In Memoriam. - Mrs. Harvey Seymour,

Died at Hartford, Sunday, May 5th, 1861.     She found a painless avenue to make     The great transition from a world of care     To one of rest.                         It was the Sabbath day,     And beautiful with smile of vernal sun     And the up-springing fragrance from the earth,     With all that soothing quietude which links     The consecrated season unto Him     Who bade the creatures He had made, revere     And keep it holy.                         From her fair abode,     Lovely with early flowers, she took her way     The second time, unto the House of God,     And side by side with her life's chosen friend     Walk'd cheerfully. Within those hallow'd courts,     Where holds the soul communion with its God,     She listening sate.                         But then she lean'd her head     Upon her husband's shoulder, and unmark'd     By one distorted feature, by the loss     Or blanching of the rose-tint on her cheek,     Rose to more perfect worship.                          It might seem     As if a sacred temple, purified     By prayers and praises, were a place sublime,     Of fitting sanctity, wherein to hear     The inexpressive call that summoneth     The ready spirit upward.                         But the change     In her delightful home, what words can tell!     The shock and contrast, when a mind so skill'd     With order and efficiency to fill     Each post of woman's duty and of love,     Vanished from all its daily ministries,     And the lone daughter found the guiding voice     Silent forevermore.                         Her's was the heart     For an unswerving friendship, warm and true,     And self-forgetful; her's the liberal hand     To those who pine in cells of poverty,     The knowledge of their state, the will to aid,     The thought that cared for them, the zeal that blest.     Hence, tears o'er rugged cheeks fell fast for her,     And the old white-hair'd pensioner knelt down     Beside her lifeless clay and cross'd himself,     And pour'd his desolate prayer; for her kind heart     Saw in the creed of varying sects no bar     To charity, but in their time of need     Held all as brethren.                         'Twas a pleasant spot,     Amid fresh verdure, where they laid her down,     While the young plants that o'er a daughter's grave     Took summer-rooting seemed in haste to reach     Forth their incipient roots and tendrils green     To broider her turf-pillow.                         Sleep in peace,     Ye, whom the ties of nature closely bound,     And death disparted for a little while,     Mother and gentle daughter, sleep in peace;     Your forms engraven deep on loving hearts,     As with a diamond's point, till memory fade.