Last Days of Bealth.

"Her memory still within my mind

Retains its sweetest power;

It is the perfume left behind

That whispers of the flower."

MRS. WELBY.

"Full was thy lot of blessing,

To charm her cradle hours,

To touch her sparkling fount of thought,
And breathe her breath of flowers,—

And take the daily lesson

From the smile that breathed so free,
Of what in holier, brighter realms,
The pure in heart must be.

No more thy twilight musing
May with her image shine,
When in that lonely hour of love,
She laid her cheek to thine.

So still and so confiding,

That cherished 'child' would be, So like a sinless guest from heaven, And yet a part of thee."

MRS. SIGOURNEY.

It was one of Carrie's quiet pleasures to stand at the window, and watch for those whom she knew as they passed. If she caught a glimpse of our physician going by, she would call out with great animation, "my Dr. -

my Dr.

And when he came in, she would put his large hat on her little head, and taking his cane in her hand would suddenly appear before him with a gleeful laugh, pleased enough if he entered into her frolic. The last such scene was only two or three weeks before her final sickness.

"I have three fathers," said Carrie one day, "my papa, and my grandpapa, and my Father in heaven." She loved her father and her grandfather with all the warmth of her young heart, and they loved her most tenderly, but the Father who loved her with an infinite love was about to take her to himself. Her bright summer-day was now drawing to a close. But a few more sunny hours and we were to see the deepening shades of twilight. She was to be taken home

"Ere the bitter

cup she tasted

Which the hand of care doth bring

Ere the glittering pearls were wasted,
From glad childhood's fairy string-
Ere one chain of hope had rusted,

Ere one wreath of joy was dead."

In the afternoon of Carrie's last Sabbath of health, she and her sister repeated their hymns and catechism, and then we had some pleasant talk with them. I recollect being so struck with the expression of her countenance, that I silently changed her position, that her father too might look upon her speaking face.

On a bright Wednesday morning, we were expecting friends to spend the day. As I was around in the rooms seeing that everything was in order, my Carrie in her simple white frock followed me everywhere. As I looked upon her open countenance, and into her loving eyes, there was too satisfied a feeling at my heart. No! it is not for a mother to exult in the beauty and loveliness of her cherished blossom. It may wither almost beneath her gaze. Instead of thus exulting, how would my heart have sunk within me could I have looked forward but four short weeks! We were again on a bright Wednesday morning, expecting company, but for what?

The joy of my heart,—the delight of my eyes, was, as now, clad in white, but alas!-it was her burial shroud. Those little busy hands lay folded meekly upon her bosom, which never again would throb with sorrow or with joy. It was

her funeral day.

But the dream of such a future clouded not our present sunshine. When our friends came, no one was more glad to meet them than Carrie, and a joyous day it was to her.

The next day she was as full of life as ever. The children had the rocking-horse in the front hall, and decorated him with leaves and flowers as for a gala day, little thinking that she was never again to ride on Pony Pomp. The day following, being rainy, they played in the house all day. Carrie arranged my basket, and wound thread upon spools, which still lie in the drawerher last work. Ah! why does memory so linger about that Friday?-It was her last day of health. Never, never again were we to listen to her gladsome laugh.

"Her thousand winning ways, alas !

Shall charm this heart no more.

Ah! could'st thou not have lingered, love,
To cheer me yet awhile,

Life's scenes to bless and brighten still
With thy sweet, radiant smile?"

The full cup was sparkling at our lips, and we felt secure, not seeing the shadowy hand extended to dash it to the ground.

After supper I undressed my darling, and for the last time, she knelt by my side folding her little hands to pray. As I kissed her good night, and looked back upon my two daughters lying lovingly together,-ah! why did not something whisper-it is the last time? Alas! her sun is setting her day is past.

“Those little hands will ne'er essay

To ply the mimic task again,

Well pleased, forgetting mirth and play,
A mother's promised kiss to gain.

Those lips will never more repeat

The welcome lesson, conned with care;

Or breathe at even, in accents sweet,

To heaven the well-remembered prayer."

But quietly we sought our pillows, all undreaming of the blight that even then had touched our