SICKNESS.

The second summer had nearly passed away, when sickness visited Elmwood. Mr. Merritt was prostrated by a violent fever. Early and late his wife watched by his bed. Sleep was a stranger to her eyes. Agonizing prayers ascended in petition for his recovery. At last they were heard. Slowly the sick man improved, and after many weeks, was able to breathe the fresh air, and walk abroad.

Then, the dear little prattler, the youngest child, drooped. The petted one lay helpless in its willow cradle, and pale and anxious faces gathered around it. Eyes, red with weeping, witnessed its struggles. Several days it lingered after hope had fled the broken-hearted mourners, and then the little sufferer was called in its pure, unspotted innocence, to Heaven!

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