head was bowed in grief, and her form was trembling with suppressed emotion. She raised her head, and gazed long and sadly at the sweet angel face. One could tell at a glance that they were mother and daughter: there were the same soul-beaming eye and gentle mouth,-feeling and intellect marking every feature.

Yet no one called Miriam Carleton handsome, but merely interesting; she possessed a nameless charm that attracted every one.

"Mother, dearest mother," she murmured, "must you indeed leave me? On your bosom my infant head was pillowed; you smoothed the path for my infant feet; at your knee I learned to love the name of my Creator; you, ever kind and sympathizing, have listened to all my childish griefs; you led me to the Saviour; you have wept with me, prayed with me, my loved counsellor and faithful friend! My mother! oh, my mother!"

Her long pent-up grief burst forth, and she wept unrestrainedly. She walked up and

down the long room trying in vain to calm the deep sorrow with which her young heart seemed bursting. Finally her sobs died away, and no sound, save the monotonous ticking of the old timepiece, disturbed the stillness. Miriam felt it to be oppressive. She thought," If I could only see my mother!" but Mrs. Carleton wished to bid farewell to each separately, and now her husband was with her. Miriam took her favorite seat at the fireside, and mused. She was much given to reveries. The king of terrors had never entered that happy family before, and now they felt his dread approach, and trembled. "If it were only father," thought Miriam, "I could bear it. Oh! why does he shut up his heart from his children ?—if he would only let us love him, how happy we might be !"

She listened footsteps were approaching, and her father entered. She glanced at his face; there she could read the answer to the question she dared not ask. There was no hope.

"Minnie, my child! go to your mother," he said kindly, and stooping kissed her brow. Minnie burst into tears: he had not kissed her since she could remember, and now it touched her heart. She fondly returned his caress, and then hastened to her mother's room. Mrs. Carleton smiled faintly as her daughter approached the bedside, and, taking her hand in hers, softly whispered her name. Miriam kissed her pale lips again and again; she could not speak-her heart was too full for words. Mrs. Carleton looked at her with all the tenderness and yearning of a mother's soul.

"Oh! my daughter, if I could shield you from the world's temptations; if I could present you to Our Father,' as the child he has given me, while in the innocence of youth; or if I could know that you will always be 'kept unspotted from the world,' death would not seem gloomy, or the grave cheerless."

She talked long and earnestly, as only a

dying mother can talk and feel, and Miriam listened with tearful eyes and aching heart. At the close, Mrs. Carleton said, "Promise me, Minnie, that you will train the little ones for heaven-that you will all meet me there."

Miriam pressed her hand-she could not trust herself to speak.

"Kneel down, Minnie-I will pray for you!" Miriam knelt by the bedside, and the mother poured out her soul in prayer. And what a prayer! so confiding, as if she had not a thought for herself! she knew that her Redeemer lived, and that she should "see Him as He is ;"-her loved ones were in a Father's hands, and she submitted without

a murmur.

Miriam never forgot that prayer in after years it came to her like a healing balm; it whispered peace amid troubled conflicts, and faith in doubting moments.

As she arose, her mother said,

"Remember, Minnie, your dying mother's

last words. Little blind Laurie I give to you. He is yours; he is bound to you now by the holiest ties, the sacred tie of brother and sister; besides, his affliction should make him very dear to you. Watch over him carefully, tenderly, and I will look from heaven and smile upon you. Good-bye, my ever dear daughter; you have been a comfort to me, and fully rewarded all my care; be a mother to my little ones, and such a daughter to your father as you have been to me. My last words, Minnie, remember-in all the trials of life, look to Jesus.' 'Earth hath not a sorrow that Heaven cannot heal.' Write that upon the tablets of your heart, ánd never, never erase it."

"Minnie, tell me before I die,-do you love the Saviour?"

Minnie burst into tears.

"I do, mother, I do love Him."

Thank God!" and the mother's head

was bowed in a prayer of gratitude.

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