affections, except that their confidence in each other grew stronger and their attachment firmer.

Anna became the mother of several children, and as she mostly took care of them herself she found no opportunity, for several years, to visit that part of her mother's family which had removed to a distance from Brookfield, the place where she dwelt many years after her marriage. She occasionally received letters from her brothers and sisters, and understood their circumstances.

She had learned the fact, though not from her mother, that Mr. Kingman had not proved a very agreeable companion to her; that the children had begged permission to leave their home and spend their time elsewhere, whenever an opportunity offered. The daughters, who, it will be recollected, were older than the sons, married early in life and settled in different places, near the home of their mother, and after they were gone, their brothers, at their own request, were allowed to spend much of the time with their sisters, leaving Mrs. Kingman with only her husband and one little daughter, who was born after their removal to that part of the country which fifty years ago was called the West.

Mrs. Kingman was often forced to reflect upon the want of discretion she had manifested in regard to her children. She had learned, by severe experience, that money alone could not ensure happiness. The temper of her second husband being the very opposite of Mr. Weldron's, she had with him found difficulties to encounter which, during the life of the first, she had been a stranger to; for this lamented individual always endeavored to make every member of his household happy.

His wife was acquainted with trouble only in the abstract, while he was spared to her. No wonder, then, if when she experienced treatment from Mr. Kingman the very reverse of this, that she was often led to contrast her present situation with the past, and sigh to think she had not better appreciated the blessings Providence had bestowed upon her.

The years spent with but little other society at home than that of a peevish husband, were the most tedious to Mrs. Kingman of any she had ever seen. She was always glad of an opportunity to go out from home, but never felt anxious to have him accompany her; for the truth is she dreaded his presence.

It must be said, however, that Mrs. Kingman, to the astonishment of all who knew her naturally proud and irritable disposition, patiently bore with the faults and infirmities of her husband until his death. After this event, which was a light affliction compared with the death of Mr. Weldron, she resolved to remain a widow, which resolution she kept to the end of her life.

Her time was divided between her children; and it may truly be said of her that her last days were her best days.' Possessed of a vigorous constitution, which had not been impaired by the endurance of hardship, Mrs. Kingman was able to travel much, in the declining years of her life, and more than once visited Brookfield, and spent some weeks each time with Anna, who was settled in life, much to the satisfaction of her mother.

Absence, too, seemed to have obliterated all that was unpleasant in the past from the memory of each, so that the time they spent together, in after life, was agreeable

and profitable to both mother and daughter. A pleasing change had taken place in the feelings of the once purseproud and pleasure-seeking Mrs. Kingman.

She was slow at first to learn the lesson which her Heavenly Father would teach in disappointing her fondest earthly hopes. It was hard for her to feel that she was created for higher pursuits and loftier purposes than had hitherto engrossed her affections; but affliction was made the means of effectually teaching her the vanity of resting upon sublunary things.

Anna, or Mrs. Savage, as we ought now to call her, had never disciplined her feelings in order to prepare herself to bear up amid the vicissitudes which might attend her in life. She had never reflected that she might yet be called to pass through still deeper trials than she had ever before experienced. Such ideas, to her imagination, were too gloomy to be indulged, and she put them far from her, feeling willing to believe that it was unneces sary for her to be afflicted more, while she cherished a feeling of pride, when reflecting that she had repined no more at the dispensation of heaven.

No wonder, then, that with such feelings of self-dependence, she thought it hard if called to experience merely a trifling disappointment. On one occasion, her husband went from home, to a distant city, to transact urgent busi ness. On leaving, he informed his wife that he should probably return in a few days, at the same time naming the day on which she might expect either himself or a letter.

The time appeared very long indeed to Mrs. Savage, until the day arrived on which she expected confidently to

see him at home; but when, instead, she received a letter, stating that important and unexpected business would probably detain him a week longer than he anticipated, she wept hysterically, and would not be reconciled.

Years after this occurrence, she often related this anecdote to warn the unreflecting against the sin of proving ungrateful to their Heavenly Father, by indulging in selfish sorrow.

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Said she, I can never forget the kind yet unwelcome rebuke which I received on that occasion from an aged Christian, who was the person that handed me the letter. On seeing my evident distress, he inquired the cause of it, and when I informed him, he mildly remarked, “I was afraid, my dear child, that some evil tidings had reached you. Believe me, if you allow yourself to weep thus, in view of so small a cross, I fear you will have to wade through seas of trouble ere you leave this world of care and pain. Try to be thankful that your companion is in health, and wipe away those childish tears." Mrs. Savage affirmed that her better judgment told her he was right and she was wrong, yet she considered him coldhearted and stern.

Sixteen years passed away, while she was blest with the sympathy of him whose society was her beau-ideal of earthly happiness. It was then her prospects were unexpectedly darkened with more than midnight gloom. In consequence of taking a sudden and violent cold, Mr. Savage was brought low by distressing illness.

This was a heavy stroke to his companion, and one for which she was entirely unprepared. Her own health at this time was very delicate, and she fondly depended upon

his cheerfulness and constant kind attentions, to beguile her of the anxiety and depression which but for him she would have endured.

Fearful, therefore, were her forebodings in regard to the recovery of Mr. Savage, as day after day she saw his malady rage with increasing violence.

At length, one day, she ventured to inquire of the physician who attended him, if it was his opinion that her husband would be restored to health. The doctor, who was a gentleman somewhat advanced in years, and one too who feared his God, was evidently disturbed by this question, and would gladly have given the deeply afflicted wife an evasive reply. But this he could not do, for Mrs. Savage, unsatisfied with anything short of his decided opinion, continued to implore him to tell her, declaring that suspense was in this case as bad as certainty.

The kind-hearted man, affectionately taking her hand, at length said to her, 'My dear child, nothing is impossible with a wonder-working God.'

This answer convinced Mrs. Savage that there was but too much ground for the apprehension of evil. Unfortunately for this afflicted lady, she was that very night confined to her bed in becoming the mother of a little son. It was a greater grief than she had yet endured, to be prevented from ministering to the wants of her companion, as far as her strength would permit.

This circumstance was a source of mutual sorrow, both to Mr. Savage and his wife, and the time seemed long to them, until, after the expiration of a week from the birth of their infant, Mrs. Savage, in a state of great weakness, and contrary to the wishes of her friends, repaired again