ceptions, we ought not to revolt at the idea of so glorious an extension of the works of God; since nothing less magnificent seems suitable to a Being of infinite perfections. This grand central body may be considered as the CAPITAL of the universe. From this glorious centre, embassies may be occasionally dispatched to all surrounding worlds, in every region of space. Here, too, deputations from all the different provinces of creation, may occasionally assemble, and the inhabitants of different worlds mingle with each other, and learn the grand outlines of those physical operations and moral transactions, which have taken place in their respective spheres. Here may be exhibited to unnumbered multitudes, objects of sublimity and glory, which are no where else to be found within the wide extent of creation. Here, intelligences of the highest order, who have attained the most sublime heights of knowledge and virtue, may form the principal part of the population of this magnificent region. Here, the glorified body of the Redeemer may have taken its principal station, as 'the head of all principalities and powers:' and here, likewise, Enoch and Elijah may reside;" and, according to the general tenor of scripture, where God's throne is, where Christ in his glorified body is, in this royal holy city of the King of kings, there is also the home of the sainted dead. To those blissful regions the Christian's heart aspires, with holy and unquenchable ardour; nor does he hope in vain. "Father, I will that they also whom thou hast given me be with me where I am: that they may behold my glory." Filled with gratitude for a prospect so full of bliss, our hearts exclaim: "Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, which, according to his abundant mercy, hath begotten us again unto a lively hope by the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, to an inheritance incorruptible and undefiled, and that fadeth not away, reserved in Heaven." Farewell then, earth, thou land of the curse! My aspirations are towards the fountain of uncreated light. Farewell! ye lamps of heaven, ye shall not stay my freed spirit's upward flight. FarFar from these narrow scenes of night, Unbounded glories rise; And realms of infinite delight, Unknown to mortal eyes. Borne upon the wings of faith, we might attempt to follow the track of the Saviour's ascension, or that of the chariots of Israel in which Elijah went upbut alas! let us not attempt it in the body. Here, then, we rest in the patience of hope, and in the assurance of that faith which is the evidence of things not seen. This, however, we know, that when once the signal for our departure is given, our emancipated spirits shall cleave the air, as Christ and Elijah did; passing through the first heaven, the earth, its sinful abode, shall dwindle into nothing behind us. The second heaven, also, with its planets, suns, and systems, stretching far beyond the reach of human thought, will soon fade back into dim space. Now, the third heaven will stretch before us, onward and upward, its eternal plains! Faint and far before, but drawing nearer and nearer, appears the Holy City; soon its twelve shining foundations, from which the battlements of blazing jasper tower upwards, are scaled-the portals of light are crossed-and now to the soul's enraptured gaze the heaven of heavens stretches broader and higher its boundless realms, through uncreated light! AMEN-HALLELUJAH! COME, LORD JESUS, COME QUICKLY. CHAPTER III. Do the Saints at Death pass immediatelq into Beauen? Tread softly! bow the head, Yet an immortal soul Is passing now. O change! O wondrous change! O change! stupendous change! Walks with his God! IN yonder quiet room, shaded with the mellow twilight of mourning and sorrow, lies a dying saint. Weeping friends crowd around, with hearts that know to feel a parting anguish, waiting for the last breaththe last word has already been heard. Though patience does not permit the utterance of even a sigh or look of complaint, yet the lineaments of exquisite bodily agony are drawn upon the face. But see! the last ebb of life begins to recede from mortal shores. The pulse and breathing are feeble and slow- he dies! The features, before distorted with pain, relax and sink into a sweet pleasantness. The spirit has gone! -WHERE IS IT! Has it plumed its wing for heaven, and is it nowthe moment after death-soaring away on its shining track toward the fountain of uncreated and imperishable light and bliss? Will this child of God, thus set free from its earthly captivity, stop in its way before it reaches its Father's house? Is it in any way, or for any time, detained?—The spirit of my dear friend which has just now waved me his last earthly farewell, whose tenantless body lies motionless before me, must be somewhere-oh where? I look around me and all is silent. The hearth, the room, the accustomed walks of life, all mourn his absence. I feel as though that form must meet me again, which met me before; and, forgetting, I hold my breath, and place my finger upon my lips, to hear that voice once more, or to be joyfully surprised by his coming footsteps. In the dreadful stillness of the twilight hour, I close my eyes, and fancy brings him, but when I open my eyes the sweet delusion flies. I look toward the radiant heaven in the star-lit hour, and still my heart inquires, Where is that spirit now? Who will forbid me these earnest inquiries? Who, that can, will refuse to answer them? It is not in the nature of refined social being, neither does the spirit of Christianity allow it, that our interest in those we learned to love should cease when they die. If the |