been made in prayer to "the dark valley of the shadow of death," he said, "O, it is not dark! all is light!" Another night of restless tossing on the part of the sufferer, and of painful anxiety on the part of those about him, glided slowly away, and the morning dawned upon a dying man. The last fatal sympton, the black vomit, came to herald the approach of the king of terrors, and about midday the spirit, trusting in and looking to Jesus as the Friend of sinners, passed away to its home in the skies. All that remained of the active, vigorous man who, five days ago, entered the house in lusty health and the prime of life, was a blighted, insensate Iclod of the earth. The poor widow derives some mournful satisfaction from learning these particulars of the closing days of that precious life so suddenly broken off; but abundantly more from the assurance that he has died happy in the Lord, and that she shall meet the loved one again where the pang of separation will be felt no more. But little does she, or those about her, anticipate how soon it will be; and that in a few weeks she will follow her husband to the better land, leaving the five fatherless children to an inheritance of orphanage, and the cold charities of an unfeeling world. It is in silence and sadness that she suffers herself to be conducted back over that weary mountain road to her now desolate home. By easy stages the travellers retrace the path they so recently traversed, not then without hope of finding at the end of the journey a relief from the anxiety and suspense which the affliction that called them from home had necessarily produced. Plunged in grief, and bathed in tears, over all the lonesome way, the widowed lady encourages no attempt at conversation, and scarcely replies at all to any question or remark addressed to her. At the end of three days they arrive at the end of the journey. It is a mournful, heart-breaking scene when, arriving at home, she clasps, almost frantically, her little ones to her bosom, exclaiming, "My poor children! my poor fatherless children!" The hope has been fondly indulged that the sight of her lovely family, and the necessity of bestirring herself on their The sufferer no longer pays the slightest attention to the children once so fondly beloved and tenderly cherished, when they are brought to her to divert her from her grief. Her speech has become often wandering and incoherent. The most beloved and respected of former friends are now looked upon with antipathy, while muttered accusations escape from her of their having inflicted upon her some unexplained wrong. A strange, unnatural fire gleams in her eye; and the painful fact can no longer be concealed that the poor widow is fast sinking into the condition of a maniac. It becomes necessary to watch her every moment, and remove from her reach every article that might be capable in her hand of inflicting injury upon herself or others; for a morbid anxiety for death is now among the symptoms that indicate the wreck of a beautiful and noble mind. It is well that the physical powers decay as the mind gradually sinks into ruin, which is not always the case. The shock received on that Sabbath morning, when she met the person returning from her husband's funeral, and suddenly received the sad news of his death, was a fatal one both to mind and body. It struck a fatal blow at her reason, and it broke her heart. Although the stunned energies had seemed to rally slightly, after the lapse of a few days, yet she never for a moment became anything like her former self. And now she is manifestly sinking to the grave: a fact that gives dreary comfort to the friends around her, for it is a relief from the misery which threatens, of beholding the poor sufferer spending an unhappy, blighted existence under the restraint that would be necessary to prevent her doing injury to herself or others, or as the wretched inmate of a lunatic asylum. How sad is the change that grief has effected! When first she set foot upon the sunny shores of Jamaica, happy in the devoted affection of a husband she almost adored, and surrounded by a troop of beautiful children, whose superior intelligence showed the judicious, loving care of a mother's guiding hand, she was radiant with a loveliness not often surpassed. A clear brunette, with a head of luxuriant jetty hair; the roses shone brightly upon her cheeks, fresh from the tempered climate of Britain. A soft, mild beauty gleamed from her large lustrous black eyes; where also shone the intelligence of a cultured mind; and attired with the elegant chasteness that a perfect taste and true piety inspire, she appeared a bright pattern of womanly loveliness; a wife and mother, whose virtues and excellences were well calculated to shed brightness and blessing in the Christian household. A few weeks have sufficed to work a most melancholy change. A deadly paleness has superseded the roses on her cheeks; and her features, sallow and sunken, have lost nearly all traces of their former beauty. light of intelligence has faded from the dark eye, which now only occasionally beams with the fitful wild-fire of insanity. Her beautiful arms have lost the finished, graceful roundness of health; and the once symmetrical, elastic frame, wasted to little more than a skeleton, seems to indicate that the king of terrors is not far distant. All the And so it is. After three or four weeks' confinement to her room, during which there has been no interval of perfect saneness, there are to be observed unmistakeable indications that the end of this tragic history is at hand. The pallid hue of death has already overspread the countenance; the damps of the grave are on the brow, when, suddenly waking up from a light slumber into which she had sunk, there is again the light of intelligence in the languid eye. Turning to the good old nurse who has tended the sufferer with all a mother's care and love, and who is indeed a mother in Israel, the pious watcher at the death-bed of many a feverstricken missionary, and many a dying saint,—the patient, in a sweet, calm, natural tone of voice, different from anything that has been heard from her since the stroke of bereavement fell upon her, says, "Mother G., be pleased to call Mrs. naming the wife of the minister in whose house she is lying. The lady referred to is in a few moments standing at the bedside, when, feebly grasping her hand, the dying woman says, in trembling accents, Mrs. I have seen my dear husband, and I am going to him. We shall soon both be with Jesus. But 0, Mrs. -, my poor dear children! Will you take care of them until they can be sent to England?" The requested promise is given. A sweet smile of satisfaction passes over the pallid features. Gently throwing herself back upon the pillow, with her eyes uplifted to heaven, she becomes gradually still; the light dies out in the eye, the sunken countenance settles in the rigidity of death; the jaw slowly drops upon the loving hand that is outstretched to receive it, and the broken heart is at rest. The pure, loving spirit has passed away from the sorrows of earth, and the stricken widow is a widow no more. "The soul hath overtaken her mate, And caught him again in the sky And pleasure that never shall die: |