widow bent herself for a while to the tempest, refusing to be comforted; but the sweet, plaintive voices of the children, and their innocent countenances, shed a mild light even upon the darkness which enclosed her, and she arose from her couch of agony, and exchanged the despairing exclamation-"My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me!" for the submissive prayer, "Thy holy will be done."

From that time, she wore the robes of widowhood, and devoted every energy of her life to the discharge of her maternal duties. We may not follow her step by step, but she held the reins of family government with a true and firm hand, and saw the characters of her children unfold in beautiful variety, and produce the fair fruits of Christian hope and faith. From his early devotion to serious studies and pursuits, Edward had been led to choose the ministry as an ample field for the exercise of all his fine powers, and he gave early promise of an abundant harvest of good works.

"To your training hand, my mother, is the vine indebted for all the good fruit it may bear," would the young disciple say, as he saw her gratified smile rest upon his successful efforts.

The frank, merry temper of her second son, George, led him to adopt his father's profession. Having served a short but faithful apprenticeship as an inferior, he felt fully qualified to assume the command; and, when we first noticed his ship upon the southern sea, it was its first voyage, and the commencement of its young master's career as captain. He carried his ship safely into the port of Calcutta, and freighting it with the rich products of the East, steered his course homeward. He experienced the usual variety which attends these long voyages, and reached home in September, having been absent nearly a year.

Previous to his departure, he had the satisfaction of seeing his eldest sister, Clara, united to the companion of his hoyhood, the generous and true hearted Henry Temple. Even a brother's partiality could scarcely have estimated too highly the value of the jewel his friend had won. Educated

by a mother, herself the pattern of every womanly virtue, Clara had applied herself steadily to the acquisition of solid learning, leaving the lighter accomplishments as recreation, and using the liberal share of talent she possessed, as a trust for which strict account must be given to the Source of all knowledge. She early assumed the duties of a wife, but it was accomplished with a solemn, thoughtful joy, like one who feels that another and weightier responsibility has been added to life, but which, if faithfully considered, will bring with it its own reward.

Clara had many personal charms, but the gracefulness of her manners was her crowning glory to those who were unacquainted with the Christian principles which were rooted in the peaceful depths of her heart.

And now the hour had arrived when the strength of her religious principles were fully tested. An inflammation had seized her lungs and was slowly but certainly gaining ground. The strength of her constitution grappled resolutely with the disease, and medical skill expended its utmost efforts in her behalf, but in a few days her physicians declared her recovery would be a miracle. She watched critically the countenances of her friends and medical attendants, two of whom visited her often during the day, and requested to know the whole truth concerning herself.

"The doctor thinks you are very sick," said a kind female friend.

"Does he think me dangerous?" she earnestly inquired. "The crisis of your disorder is not over, and till then, though we hope for the best, we must fear the result."

"Think not that I fear to die! Oh, no! The grave is dark, but my Savior hath slumbered in its chambers, and beyond, light and peace will be mine forever!"

To a favorite cousin she remarked, pointing to her own wasting form, "These are the beautiful bodies of which we we are so proud. See how my tabernacle is crumbling and falling away." Her sufferings daily increased, and partial delirium ensued. Occasionally her mind shone out with un

clouded lustre, but oftener found vent in the ravings of a benighted intellect. Her husband and brothers never left the bedside unless, called importunately away; and could love, the most devoted and untiring, prayers the most sincere and fervent have restored her, she would again have joined the family circle, the pride and joy of all; but it was the Father's good pleasure to call her, and whose hand could have stayed the soaring spirit's flight?

White as the unsullied snow was that once radiant face, and over her pillow the dark masses of her hair lay in negligent confusion. She moved not, save when, occasionally, her hand was raised in token of her sufferings, and dropped again heavily, when that feeble effort had exhausted her strength. During the last night of her earthly sojourn, her sufferings were intense, and reason was restored. The young

husband knelt by her bedside, and poured out his stricken soul in prayer. When he concluded, she, in broken sentences, and with a faint and altered voice, supplicated Heaven to comfort the beloved ones, and give her strength to die the Christian's death. Toward morning the power of speech failed entirely, and a low moan accompanied the failing breath.

"Let the voice of music comfort her as her feet near the portals of the grave;" said the mourning mother, and they united in chanting those sublime words, "Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me! While they sang, the moans of the sufferer were hushed, as if the melody strengthened her spirit for the final conflict. They continued thus to soothe the departing soul until noon, when the summons came which left the weary, suffering body in its last sleep, and recalled the young, but not untried spirit to the presence of its eternal Father.

"She died in the hope and faith of the Christian;" said the mother resignedly, while every pulse was throbbing with the agony of separation. "The Lord gave, and he hath taken away. I shall one day go to her." There was grief

FOUR HAPPY CHILDREN.

83

the most heart-rending in that bereaved household, but so
strong was the faith which followed the young Christian to
her unseen home, that no despairing word was spoken, no
hand but was strong to minister to her latest wants. Edward
was once borne fainting from her bedside, but soon returned,
unwilling to lose the privilege of smoothing, as far as might
be, her passage to the tomb. They buried her in our con-
secrated Auburn, and her memory is a sweeter incense than
that which ascends from the flowers that bloom around her
bed.

On the evening of the burial, the widowed mourner gath-
ered around her the remnant of her flock. "I know in whom
I have believed," she said, "nor hath he ever forsaken the
trusting heart. We have yet to learn the hardest task of all,
how to live without the dear, gentle girl; and while remem-
bering her exceeding happiness we will strive to forget our
own sorrow."

In due time Edward returned to the duties of his profession, and the enterprising George to the command of his ship, but they felt that one of the sweetest cords of life was broken, and they were sadder and better men. They had learned a lesson it was impossible to forget. The young and delicate Clara had taught them how to die.

Peace to her sleeping dust! Does any one ask how may we be sure of a like peaceful death? The answer comes in the simple and sublime phraseology of scripture, "Go and do thou likewise!"

Boston, Mass.

CHILDHOOD.

How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood,
When fond recollection recals them to view;

The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wildwood,
And every loved spot which my infancy knew.

GOOD ADVICE.

Ye fair married dames, who so often deplore
That a lover once blessed is a lover no more;
Attend to my counsel, nor blush to be taught
That prudence must cherish what beauty has caught.

The bloom of your cheek and the glance of your eye,
The roses and lilies may make the men sigh;
But roses and lilies, and sighs pass away,

And passion will die as your beauties decay.

Use the man that you wed like your favorite guitar,
Though music in both, they are both apt to jar;
How tuneful and soft from a delicate touch,
Not handled too roughly, nor played on too much!
The sparrow and linnet will feed from your hand,
Grow tame at your kindness, and come at command;
Exert with your husband the same happy skill;

For hearts, like your birds, may be tamed to your will.

Be gay and good-humored, complying and kind,
Turn the chief of your care from your face to your mind;
"T is thus that a wife may her conquest improve,

And Hymen will rivet the fetters of Love.

ESTRANGEMENT.

PARENTS, forgetful at times of the ties which bind them. to their children, do not encourage that freedom and liberty of intercourse which is so productive of their mutual happiness, but crush in their children that spirit of openness which is so conducive to their moral welfare. A father who never associates with his children, but who merely provides for their bodily wants, fulfils but poorly his mission. On his knee and at his side should their prattlings be heard, and a word from him would leave an endurable impression forever upon the young heart. All a mother's exertions are futile unless they meet with the hearty co-operation of the father. Chil dren become too often estranged from their parents, keep their thoughts and feelings to themselves, and unaccustomed to seek advice, err perhaps from ignorance. "Not an orphan in the wide world can be so deserted as the child who is an outcast from a living parent's love."