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O God, whose days are without end, and whose mercies cannot be numbered; make us, we beseech thee, deeply sensible of the shortness and uncertainty of human life; and let thy Holy Spirit lead us through this vale of misery, in holiness and righteousness, all the days of our lives: that, when we shall have served Thee in our generation, we may be gathered unto our fathers, having the testimony of a good conscience; in the communion of the Catholic Church; in the confidence of a certain faith; in the comfort of a reasonable, religious and holy hope; in favour with thee our God; and in perfect charity with the world: all which we ask through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

ADVERTISEMENT.

The undersigned thus redeems the promise of the obituary notice of his scarcely less than child-fulfilment of which has been so often claimed of him by those whose word, if his own heart needed prompting, would be law-that, as he had never known "a man, whose character could be adopted, to depict more clearly and more fully, THE TRUE CATHOLIC CHURCHMAN, IN HIS LIFE AND IN HIS DEATH;" so, to that pious duty, should it please God to give him time and strength, he would devote himself, "as the best service he could render to the Church, of which the beloved Winslow, even at his years, was a pillar and an ornament." To these strong words, forced from the heart in the first gushing of its grief, time and reflection have but given greater force and keener sense of fitness; while the universal voice has but confirmed, as literally true, the record, which might well have been deemed partial. For the Church's sake, therefore,-rather, for the sake of them for whom the Church was purchased with the blood of Jesus; that they may see what are the children who, in deed and truth, submit to be trained up, and taught by her, this memorial is attempted; with a hand that trembles yet, from its heart-wound, too much for painter's work, and therefore leaves the beautiful IDEA to depict itself.

GEORGE W. DOANE.

Riverside, Feast of the Purification, 1841.

The smell of Spring.

[The first violets of the year seen this day, March 4.]

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TO MY WIFE,

THIS HEART'S MEMORIAL,

FOR THE DEAR GRAVE OF HIM,

WHO WAS ONLY NOT OUR CHILD,

INSCRIBES ITSELF.

WE SHALL GO TO HIM,

BUT HE SHALL NOT RETURN TO US.

RIVERSIDE, ALL SAINTS' DAY, MDCCCXL.

Spring Thoughts.'

Dearest, those purple flowers,

They seem to me to spring2

From the grave of him whose living breast
Was wont to be the living nest

Of each beautiful thought and thing.

Dearest, those early flowers,

They speak to me of him

With the youthful mind so richly stored
With loftiest themes, and as freely poured
As from fountain's bubbling brim.

Dearest, those fragrant flowers,

Are odorous of his life

The gentle-hearted, the heavenly-willed
With the choicest grace of the Holiest filled-
Where loveliest deeds were rife.

Dearest, they breathe, those flowers,

Of the land where he takes his rest,

Where the river of immortality flows,

With our White, and Hobart, and Jebb, and Rose,
And all that he loved the best.

Dearest, they say, those flowers

Earth's winter-womb's first born

"So shall the dead in Christ arise,

"Heirs of the world beyond the skies,

"On the resurrection morn!"

G. W. D.

1 With the first violets of the year, the thought came into my mind, that they sprang from Winslow's grave.

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"Thy sweet and sure repose."-Keble, in Lyra Apostolica.

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