desirous to exercise; and could be changed into a couch, by unlocking its joints, and would bend to relieve the sufferer, admitting of a recumbent posture. As to fruits and conserves, many an errand did they afford her to the sick room of her friend's decaying partner; delighting to perfume the air of that hallowed apartment, with the orange from Savoy, or clustered grapes from Lisbon. Her assiduous care over the pale clay, continued to the very last moment of animation; and when that had ceased, by the spirit's flight, she sought to do it every possible remaining service, in directing, advising, assisting, and I may add, in conducting its interment.

She must not be carried to the "stranger's field," said this faithful friend of the two "pious departed;"—Anna Armly shall have a home among Friends. And off she set to call upon the overseers or that burial ground, to petition, like Abraham of old, for a place to bury her valued dead.-This object accomplished, her friendly feet trod in the humble procession as third mourner, with an old Friend by her side; and as the coffin was let down into the cold cell, she involuntarily reached out both hands, saying, gently-easy, if you please, Mr. Sexton-and there-all is safe, escaped her lips;— now let us remember the last words of our friend,

who like her suffering Master, hath bid us, not to weep for her, but for ourselves.

Mary bore on her heart, as a "magic spell," the command of her last mourned parent, "be firm;" and followed her beloved remains, by the side of her grand aunt; who leaning on the slender arm of this lovely orphan, ejaculated the warm petition, "Lover of children succor this shorn lamb!" And he will, thought she-he surely will; for who hath "ever seen the righteous forsaken, or his seed begging bread."

What! but one bud of all this beauteous wreath
Survives the frost? the chilling frost of death!
Cries the young reader, as with mournful eye,
She learns that Anna in the grave doth lie.-
Hush! gentle youth, repeat no more that moan,
O'er withered leaves secreted in the tomb......
Each fragrant flower is with its ancient root,
Safe from oppression's arm-or-cloven foot-
And e'en its withered leaves shall live again,
When chilling death resigns his gloomy reign;
And to the grave will Resurrection Power,
Cry full gorged, enemy thy prey restore.

Now come my youthful reader, come away-
From Anna's shroud, and grave, and peaceful clay,
Walk with my orphan in the sacred road,
That leads to honor, happiness and God!

My dear mother will suffer no more, no more forever! She "is happy"--why should I weep? I will try to "be firm." Thus spake the orphan Mary, as she returned from the burial of her maternal guide, and entered her aunt's cottage again—her cheek was pale, and her eye was mournful, but its expression calmly solemn, and sedately mild. "I will now try to take good care of you, aunt Worthy,

She said, 66 never

as my beloved mother told me. forsake her while she wishes to keep thee; but nourish her old age." This she said to me after Lady L. asked my dear mother to give me away to her daughter, the young countess that sent us the guineas. O, aunt, I had rather stay here, if you will have me--though I know those ladies are very, very kind.

Have thee! sweet blossom! cried the old pilgrim, clasping Mary to her bosom--why thou art my child, my only, only child. I can never be half so thankful as I ought to be, for such a blessing as thou art. I see thy mother's and thy grandmothers virtues too, living in thee.

Aunt Worthy, said Mary, looking anxiously in her face, shall I offend you by asking what you meant, when you called my dear mother a victim to her father's cruelty ?—I fear I have done wrong, added the sweet girl, bending her eyes downward, and blushing at the same time-I-but you need not tell me, if you think it improper for me to know. My dear parents have given me lessons about curiosity and asking questions in the wrong place; but when you mentioned my grandmother, whom you seem to have known very well, I really forgot myself at the moment--so do excuse me this time.

The doting aunt was moved by that spirit of in dulgence so common in aged persons toward the young and amiable, and exclaimed with considerable warmth, "done wrong?" I see nothing wrong about thec-what can be more natural than for a dear grandchild to ask about her good grandmother, that went to heaven long before she was born? thy parents were blessed people-that's truth--but may be--they might have been a little too particular.

"O, no-no-dear aunt Worthy--not too any thing, except too kind to me.”

Mrs. Worthy declared that was impossible; but my dear Mary, thou hast put a question to me-I really forget exactly what it was-my poor old head is so confused by our late affliction--didst thou inquire about thy mother, or thy grandmother?

Mary said it was the former; but she should love to hear of both; but not to worry your head aunt-do not mind it now. I will boil some cocoa for your supper, and read a chapter to you, then will pray for us, and after that I can assist you to go to bed.

you

Heavenly disposition, thought the old pilgrimif the bud is so sweet, what must the open flower be: and suddenly an idea struck her partial fancy,