grief had rested upon them. Another darling Mary was given them, and found a warm place in their affections. The husband soon left his wife and child, and sought to build up his fortune in a distant land, while the wife and mother dedicates her time to the care of the dearly loved treasure her heavenly Father has committed to her trust. One brief year sped rapidly away, and winter again returned with his winds. It was a wild night, the wintry winds howled fiercely round the dwelling, and pelted the snow and sleet furiously against the casement, when Mrs. Barlow, after attending to those duties that make a New England home so comfortable, dropped her crimson curtains, and seating herself by a comfortable coal fire, commenced preparing her little Emma for bed. "Oh," said she, "how the wind blows, mamma; what do poor little children do that have no home?" Said her mother, "God tempers the wind, my dear, to the shorn lamb." "Mamma, do you know I am going to have a party and go to heaven and invite my angel cousin?" "Are you, indeed." "But mamma, it is time to say our Father now," and the happy mother listened to her dear child as she clasped her hands and lisped the Lord's prayer, and the appropriate "now I lay me," after which she soon dropped into a peaceful slumber. Thus evening was spent after evening with the mother and her dear child, happy in each other's love. Winter passed, and genial spring came forth in infantile beauty, unbending the streamlets from their icy fetters, and swelling the buds upon the trees, thus making her early preparation for future beauty and usefulness. Emma awoke early one Sabbath morning, and leaving her little crib, nestled down beside her mother. After laying quiet some time, she asked suddenly, "Is it Sunday, mamma?" Being answered in the affirmative, she said, "It would be a beautiful day to die. Less die to-day, papa, mamma, and Emma, and go to heaven, and get our golden harps; you have a great one, you and papa, and Emma will have a little one like my little angel cousin." A shade of sadness passed over the mother's face, but rested not upon
Prev.
Back
Top