him, once more, to blissful rest.

VI.

But when his heart bends to the power
Of storm, as bends the summer flower,
'Tis Love that, as the Angel-Death
Wooes from his lips the ling'ring breath,
And gently bears his soul above,
To the bright skies--the home of Love.

"Poor Koerner!" said Mr. Arlington, as he concluded reading this song--if
indeed it may claim that name in its English dress--"I can sympathize,
as few can do, with his mournful memory of mother-love."

This was said in a tone of such genuine emotion, that I looked at him
with even more pleasure than I had hitherto done.

"Such tenderness touches us particularly when found, as in Koerner, in
union with manly and vigorous qualities--perhaps, because it is a rare
combination," said Mrs. Dudley.

"Is it rare?" I asked doubtfully. "The results of my own observation
have led me to believe that it is precisely in manly, vigorous,
independent minds that we see the fullest development of our simple,
natural, home-affections."

"You are right, Aunt Nancy," said Col. Donaldson; "it is only boys
striving to seem manly and men of boyish minds, who fail to acknowledge
with reverence and tenderness the value of a mother's love."

"So convinced am I of this," I replied, "that I would ask for no more
certain indication of a man's nobility of nature, than his manner to his
mother. I remember a striking illustration of the fidelity of such an
indication in two brothers of the name of Manning, with whom I was once
acquainted. The one was quite a _petit-maitre_--a dandy; the other, a
fine creature--large-minded and large-hearted. The first betrayed in
every look and movement, that he considered himself greatly his
mother's superior, and feared every moment that she should detract from
his dignity by some sin against the dicta of fashion; the other did
honor at once to her and to himself, by his reverent devotion to her.
They were a contrast, and a contrast which circumstances brought out
most strikingly. Ah, Mr. Arlington! I wish you could have seen them--a
sketch of them from your pencil would have been a picture indeed."

"We will take your word-painting instead," said Mr. Arlington.

"A mere description in words could not present them to you in all their
strongly marked diversity of character. To do this, I must give you a
history of their lives."

"And why not?"--and--"Oh, yes, Aunt Nancy, that is just what we want,"
was echoed fr