sponsibility, and be careful to blend the wisdom of the serpent with the harmlessness of the dove. When Robert Conway told his mother that he believed smoking did not agree with him, and that he should give it upthat he was weary of the debating club, which only led to drinking and quarreling, and thought his evenings would be much better spent at home-she agreed, with a quiet smile, and blessed Hannah Lawrence in her heart. The aged woman was fondly attached to her intended daughter-inlaw; and had sufficient good sense to be pleased rather than jealous of the influence which she possessed over Robert. "So you do not like smoking?" said Mrs. Conway; casting at the same time a mischievous glance toward Hannah, who at that moment entered. "Do you hear that, Hannah ?" "Yes, mother," replied she very demurely, "and I cannot say that I am altogether sorry, for it certainly does make the breath smell very unpleasantly sometimes." "But my breath does not smell now, Hannah, dear!" said Robert, kissing her. And, as the girl looked up into his frank, open countenance, she longed to whisper -that smoke, or do what he would, she did not believe that his equal was in the whole world. It was as well, perhaps, that she did not: it will not do to humor one's lover too much. It is different with a husband. Hannah sat between them with a hand in each; she was very happy. "Why should it not be always thus ?" whispered Robert Conway. The girl looked timidly at his mother. "Answer him, Hannah," said she. "I also am impatient to have two children instead of one." But still she never spoke a word. Mrs. Conway had been young herself, and she rose up to leave them together; but Hannah would not suffer her. "Do not go, mother," said she, timidly. "What is it you fear ?" asked her lover, drawing her gently toward him. Only-only that this should be all a dream!" And she rested her head upon his bosom, and wept. Robert Conway smiled as he soothed and kissed away her tears. As Hannah said even then, it was too great happiness to last. That night she told her father and mother everything, with many blushes and a few tears, for she felt home-sick at the thought of leaving it forever, although it was to live close by; however, the day was at length fixed for her marriage. And the old people blessed her again with joyful hearts, together with the lover of her youthful choice. "Yes, he is worthy even of our Hannah!" said Mrs. Lawrence. "Worthy! O, mother, he is too good for me!" "Impossible!" replied the old man, "even if he were the king himself." "Robert will not spoil me as you do," said the girl, stroking down the father's long white hair with playful fondness. "I am not so sure of that, or how he will be able to help it." Hannah laughed; but there were tears in her eyes as she bent down to kiss his withered brow. The conversation now turned upon the many things that were to be done and arranged before the wedding could take place. Hannah wished to have her young cousin Maude Hetherington sent for, who, with her ready invention, and nimble fingers, proved a great acquisition on the occasion. Besides which, it was very pleasant for the girls to talk together in their leisure moments, or when they went to bed at night; and often until the morning dawned; for Maude likewise expected to be married before another twelvemonth, and they had a thousand things to say to one another. Maude was older than her cousin, and sometimes took upon herself to play the monitress. "Do you not humor Robert Conway almost too much?" said she one day. 66 "O! not half enough! If you did but know how kind, and good, and thoughtful he is!" "Yes, just now; but take care, or byand-by he will be playing the husband and the tyrant." "Are all husbands tyrants?" asked Hannah, archly. "It was my own suggestion. Robert is greatly attached to his mother; and so am I too, for the matter of that. The dear old lady seemed quite beside herself with joy when she heard that she was not to quit the home of her childhood, where she had seen so many pleasant days, and will again, please God; and blessed and thanked me, with the tears in her eyes; while Robert stood by, looking as happy as a prince. Dear Robert! he is so easily pleased, so easily made happy!" ed to old Mrs. Conway's living in the was of her own setting. Many said what same house?" an industrious little wife she would make ; and there were not a few who envied Robert his good fortune, and could have wished themselves exactly in his place, although the girl herself would not have changed to have been made a queen. All the cakes, too, were of her making, assisted by Maude, and her old mother, who could not, however, do very much; and it was cheerful enough to hear them talking and singing over their pleasant tasks. As Maude said, “What was the use of being dull? for her part she could never see anything in a wedding to make one weep, unless, indeed, the bridegroom should be old or disagreeable, or going to take her away from all her kindred and friends; and even then she would not marry, unless she could love him well enough to go cheerfully." "Well, I only hope you may never have cause to be sorry for what you have done; for my own part, I would not live with a mother-in-law for all the world!" "But mothers-in-law are not always alike," Maude dear. "True; and to be sure, Mrs. Conway, is very kind and good-natured; only a little too grave to be a fit companion for a young girl like you." "But I mean to become grave too, when I am married," answered Hannah, with a smile. About a week before the period fixed upon for the wedding to take place, Hannah complained of a sudden faintness, and looked so pale that her mother and cousin were quite frightened. "Nay, it is nothing," said she; "but do not tell Robert, lest he should be uneasy about me." Maude supported her to her chamber, and persuaded her to lie down on the bed for a few hours, after which she got better again; so that, by the time her lover came in the evening, all traces of her recent indisposition had entirely vanished. But she grew sad after he was gone, and observed to her cousin, that she feared she had not deserved such happiness. "I thought so this morning," said Hannah, "when I was taken ill. O! Maude, if I were to die, what would become of Robert? We love each other so much!" "Hush!" replied Maude, "I will not have you talk thus. God grant that there may be many years of happiness in store for my dearest cousin!" "As for you, my dear cousin, added she, "about to be united to such a man as Robert Conway; with a sweet little cottage close by, so that you may see your father and mother every day, if you like— why I could almost envy you, if it were not for certain anticipations of a similar happiness in store for myself. Ah! you shall come to my wedding by-and-by, and see how merry we will be!" "And help to make these nice cakes, eh, Maude," said Mrs. Lawrence, laughingly. "But you are looking pale, my child," added she, turning to her daughter, "and we must not have you tire yourself. There is another whole day yet." Hannah smiled, or rather tried to smile; and, tottering as she walked, went and sat down by the door as though she felt faint. "Are you not well, cousin?" asked Maude. The girl's lips moved fast, as they grew every moment more white and colorless, but no sound came. "It is only a fainting fit," said Maude, endeavoring to appear calm. "You had better bathe her temples with a little cold water, while I run for Mrs. Conway. I will not be gone a moment; and she may advise us what to do." She soon returned, followed at a distance by the feebler steps of her aged companion. "Forgive me," whispered Hannah, "I Rendered utterly helpless by grief and teram very silly." ror, Mrs. Lawrence could only wail and "To be sure you are," said Maude, wring her hands like a distracted thing, kissing her affectionately. Every stitch in Hannah's simple wardrobe, even to her pretty white bridal dress, calling in passionate accents upon the name of her child; while Mrs. Conway, whose presence of mind never forsook her, di rected Maude to send immediately for the doctor, applying in the mean time all the restoratives usual on such occasions; but her care was in vain. Between them those aged women bore the stricken girl in their arms, and laid her on the bed, where she remained white and motionless, as though carved out of stone. Seeing that there was no more to be done, Mrs. Conway knelt down and prayed as we only pray at such times as these. Maude returned with the doctor, and they tried to bleed her without success. All their attempts to restore animation were in vain; the girl never spoke again, but died toward morning peacefully and without a struggle. Once only she opened her eyes, and looked around her with a wild agonizing glance that was never forgotten by those who witnessed it. Mrs. Conway closed them softly and shudderingly with her hand; and she never moved after that. Pale and horror-stricken, Robert made one of the little group who stood weeping in their vain grief around the bed of death. And, when his mother rose at length from her knees, and laying her hand upon his shoulder, said in a solemn voice, halfchoked by tears,-"The Lord hath given, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord!"-his heart refused to utter, Amen! Maude's grief was deep and passionate, but nothing in comparison to the wild lamentations of the bereaved parents: until at length, completely worn out, they both fell asleep by the bedside of their dead child, and dreamed that the wedding-day was come. Mrs. Conway had taken her son home, thinking he would be more likely to recover his composure away from that terrible scene; and poor Maude crept about the house, putting out of sight all the simple bridal finery, over which they had taken so much pains only the day before. "As for the cakes," thought she," they must do for the funeral." And she began to weep afresh, as she recalled to mind all the pleasant words and merry jests that had been uttered over them; almost the last words that Hannah was ever heard to speak being in playful anticipation of an event that was not to be. Of a truth it was very terrible! No wonder that poor Maude felt heart-stricken, and like one in a frightful dream. No wonder that she sobbed and cried, when even a strong man like Robert Conway wept. Every moment that Mrs. Conway could spare from the side of her half-distracted son, was spent at the cottage, where she assisted Maude in performing those sad, but necessary offices, of which the poor old mother, in her deep affliction, seemed utterly incapable,-speaking words of comfort and consolation, and endeavoring to improve this melancholy event to the heart of her young companion, by teaching her the frailness of all earthly hopes. Two days and nights had elapsed since the spirit of the young and beautiful betrothed had passed away without a word, or a prayer; and the two sorrowful mothers sat together in the dim twilight, exchanging now and then a few kind words; but more frequently remaining silent for long intervals, during which memory was no doubt busy enough. Maude was a little apart by the half-open casement, working on a black gown for Mrs. Lawrence to wear at her child's funeral; and pausing every now and then to wipe away the blinding tears that hindered her from seeing what she was about; and thinking the while, perhaps, of a certain dress, over which she had taken so much pains for a far different occasion. "It is too dark, I am sure, for you to see to work, Maude," said Mrs. Conway, at length; and her voice sounded strangly loud in that silent room. "Go into the field, dear child, and look for your uncle; it is late for him to be out alone.” The girl did as she was desired; and found him kneeling amid the long grass, with his white hairs uncovered, and the tears streaming down his withered cheeks. Not liking to intrude upon his grief, Maude stepped behind a large tree and waited, hoping that he would presently rise up of his own accord, and return home. Meanwhile it grew quite dark, and so still that the inmates of that desolate cottage could almost hear the beating of their own hearts. Mrs. Conway arose at length to procure a light, and just at that moment a faint moaning sound was heard, proceeding, as it seemed, from the bed where the corpse lay. Mrs. Lawrence clung fearfully to the side of her companion. "Did you not hear something groaning?" whispered she. "Yes, I thought so; but it might have been only the wind.” "Hush! There it is again!" "Let me go!" exclaimed Mrs. Conway, astily disengaging herself from the terrified grasp of her companion. "It is Hannah's voice!" And tearing aside the curtain from the foot of the bed, there was Hannah, sure enough, sitting upright in the dim moonlight, and looking wildly around her, like one awakened from a heavy sleep. With ready presence of mind, Mrs. Conway threw a large shawl over the dead-clothes in which she was wrapped, and spoke to her calmly and soothingly, motioning to the mother, at the same time, to go out quietly and call for assistance; but Mrs. Lawrence stood still and motionless, as though her feet were glued to the floor. "How cold it is!" murmured Hannah, shuddering as she spoke. "But what is the matter? Have I been very ill, mother?" "Yes, yes; but keep quiet, dear child, you will be better soon!" And, freeing her face, she laid her head gently back on the pillow, and went as fast as her tottering steps would carry her to summon medical assistance, and prepare Maude and Mr. Conway for what had happened, leaving the mother, still motionless and terrorstricken, in the darkness. By the aid of heat, and restoratives constantly applied, Hannah soon began to rally, and by the morning was almost well, but for the weakness and exhaustion, and a strange feeling of weariness, beneath the influence of which she at length fell into a gentle slumber. How anxiously did they all listen to her calm regular breathing, and gaze upon that sweet face, once more colored with the warm hue of life. How they longed to be able to get off the grave-clothes without her knowing it, fearing that the shock would be too great, but could not, without disturbing her, which the doctor had strictly forbidden, How they wept, and prayed, and blessed God! Presently Hannah opened her eyes, and fixing them upon the anxious faces that were watching over her, inquired of her mother if she had been long ill. "No, my child, not very." "Ah! I remember now-I was taken ill while we were making the cakes; but it is only a fainting-fit. By-the-by, Maude," added she, as the girl came forward, and bent down to kiss her, "I hope you looked after them, for the dough was just rising, and they promised to be excellent." Her cousin tried in vain to keep down her struggling sobs, and answer calmly; while Hannah, mistaking the cause of her emotion, added kindly "Well, never mind, dearest! We can easily make more; it was my fault for frightening you. And mother, do not say a word to Robert, please, about my being ill; it is past now." "You must not get up, Hannah; indeed you are not strong enough," exclaimed Mrs. Conway, trembling lest she should discover all. "O, yes! I am so much better; and Maude and I have a thousand things to do. It was only the heat made me feel faint. But how came I by this shawl?" asked Hannah, as she endeavored to unfasten it from about her shoulders. "It is Mrs. Conway's! Has she been here?" "She is here now," replied the kind voice of her old friend, while a tear fell upon her uplifted brow; "but you must lie still, my child, and listen to what I am going to tell you." "Please don't let it be a very long story, mother dear," said Hannah, as she flung her arms around her, and laid her head upon her bosom, like a playful and weary child. Who shall attempt to describe her feelings when she heard all?-feelings expressed rather by tears than by words. Mrs. Conway understood them best, when she motioned to the rest that they should kneel down and pray for her, that she might never forget that solemn hour in which God had restored her to them, as it were from the dead. Robert Conway was half beside himself when he heard the joyful news; and could not rest till he had gone in softly, and kissed her hand, as she lay pale and tranquil upon the bed; for, somehow, he dared not touch her lips, although she was his own betrothed bride. After that, many of the neighbors came just to look upon her, and congratulate the old people on the restoration of their child. But none spoke above their breath for fear of disturbing her. In a few days Hannah rose up, and went about among them all, just as usual, only that she was paler and graver; but no one wondered at that. The wedding did not take place until some time afterward, when Robert received his young bride as the gift of God; and truly she brought a blessing with her. Hannah lived many years, and was a happy wife and mother, and, what is better still, a happy Christian; meekly trusting in the merits of her Redeemer, and ready whenever it shall please God to call her to himself. There are many instances on record somewhat similar to the above; but not all ending so happily. It was only a few days since we heard of a poor woman, living in an obscure country place, who suddenly became insensible, and was supposed dead. On the night previous to the interment, her sister, who occupied the next chamber, was disturbed by a slight noise, and looking in, saw the corpse sitting erect, and attempting, as it seemed, to remove the grave-clothes from about its face. The terrified woman caught up her sleeping child from its cradle, and fled away, half-naked as she was, to the house of a neighbor nearly a mile off; where she remained all night, although they only laughed at her, and fancied she must have been dreaming. The following morning, however, the appearance of the corpse fully corroborated her statement; giving fearful evidence of the struggle that had been going on between life and death. The poor woman might have been alive to this very day, had her sister only possessed presence of mind enough to assist instead of deserting her in that dark hour of untold agony. And yet we are ready to make every allowance in a case where none of us can be quite certain that we should have had the courage to act differently. The story of the sexton and the ring must be familiar to most of our readers; and we could tell them many others equally wild and wonderful-melancholy histories, for the most part, but not without their warning lesson both to the aged and the young. "T was long ere I believed That this one daughter might not speak to me! Waited and watch'd, God knows how patiently, How willingly deceived: Vain Love was long the' untiring nurse of faith. And tended Hope till it was quench'd in death. O if she could but hear For one short hour, till I her tongue might teach To call me "mother," in the broken speech That thrills the mother's ear! Alas! these seal'd lips never may be stirr'd To the deep music of that lovely word. My heart it sorely tries To see her kneel, with such a reverent air, Beside her brothers at their evening prayer; Or lift those earnest eyes To watch our lips, as though our words she knew: To the bright wonder of a sunset sky, The struggling soul would burst its binding cords, And the long pent-up thoughts flow forth in |