heavenly Father should order,—who but those who know a mother's heart, and who have dwelt, both in health and sickness, in trouble and joy, beneath the beaming light of a mother's love, can tell? The full fountain of sympathy which was opened for them in the hearts of others, the ready acts of friendship, and the willing help which was at their disposal, all showed the strong hold which they had upon the affections of their neighbours. Many, alas! of these kind friends had cause for anxiety and watchfulness in their own dwellings; and some, who had laid loved ones in their last narrow beds, came to proffer help for the invalid, hoping that their former exposure to the disease might prove a sufficient reason with Mrs. Moreton for employing their services, while she sought necessary

rest.

What a change came over that family group, as they realized, from their own experience, for the first time, their slender hold upon life! With what tenderness did they gaze upon each other, as they felt that they knew not who should next be laid low beneath the withering hand of disease! How gently did they speak, how patiently bear the small mistakes or infirmities of brother or sister! How, day by day, did they comfort each other with words of hope, which, their own hearts whispered, were feeble to soothe! How their own desires went up in silent petition to God, to look upon them in their sorrow and to grant them healing mercies!

Then Alice, the darling of their hearts, sickened, and for days she too was dangerously ill. Never, until now, had they felt how dear they were to each other-how their lives were entwined together in loving bonds, and their happiness dependent upon the happiness of the whole.

But Willie was never more to take his place in their family circle. From the first attack of illness, his case had been deemed nearly hopeless, both by Dr. Mason and

his mother. Watchful nursing and efficient care only served to prolong his life a few days more upon earth, and then he closed his weary eyes upon the world, and slept his last sleep.

Reason was granted him in that last hour of life. Feeble and faint the vital current moved in his veins. He awoke from a disturbed slumber to recognise his beloved mother bending over his pillow with maternal tenderness. The change which she saw in his countenance, her experience too truly told her was the change of approaching death. Silently she summoned to his side father, brothers, and sisters, each of whom he recognised with looks of love and faintly-spoken words. Their tearful eyes and saddened faces seemed to grieve him, and, as he asked for "dear Ally," and was told how very sick she was, he sent a message of affection to her and Frank. Then, looking in his mother's face, he earnestly repeated, as if to comfort her

"You know I love Jesus! You know I love Jesus, the Saviour!"

They knelt in prayer by that dying bedside. In faith did those parents again yield up the beloved child to God, surrendering themselves, with all that was theirs, to his sovereign disposal, and asking for themselves unwavering submission and earnest trust in his love. The dying one they commended-O how fervently!-to the Saviour for whom, with his fleeting breath, he had avowed his love, beseeching him to place beneath him his everlasting arms, to sustain him in this his time of need, and, when his spirit should be freed from his weary and perishing body, to bear him to that world of glory where he might eternally dwell with angels and saints, and with Jesus himself, the Saviour, the Redeemer!

For the further comforting of the departing soul, Mr. Moreton repeated portions of God's word:

"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow

of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me."

"And they remembered that God was their rock, and the high God their Redeemer."

"For God so loved the world, that he gave his onlybegotten Son, that whosoever believeth on him should not perish, but have everlasting life."

"Lord, I believe; help thou my unbelief."

"Into thy hands I commit my spirit: thou hast redeemed me, O Lord God of truth."

"Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints."

Thus, upon the ear of Willie fell the sound of God's precious Word, until that ear was dull, and the eye, wont to beam with affection, was dimmed with the shadow of death. As they looked upon those features, lately so bright and joyous with the sunshine of a loving heart, now fixed and motionless; as they viewed the stiffened form, which they had ever seen active and buoyant; as they remembered the pleasant voice and words, now hushed in never-to-be-broken silence; as they recalled his many little acts of kindness and of self-denying love, -it seemed as if the blessed gift of memory itself would turn traitor to their happiness, using the remembrance of past pleasures to heighten the present grief.

What, then, could give them comfort? Upon what can the afflicted heart rest, when earthly joys and earthly hopes are taken away? The promises of God's Word; and upon these only could our sorrowing friends rely. Willie's appeal to his mother-"You know I love Jesus" -so emphatically uttered, was the connecting link between his soul and theirs. A life free from open sins they thought his to have been, but they knew that faith in Jesus was the only plea which sinful man could make at the throne of God; and these remembered words, speaking of trust and confidence as well as of love, lingered in

their memories, soothing their grief and mitigating their sorrow, as they, with them, recalled that word, "Whosoever believeth on him shall not be ashamed."*

By these same promises they were also consoled, when, accompanied by neighbours and friends, they bore his body to the village burial-ground, and there laid it, to rest until the resurrection-day. To seek out some quiet retreat upon his own land, where it might silently repose near them, was the first thought of Mr. Moreton. But he had come to live and die with his fellow-men, and where they were buried, there should he and his be laid. Nor did he regret this decision, as, around that open grave, he saw the countenances of sympathizing acquaintances, and witnessed their sorrow in his sorrow.

A few words of consolation to all mourning hearts were spoken by Mr. Nesbit, a hymn sung, and then friendly hands lowered the coffin into the earth, and all silently withdrew.

But where was Susan Gray in this time of trouble? She, too, sat by the side of the sick; but it was in her own house, and it was her only child to whom she ministered. Now nearly two years old, it had become an endeared member of their circle, winning their hearts with its infantile charms, and expanding rapidly in intelligence and physical growth.

It was spared, after a struggle with disease and bodily suffering scarcely less to be dreaded than death itself, and lived to be a further source of joy to its parents and to all at the farm. Alice, too, recovered, but her recovery was slow; and they received her once more to their fireside circle only as the first frosts of autumn were gorge ously tinting the forest-trees. As she took her accustomed place near her mother's chair, they remembered more vividly the departure of one who would never return; but no heart was ungrateful, or forgetful that God, in

*Rom. x. 11.

sending chastisement, had mingled mercy with it; mercy in staying the ravages of death, and mercy in their good hope of the happiness of Willie.

CHAPTER XXIII.

CONCLUSION.

Two years after the date of our last chapter, a waggon drawn by a fine pair of horses might be seen starting from a country inn, in the vicinity of Lakeland.

"Only ten miles farther," said the young man who was acting as driver, "and the road good all the way!"

"Which last sentence could not be added, Robert, when you and I passed this way together, eight years and a half since."

"No, indeed!" answered Robert. "Your five years' absence has given time for great improvements, Frank. Five years at the West are equal to twenty in New England, in marked external change."

"I shall not complain, if the alteration does not affect people as well as places."

"Nor should you, if it did," said an elderly gentleman, who sat by Frank's side; "for, if I mistake not, the Frank Moreton who left the West to go to college does not look exactly like the Frank Moreton that is coming back."

"You are right, Dr. Newton; and, if they don't know me at home, I shall rely upon you to introduce me,” responded the younger man, laughingly.

"Only see that forest of girdled trees!" said Dr. Newton. "What a sad sight! It looks like an army of skeletons; and this breeze, that rocks their dry arms, makes them more hideous still."