A feeble old man, and a young lady who is just now blooming into the maturity of womanhood, are toiling up a gentle slope, where the spring sun lies warmly. The old man totters, though he leans heavily upon his cane; and he pants as he seats himself upon a mossy rock that crowns the summit of the slope. As he recovers breath, he draws the hand of the lady in his, and with a trembling eagerness he points out an old mansion that lies below under the shadow of tall sycamores; and he says,—feebly and brokenly,—"That is it, Maggie,—the old home—the sycamores—the garret—Charlie—Nelly"—

The old man wipes his eyes. Then his hand shifts: he seems groping in darkness; but soon it rests upon a little cottage below, heavily overshadowed.

"That was it, Maggie;—Madge lived there—sweet Madge—your mother"—

Again the old man wipes his eyes, and the lady turns away.

Presently they walk down the hill together. They cross a little valley with slow, faltering steps. The lady guides him carefully, until they reach a little graveyard.

"This must be it, Maggie, but the fence is new. There it is, Maggie, under the willow,—my poor mother's grave!"

The lady weeps.

"Thank you, Madge; you did not know her, but you weep for me. God bless you!"

The old man is in the midst of his household. It is some festive day. He holds feebly his place at the head of the board. He utters in feeble tones—a Thanksgiving.

His married Nelly is there with two blooming children. Frank is there with his bride. Madge—dearest of all—is seated beside the old man, watchful of his comfort, and assisting him as with a shadowy dignity he essays to do the honors of the board. The children prattle merrily: the elder ones talk of the days gone by; and the old man enters feebly, yet with floating glimpses of glee, into the cheer and the rejoicings.

----Poor old man, he is near his tomb! Yet his calm eye, looking upward, seems to show no fear.

The same old man is in his chamber; he cannot leave his chair now. Madge is beside him; Nelly is there too with her eldest-born. Madge has been reading to the old man: it was a passage of promise—of the Bible promise.

"A glorious promise!" says the old man, feebly;—"a promise to me,—a promise to her, poor Madge!"

----"Is her picture there, Maggie?"

Madge brings it to him: he turns his head; but the light is not strong. They wheel his chair to the window. The sun is shining brightly: still the old man cannot see.

"It is getting dark, Maggie."

Madge looks at Nelly—wistfully—sadly.

The old man murmurs something; and Madge stoops.—"Coming," he says,—"coming!"

Nelly brings the little child to take his hand. Perhaps it will revive him. She lifts her boy to kiss his cheek.

The old man does not stir: his eyes do not move: they seem fixed above. The child cries as his lips touch the cold cheek.—It is a tender Spring flower upon the bosom of the dying Winter!

----The old man is gone: his dream-life is ended.

THE END.