In Memoriam. - Miss Jane Penelope Whiting,

Died at Portland, Connecticut, January 1st, 1861.     I think of her unfolding prime,         Her childhood bright and fair,     The speaking eye, the earnest smile,         The dark and lustrous hair,     The fondness by a Mother's side         To cling with docile mind,     Fast in the only sister's hand         Her own forever twined,     The candor of her trustful youth,         The heart that freshly wove     Sweet garlands even from thorn-clad bowers,         Because it dwelt in love,     The stainless life, whose truth and grace         Made each beholder see     The gladness of a spirit tuned         To heavenly harmony.     But when this fair New-Year looked forth         Over the old one's grave,     While bridal pleasures neath her roof         Their bright infusion gave,     Upon the lightning's wing there came         A message none might stay,     An angel,--standing at her side.         To bear the soul away.     For us, was sorrow's startling shock,         The tear, the loss, the pain,     For her, the uncomputed bliss         Of never-ending gain.