In looking over the foregoing pages, I feel that sad indeed have been my wanderings in the shady paths of life. The aged friends of my childhood have been buried over again. The last sad parting from many dear friends has been noted down; the deaths of sister, brother and mother, have been noticed in sad rotation; grand-children have sprung up, beside the way, flourished for a little season, then faded like the pale, withering leaves of autumn, and passed away from earth forever.

O, Memory, thy garland has indeed been entwined, with many a withered flower, whose leaves though faded, emit a sweet fragrance to the heart, and lead it to a purer, holier trust in heaven.

But there is a deeper shadow, a gloomier shade, a sadder spot upon earth, than we have yet visited. It is the recently made grave of my husband--the father of my children, who passed suddenly away, leaving his afflicted family, bereft of his counsel, his watch care, and his support.

As I stand in this sad spot, and gaze upon that lone grave, with tearful eyes and a bursting heart, memory comes like a tide, throwing over my soul the remembrances of the many--many years we have journeyed on together, since our first acquaintance in academic halls (for our intimacy first commenced in school), and all the sad loneliness of the present presses like a weight upon me, crushing me to the earth, and obscuring all the sunshine of earthly bliss.

How sad and desolate is the home from which some loved one has been borne suddenly away, with the firm assurance that "the places that once knew them shall know them no more forever."

The vacant seat at table, the return of their usual hour of arrival, all places and all things remind us of the departed one, and bring up harrowing remembrances of the past, that add deeper pangs to our sorrow, and fill our hearts with more unendurable anguish, and suffuse our cheeks with more scalding tears, as the stern reality presses upon us, that it always must be thus.

Companion of my youth, can it be possible thy manly form is hid beneath this grassy mound at my feet? that I never again shall hear the sound of that voice, whose endearing tone won me to thy side, to unite my destiny with thine, and float with thee over life's tempestous ocean?

Rough, indeed, has been the passage, and many the adverse storms we have encountered, during our thirty-two years companionship, and now, way-worn and weary, the grave--the greedy grave claims thee for its occupant. How sweet is the assurance "that the graves shall give up their dead, and this mortal shall put on immortality." Yes, this dear dust shall rise again, and be clothed in undying youth.

O, how stealthily the stern messenger came, laying low the form of the strong man, ere we were aware of his danger. One week--one short week, and yet to him a week of agonizing suffering, and all was over. Yet, in that week, what a volume might be written, of deep, intense thought and feeling, of fervent prayer and supplication, and tearful, childlike submission to the divine will. Might be written did I say? Is it not written--even in the book of God's remembrance? Neither sigh or tear were unnoticed, or prayer unheard, by that God who careth for us, and numbereth the very hairs of our heads. How often the prayer ascended from the lips of the dying man, "O my Father, help me in this my extremity," and it was indeed his hour of extreme necessity, for he was wrestling with his last enemy.

A smile sat upon his countenance, even while struggling for that frail life that was so soon to end, and it is now very evident to those that were in attendance upon him, that he was more fully aware of his situation than they. Every arrangement and every observation plainly shows now that he had little, if any hope of recovery.

But still the attending physician spoke very encouragingly to him, and to others, and so we hoped and believed he would yet be well.

He was grateful for every attention. Ere the disease (which was pneumonia) assumed its most fearful aspect; a daughter, who was watching by the bed, hearing him whisper, thought he was addressing her; but bending over the pillow, she heard him say,

"Oh, my Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me."

Then raising his clasped hands, said, fervently, "Nevertheless, not my will, but thine be done." Towards morning, reason became dethroned, and the bewildered imagination wandered in the land of shadows. There was an extremely anxious expression of countenance, and he would look earnestly upon his attendants, as though he thought we could relieve him. He was incessantly springing from his bed in his struggles for breath, and trying every new position that the extremity of his case could possibly suggest, but all to no avail.

But why dwell upon the fearful scene? We have seen the little child contending with the strong arm of the destroyer, and felt it was a fearful thing for it to yield up its little life and pass forever away from earth. But when we see the strong man cut suddenly down, the man who has scarcely passed the meridian of life, we "feel how dreadful 'tis to die." The love of life is strengthened by years. There are cords of association binding him to it, the rolling, restless tide of business, with its fluctuations and its cares, sweeps over him, and seems binding him to earth. The love of children, for whose welfare a kind father has so long been mindful, and all the fond endearments of home and kindred, are so many sacred ties binding him to life. But all must be severed before the ruthless tyrant who conquers conquerers, and has justly been styled, "the king of terrors."

And so it was in this case. Nature yielded reluctantly every advantage gained by the fearful foe, 'till her energies were exhausted, and sinking down in quiet slumber, she yielded the contest without a struggle.

About eight o'clock on Thursday evening, a heavy stupor came over him, and the fearful death-rattle warned us of the approach of the grim messenger. We watched his failing breath with agonizing emotions. But we turned from him one little moment, and when we turned again, the lamp of life was extinguished. O, the fearful agonizing cry that arose by that death bed, when we realized that the husband and father had passed away, forever away. But while we wept and mourned, he slept on unheeding. Death made little change in his countenance, and when he was dressed in his accustomed clothing, and laid in his coffin, he looked like a weary man taking rest in sleep.

It was a pleasant day in mid April that we bore him to his grave, and laid him down beneath the green branches of the arbor vitÆ tree. How many mournful thoughts pressed upon the heart, almost crushing out the very life, as the mournful train followed him to that sacred spot. Who that has looked into an open grave, and seen the coffin of the dearly loved lowered into it, but has felt an indiscribable agony filling the heart, and blotting out all the prospect of future earthly happiness? And who that listens to the sound of the heavy, damp earth as it falls upon the coffin, but will say, "oh, has earth another sound like this?" And there we left the husband and the father reposing beneath the tree his own hand had trained, and in the yard where he had spent so many hours laboring to beautify the spot where he was so soon to lie down in his last long sleep. By his side are the graves of the two dear grand-children, who were wont to share in his caresses, and his smiles. Silent now is their greeting, as the weary grandfather lays down with them in the place of graves: But eternity! oh eternity! how is the meeting there? Have they met? There are father, mother, brothers, sister, and a long train of relatives from whom he has been long separated. Have they recognized each other? O, bewildering thoughts, be still, and cease your restless longings; "secret things belong to God," and "what we know not now we shall know hereafter." But now, while the soft winds of summer are gently sighing through the branches of the arbor vitae tree that stands at the head of the grassy mound that rises over the form of my buried husband, I see by his side, the spot where, in all human probability, this frame will soon be deposited, to sleep with him in death's silent halls, even as I have journeyed with him through life. 'Till then, let me turn to my mission, and endeavor by a faithful discharge of every duty, to prepare for that time, and strive by a holy life and godly conversation, to so influence my children, that they may all seek a city not made with hands eternal, and in the heavens. And thus shall be answered my daily prayer, that we may be a united family in heaven.

So we returned to the house beneath the mild radiance of a Sabbath sun, to experience that awful void that death makes in the domestic circle to which so many bereaved hearts can respond.