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The mortal remains of the late Mrs. Mary H. Maxwell rest in a tomb of the cemetery in Shrewsbury, Mass. She departed this life on the 12th of January last. It devolves upon her only brother, in whose family she breathed her last, to write this brief account of her life, sickness and death. A few weeks since, she accepted the editorship of this magazine, in the hope of extending her acquaintance and her usefulness with its readers, to whom she was already somewhat known. A painful and fatal disease disappointed this hope and terminated her earthly labors. But her writings and the remembrance of her amiable life still remain to promote the piety which she loved, and to preserve her memory in many hearts who admire genius, sanctified by holiness, and devoted to the promotion of human welfare.

Mrs. Maxwell was born in Maine, in November, 1814, and consequently was a little more than thirty-eight years of age. Her early education was in Portland, where, at about the age of fifteen, she united with the Methodist Episcopal Church, of which communion she has always remained an earnest and devoted member. About that time she commenced writing occasional pieces for Zion's Herald, both in prose and poetry, which attracted much attention by their beauty and originality. Many of these pieces were without signature, and others were simply signed “Mary.” More recently, at the request of her friends, her name has frequently been printed with her productions in various religious and educational publications, and, to a great extent, in books and periodicals for the young. Those who have compared the finished and classic style of her pieces in the "Guide to Holiness," with her simple and unpretending, yet sweet and beautiful hymns in the Sunday School Harmonist, and yet again with the playful and attractive, yet deeply-instructive, " Letters of Cousin Mary,” in the Well Spring, and in the beautiful little volume entitled “The Holiday Melodies," will admit the variety of her

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talents, and her power to please the highest intellect, and to instruct the humblest. The popularity and increasing demand for her books, issued by the Mass. S. S. Society, and the American S. S. Union, justify what might seem the too partial praise of a deeply-attached brother

During the last summer her labors were interrupted by severe and protracted pain from a swelling, which proved to be a cancer of the breast. So soon as its nature was ascertained, its removal by a

. surgical operation was determined on, and performed by Dr. Townsend, at the Massachusetts General Hospital. For a few weeks there appeared good prospect of her recovery; but it soon became evident that the disease was preying inwardly, and that she was failing. The pain and all the aggravated symptoms of the disease increased, and were borne with the patience and cheerfulness with which those who are taught of God” receive his chastenings. Not an expres

“ sion of complaint or impatience escaped her lips through all the painful disease. She constantly expressed her confidence in God her Saviour, her submission to his will, and her full trust in his salvation. For the last three days her mind was wandering in regard to common subjects, but clear in the view of spiritual things, and it was always easy to call back her incoherent thoughts by speaking of heaven. The day before her death, being too weak to turn in her bed, she made a sudden effort to rise, saying, "Brother, open the piano, I want to play." I replied, “No, my sister, you are soon to have a golden harp to play, in the New Jerusalem.” “0, yes, I remember," she replied, and was immediately calm. She afterward whispered, at intervals, “River of life," "Blessed fountains,

Heavenly rest,” and other broken sentences, showing the heavenly current of her thoughts. Her last words on the evening before she died were, " To-morrow I shall be in a very different state,” which seemed to be uttered from a sure presentiment of what proved to be the truth. She soon sunk into a state of unconsciousness, in which she breathed until the daybreak of the following morning, but her sunrise was in heaven. The sweet serenity of her soul seemed to be expressed in her countenance, as we committed her body to the tomb. Her memory is enshrined in fond hearts, made sad by her departure, yet sustained with the hope of reünion in the better land.


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The sales of this wonderful book have reached the astonishing number of two hundred and forty-three thousand copies in this country alone, and the demand for it still continues unabated. A larger number of copies, we are informed, have been sold in Europe, and the present prospect is, that it will soon be translated into all the principal languages of the world. It is a thing utterly impossible, that it ever could have reached this unparalleled popularity without a conviction in the mind of its readers that it is essentially true. The author herself, who is a woman of most estimable Christian character, says that the incidents which compose the narrative are, to a very great extent, authentic, occurring, many of them, under her own observation, or that of her personal friends. Characters, the counterpart of almost all which are introduced, have been observed by her, or her friends, and many of the sayings are word for word as heard herself, or reported to her.

JEWETT & Co., the publishers, have issued a splendid edition, in one volume, with gilt edges and covers, on the best of paper, and embellished with one hundred and forty-five beautiful engravings. Three thousand copies of this edition have been sold.

They have also published a cheap edition, at 37 cents, of which one hundred and twenty thousand copies have been disposed of. These, with one hundred and twenty thousand copies of the edition in two volumes, make in all two hundred and forty-three thousand copies !

THE RUNAWAY. Boston : Públished by the N. E. S. S. Union.

The narrative of a boy, who, discontented with a good home, ran away, and, falling, in a distant city, into the company of a vicious youth, got into prison, and was saved, perhaps from entire ruin, by the kindness of two gentlemen, who accidentally became acquainted with his situation.

GREEN LEAVES FROM OAK-WOOD. Published by the same.

A beautiful little book of poetry and prose intermingled, conveying lessons of kindness and truth to the tender mind.

EMILY, THE WAITING-MAID. Boston : Published by the Mass. S. S. Society.

An interesting history of the trials and dangers through which an orphan girl passed, and the happy sequel.

New Music. Published by Oliver Ditson, 115 Washington-street.
The “Greek Captive's Lament.” “I cannot forget thee if I would.”

" Where do the sunbeams sleep?" Song of the Rose. Pray for those at Sea." Funeral Marches performed at the obsequies of Hon. Daniel Webster. The Sweet Girls of Erin. “ Sweet Lilla Brown.” “ The Smile that welcomes me." " We loved, but to part.” “I cannot pretend to say."

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Makes glad the twilight hour of rest, And bids each home re - joice. #


The holy hearth, the holy hearth, Around whose sacred flame

Each household church doth daily bow To plead a Saviour's name. The blessed hearth, the blessed hearth, By hearts encircled round,

Whose rule of life, and on whose lips, The law of love is found. The saddened hearth, the saddened hearth, Whose sweetest sounds are

stilled, The vacant seat, the tone subdued, The eye with tears oft filled, The quenched hearth, the quenched hearth, Whose flame will yet

arise, Will .yet impart its cheerful glow To welcome strangers' eyes. Thus human hearths, thus human hearths Their daily records tell

Of human hopes, extinct, o'erthrown, Which seems unquenchablc. There is a home, an endless home; To it we fondly turn,

Where buried hopes, immortal made, With purer flame shall burn.

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