there was something that could not be misunderstood, expressing penitence, gratitude, and resignation. We all sat down in the large kitchen; and the son decently received each person at the door, and showed him to his place. There were some old, gray heads, more becoming gray, and many bright in manhood and youth. But the same solemn hush was over them all; and they sat all bound together in one uniting and assimilating spirit of devotion and faith. Wine and bread were to be sent round; but the son looked to the old minister, who rose, lifted up his withered hand, and began a blessing and a prayer. There was so much composure and stillness in the old man's attitude, and something so affecting in his voice, tremulous and broken, not in grief, but age, that no sooner had he begun to pray, than every heart and every breath at once was hushed. All stood motionless, nor could one eye abstain from that placid and patriarchal countenance, with its closed eyes, and long, silvery hair. There was nothing sad in his words, but they were all humble and solemn, and at times even joyful in the kindling spirit of piety and faith. He spoke of the dead man's goodness as imperfect in the eyes of his Great Judge, but such as, we were taught, might lead, through intercession, to the kingdom of heaven. Might the blessing of God, he prayed, which had so long rested on the head now coffined, not forsake that of him who was now to be the father of this house. There was more joy, we were told, in heaven, over one sinner that repenteth, than over ninety and nine just persons which need no repentance. Fervently, too, and tenderly, did the old man pray for her, in her silent chamber, who had lost so kind a parent, and for all the little children round her knees. Nor did he end his prayer without some allusion to his own gray hairs, and to the approaching day on which many then present would attend his burial. Just as he ceased to speak, one solitary, stifled sob was heard, and all eyes turned kindly round to a little boy who was standing by the side of the Elder's son. Restored once more to his own father's love, his heart had been insensibly filled with peace since the old man's death. The returning tenderness of the living came in place of that of the dead, and the child yearned toward his father now with a stronger affection, relieved, at last from all his fear. He had been suffered to sit an hour each day beside the bed on which his grandfather lay shrouded, and he had got reconciled to the cold, but silent and happy looks of death. His mother and his Bible told him to obey God, without repining, in all things; and the child did so with perfect simplicity. One sob had found its way at the close of that pathetic prayer; but the tears that bathed his glistening cheeks were far different from those that, on the day and night of his grandfather's decease, had burst from the agony of a breaking heart. The old minister laid his hand silently upon his golden head; there was a momentary murmur of kindness and pity over the room; the child was pacified; and again all was repose and peace. A sober voice said that all was ready, and the son and the minister led the way reverently out into the open air. The bier stood before the door, and was lifted slowly up with its sable pall. Silently each mourner took his place. The sun was shining pleasantly, and a gentle breeze passing through the sycamores, shook down the glittering rain-drops upon the funeral velvet. The small procession, with an instinctive spirit, began to move along; and as I cast up my eyes to take a farewell look of that beautiful dwelling, now finally left by him who so long had blessed it, I saw, at the half open lattice of the little bedroom window above, the pale, weeping face of that stainless matron, who was taking her last passionate farewell of the mortal remains of her father, now slowly receding from her to the quiet field of graves, We proceeded along the edges of the hills, and along the meadow-fields, crossed the old wooden bridge over the burn, |