EXTRACT FROM BR. E. E. REINKE'S LETTER.

Through the dealings of Him who doeth all things well, we have been detained in our native land up to this time. It is, however, not good for pilgrims to stop too long "in the arbor on the Hill Difficulty," nor "in the Beautiful House," nor at "the hospitable mansion of Gaius." Else the meaner joys, intended only for our refreshment, might tempt us to forget the transcendent glories of "the Celestial City," which await us at the end of

our race.

The reason we have been detained so long is on account of the cholera that was raging in Jamaica. This was its first visit. We were not afraid to go; for, "whether we live, we live unto the Lord, and whether we die, we die unto the Lord; whether we live therefore or die, we are the Lord's. For to this end Christ both died, and rose again. Therefore, to live is Christ, and to die is gain." Still, we are thankful that we have been hindered from going; and we hope that by the time we reach our station, the worst will be over.

Quite unexpectedly we received a letter yesterday, stating, that the brigGlamorgan" will sail on Saturday (the 7th of Dec.) or Sunday (the 8th) from Baltimore. We shall not know where

we shall be stationed until we reach Kingston.

York, Dec. 4th, 1850.

EDWIN E. Reinke.

OBITUARY.

Departed this life October 19th, 1850, at Staten Island, N. Y. in the 50th year of his age, br. John Vanpelt, lately one of the trustees of the United Brethren's congregation at that place. He had been for 8 or 9 years past, since his reception into the congregation, a faithful and devoted follower of Jesus, whom he loved with all his heart. While his health permitted he was seldom out of his place in the sanctuary on the Lord's day; and during his long and painful illness, by which he was confined to his house and bed, he enjoyed many tokens of the Savior's love, of which his conversation often testified to the edification of those who visited him. His end was peaceful, having taken an affectionate leave from his family and friends, whom he expressed a hope to meet in the realms of endless bliss above.

H. G. C.

NAZARETH HALL.

A Frugment. By a former Pupil.

'Tis morn.

Behold! with early radiance crowned,
The king of day ascends the eastern sky,—
Gilding with roscate hue the mountain tops,
The footstool of his high cerulean throne.
He comes, once more, to rule this lower world,
And usher in another checkered day

Of hopes and fears, of pleasure and of toil;
Arousing from the arms of sweet repose
To sweeter rambles in the flowery path
Of knowledge, all her youthful votaries,
The inmates of this academic dome.-
Arise, my soul! obey the bright behest,
And early pay the morning sacrifice!
Refresh'd with balmy sleep, that renovates
Both mind and body, worn with daily toils,
(Thanks to that Power Divine, whose angel-guards
Their nightly vigils round my pillow kept,)

I wander forth to breathe the vernal air,
And list the woodland warblers' matin song.
Yon verdant hill, that rises in the West,
Whose brow full many a sacred tomb adorns,
Invites my steps. I gain the steep ascent,
And there with mute, ineffable delight,
I gaze upon the scene that smiles around,
So oft admired, and yet forever new.
All hail! thou ancient, venerable pile,
Sacred to Him, who fills the Heav'n of Heav'ns,

And yet delights with mortal man to dwell;

Whose glittering spire the sixteenth vernal sun

Now gilds, since erst within thy hallowed walls

My tender youth a sweet asylum found.

All hail! thou cradle of my infant mind!

Where childhood, happiest age,—with golden dreams

Full many a swift-revolving day beguiled.
Thou sacred roof, beneath whose ample shade,
Two heaven-born sisters, Art and Science, dwell,
Where deeply smitten with celestial charms
I learned to glow, and vowed allegiance true.
There first, with rapt'rous eye, the page sublime

Of classic Rome and Greece I wandered o'er;
Now dared, with venturous pencil, to portray
Fair Nature's smiling face, in mimic hues,
Or from my youthful lyre with trembling hand,
Unpractis'd, rude, discordant accents flung.
But ah! far greater debt than mortal skill
Or human knowledge do I owe to thee,
Thou hallowed temple of the living God!
Twas here my tender mind was first imprest
With Revelation's awful truths divine;
'Twas here that on the darkness of my soul
First dawn'd religion's doubt-dispelling ray,
And
my
enfranchis'd heart, with rapture fired,
Was taught to pray, to praise, and to adore!
Such is the vast amount, for which I stand
Eternally indebted. This the soil,

Where once with care was sown, what now I reap.

Hither my grateful thoughts shall e'er return;

Nor absence, lapse of time, or change efface

What Gratitude has written in my breast.

Nazareth, 1815.

This truly poetical and filial address to our Alma Mater by one of her favorite sons, whose praise is in all our churches, is gratefully acknowledged by

The Editor.