A SKETCH FROM LIFE.

BY MRS. MARGARET M. MASON.

"O, lightly, lightly tread!
A holy thing is sleep
On the worn spirit shed,
And eyes that wake to weep;
Ye know not what ye do,
That call the slumberer back
From the world unseen by you,
Unto life's dim faded track."

How beautiful, calm, and peaceful is sleep! Often, when I have laid my head upon my pillow happy and healthful, I have asked myself, to what shall I awaken? What changes may come ere again my head shall press this pillow? Ah, little do we know what a day may unfold to us! We know not to what we shall awaken; what joy or sorrow. I do not know when I was awakened to more painful intelligence, than when aroused one morning from pleasant dreams by the voice of a neighbor, saying that Mary Ellen, the only daughter of a near neighbor, was dying. She was a beautiful little girl, about three years of age, unlike most other children. She was more serious and thoughtful; and many predicted that her friends would not have her long. She would often ask strange questions about heaven and her heavenly Father; and many of her expressions were very beautiful.

One day she asked permission of her mother to go and gather her some flowers. Her mother gave her permission, but requested her not to go out of the field. After searching in vain for flowers, she returned with some clover leaves and blades of grass. "Mother," said she, "I could find you no flowers, but here are some spires of grass and clover leaves. Say that they are some pretty, mother. GOD made them." Often, when she woke in the morning, she would ask her mother if it was the Sabbath day. If told it was, "Then," she would say, "we will read the Bible and keep the day holy." Her mother always strove to render the Sabbath interesting to her, and to have her spend it in a profitable manner. Nor did she fail; for little Mary Ellen was always happy when the Sabbath morning came. The interest she took in the reading of the Scriptures, in explanations given of the plates in the Bible, and the accuracy with which she would remember all that was told her, were truly pleasing. Her kind and affectionate disposition, her love for all that was pure and holy, and her readiness to forgive and excuse all that she saw wrong in others, made her beloved by all who knew her. If she saw children at play on the Sabbath, or roaming about, she would notice it, and speak of it as being very wrong, and it would appear to wound her feelings; yet she would try to excuse them. "It may be," she would say, "that they do not know that it is the holy Sabbath day. Perhaps no one has told them." She could not bear to think of any one doing wrong intentionally.

Whenever she heard her little associates make use of any language that she was not quite sure was right, she would ask her mother if it was wrong to speak thus; and if wrong, she would say, "Then, I will never speak so, and I shall be your own dear little girl, and my heavenly Father will love me." We often ask children whom they love best. Such was the question often put to Mary Ellen. She would always say, "I love my heavenly Father best, and my dear father and mother next." Her first and best affections were freely given to her Maker, not from a sense of duty alone did it seem, but from a heart overflowing with love and gratitude; and never, at the hour of retiring, would she forget to kneel and offer up her evening prayer. Thus she lived.

Now I will lead you to her dying pillow Many friends were around her. No one had told her that she was dying; yet she herself felt conscious of it. She wished to have the window raised, that she might see the ocean and trees once more. "Oh!" said her mother, bending over her, "is my dear little girl dying?" "I want to go," said Mary Ellen; "I want my father and mother to go with me." "Will you not stay with us?" said the stricken father; "will you not stay with us?" She raised her little hands and eyes—"Oh no," said she; "I see them! I see them! 't is lighter there; I want to go; get a coffin and go with me, father. 'T is lighter there!" She died soon after she ceased speaking. Her pure spirit winged its way to the blest home where we shall all have more light, where the mortal shall put on immortality.

She died when flowers were fading; fit season for one of so gentle and pure a nature to depart.

"In the cold, moist earth they laid her
When the forest cast the leaf,
And we wept that one so beautiful
Should have a life so brief.
And yet 't was not unmeet that one,
Like that young friend of ours,
So gentle and so beautiful,
Should perish with the flowers."

But Oh! when that little form was laid in the cold grave,—when the childless parents returned to their lonely home, once made so happy by the smile of their departed child,—Oh! who can express or describe their anguish! In her they had all they could ask in a child; she was their only one. Everything speaks to their hearts of her; but her light step and happy voice fall not upon their ears; to them the flowers that she loved have a mournful language. The voice of the wind sighing in the trees has to them a melancholy tone. The light laugh of little children, coming in at the open window,—the singing of birds which she delighted to hear,—but speak to their hearts of utter loneliness. They feel that the little form they had nursed with so much care and tenderness, so often pressed to their bosoms, is laid beneath the sod. Yet the sweet consolation which religion affords, cheered and sustained the afflicted parents in their hours of deepest sorrow. They would not call their child back. They feel that she has reached her heavenly home. Happy must they have been in yielding up to its Maker a spirit so pure.

Two years Mary Ellen has been sleeping in the little graveyard. Since then another little daughter has been given her parents,—a promising little bud, that came with the spring flowers, to bless and cheer the home which was made so desolate. The best wish I have for the parents, and all I ask for the child, is, that it may be like little Mary Ellen. I have an earnest wish, too that all little children who read this sketch may be led to love and obey God as much as Mary Ellen.