He then said, "My daughter, enter thou into thy resting-place in peace."

She turned her dying eyes towards him, and said, with touching simplicity, "Yes, father."

The night preceding her death, Catharine,* worn out with watching, reclined her head on the sick-bed and slept. When she awoke, she appeared much agitated; and, as soon as Philip Melanchthon arrived, she hastened to him and told him her dream.

I

"I saw two young men, who seemed to be clad in robes of light, enter the room. pointed to Magdalen, who lay quietly sleeping, and made a sign to them not to disturb her; but they said they came to conduct her to the bridal ceremony."

Melanchthon was much moved, and afterwards said to his wife, "These were holy angels, that Catharine saw in her dream; and they will conduct the virgin to her bridal in the celestial kingdom."

When her last moments were near, she raised her eyes tenderly to her parents, and begged them not to weep for her. "I go," said she, "to my Father in heaven," and a sweet smile irradiated her dying countenance. Luther threw himself upon his knees, weeping bitterly, and fervently prayed God to spare her to them; -in a few moments she expired in the arms of her father. Catharine, unequal to repressing the agony of her sorrow, was at a little distance, perhaps unable to witness the last, long-drawn breath. When the scene was closed, Luther repeated fervently, "The will of God be done!- yes, she has gone to her Father in heaven." Philip Melanchthon, who, with his wife, was present, said, "Parental love is an image of the Divine love impressed on the hearts of men; - God does not love the beings he has created less than parents love their children."

When they were about putting the child into the coffin, the father said, "Dear little Magdalen, I see thee now lifeless, but thou wilt shine in the heavens as a star! I am joyous in spirit, but in the flesh most sorrowful. It is wonderful to realize that she is happy, - better taken care of, - and yet to be so sad."

Then turning to the mother, who was bitterly weeping, he said, "Dear Catharine, remember where she is gone, - ah, she has made a blessed exchange. The heart bleeds, without doubt; it is natural that it should; but the spirit, the immortal spirit, rejoices. Happy are those who die young;-children do not doubt, -they believe; with them all is trust; - they fall asleep." When the funeral took place, and the people were assembled to convey the body to its last home, some friends said they sympathized with him in his affliction. "Be not sorrowful for me," he replied; "I have sent a saint to heaven. O may we all die such a death! Gladly would I accept it now!"

When they began to chant, "Lord, remember not our ancient sins," Luther said, "Not only our ancient, but our present sins."

To his friend Justus Jonas, he soon after wrote the following letter:

"SEPTEMBER 23, 1542.

"I doubt not thou hast heard of the birth of my little Magdalen into the kingdom of Christ. My wife and I ought only to think of rendering thanks for her happy transition and peaceful end; -for by it she has escaped the power of the flesh, the world, the Turks,* and the devil; - yet nature is strong, and I cannot support this event without tears and groans, or, to speak more truly, without a broken heart. On my very soul are engraved the looks, the words, the gestures, - during her life, and on the bed of death, - of my obedient, my loving child! Even the death of Christ (and what are all deaths in comparison with that?) cannot turn away my thoughts from hers as it ought. She was, as thou knowest, lovely in her character, and full of tenderness."

DIRGE OF A CHILD.

No bitter tears for thee be shed,
Blossom of being! seen and gone!
With flowers alone we strew thy bed,
O blest departed one!
Whose all of life, a rosy ray,
Blushed into dawn, and passed away.

Yes! thou art fled, ere guilt had power
To stain thy cherub soul and form;
Closed is the soft ephemeral flower,
That never felt a storm!

The sun-beam's smile, the zephyr's breath,
All that it knew from birth to death.

Thou wert so like a form of light,

That Heaven benignly called thee hence Ere yet the world could breathe one blight O'er thy sweet innocence :

And thou, that brighter home to bless,
Art passed with all thy loveliness!

Oh, hadst thou still on earth remained,
Vision of beauty! fair, as brief!
How soon thy brightness had been stained

With passion or with grief!

Now not a sullying breath can rise
To dim thy glory in the skies.

We rear no marble o'er thy tomb,
No sculptured image there shall mourn ;
Ah! fitter far the vernal bloom

Such dwelling to adorn.

Fragrance, and flowers, and dews, must be
The only emblems meet for thee.

Thy grave shall be a blessed shrine,
Adorned with nature's brightest wreath;
Each glowing season shall combine
Its incense there to breathe;
And oft upon the midnight air,
Shall viewless harps be murmuring there.

And oh! sometimes in visions blest,
Sweet spirit! visit our repose,
And bear from thine own world of rest,
Some balm for human woes!
What form more lovely could be given
Than thine, as messenger of Heaven ?

MRS HEMANS.

NOT for the babe that sleepeth here
My tears bestow, my sorrows give, -
Pass on, and weep with grief sincere
For those who innocence outlive.