the happy spirit still irradiated it.

Loving hands placed her gently in the shroud and prepared her for the tomb.

As that quiet twilight hour came on, who can picture the agony of the bereaved mother's heart? She stole softly into the chamber of death, and taking the little cold waxen hand in hers, bent fondly over, and kissed the marble forehead. It was their favorite hour--the one they ever spent together, and those blue eyes were ever then fixed upon her, as she read the word of God, repeated infantile hymns, or murmured the evening prayer. But now those dear eyes were forever shut on earth, but open to the more exalted beauties of heaven.

As she recalled the past, in that solemn place, she weighed well her conduct towards her child, and asked herself if there had been aught to tarnish the purity of that spirit that had just entered the portals of heaven; and earnestly did she beseech her Heavenly Father to forgive all that was amiss, and cleanse her from all sin, that she might be prepared for a reunion in a better world.

It was autumn, when little Mary was placed in the tomb, and all things spoke of death and decay. It was now the last days of spring, when the trees had put on their robes of deeper green, and all nature spoke of a resurrection from the dead, when her little coffin was taken from the tomb and placed in the hearse, to be buried in the same grave with her cousin Emma. Emma lay beautiful in death, looking almost like a thing of life, with a smile still lingering upon her lips, while fresh half-blown flowers were placed in her icy fingers, and strewed around the coffin, soon to wither and fade, with that frail child of clay. Mary had decayed with the pure buds she held in her hands, and "dust thou art and unto dust thou must return," was legibly written on both.

The same mourning circle convened, and bore their loved ones to the place of graves. The sisters stood side by side, as the coffins were let down into the earth, and mingled their tears together. It was a melancholy sight, and spoke loudly of the uncertainty of human life.

The man of hoary hairs stood over the graves of the tender infant, and felt sensibly, that while the "young may die, the old must die."

The parents cast a long lingering look into the greedy grave that was forever to hide their treasure from their sight, then turned sadly away to walk again the pathway of human life, and receive the portion their heavenly Father may see fit to 

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