. Nature is kinder,--or she is less
kind.

It is a slow and certain approach of danger which you read in the feeble
step,--in the wan eye, lighting up from time to time into a brightness,
that seems no longer of this world. You read it in the new and ceaseless
attentions of the fond child, who yet blesses your home, and who
conceals from you the bitterness of the coming grief.

Frank is away--over-seas; and as the mother mentions that name with a
tremor of love and of regret, that he is not now with you all,--you
recall that other death, when you too were not there. Then, you knew
little of a parent's feeling; now, its intensity is present!

Day after day, as summer passes, she is ripening for that world where
her faith and her hope have so long lived. Her pressure of your hand at
some casual parting for a day is full of a gentle warning, as if she
said,--prepare for a longer adieu!

Her language, too, without direct mention steeps your thought in the
bitter certainty that she foresees her approaching doom, and that she
dreads it only so far as she dreads the grief that will be left in her
broken home. Madge--the daughter--glides through the duties of that
household like an angel of mercy: she lingers at the sick-bed,--blessing,
and taking blessings.

* * * * *

The sun shines warmly without, and through the open casement beats
warmly upon the floor within. The birds sing in the joyousness of
full-robed summer; the drowsy hum of the bees, stealing sweets from the
honeysuckle that bowers the window, lulls the air to a gentle quiet. Her
breathing scarce breaks the summer stillness. Yet, she knows it is
nearly over. Madge, too,--with features saddened, yet struggling against
grief,--feels--that it is nearly over.

It is very hard to think it; how much harder to know it! But there is no
mistaking her look now--so placid, so gentle, so resigned! And her grasp
of your hand--so warm--so full of meaning!

----"Madge, Madge, must it be?" And a pleasant smile lights her eye; and
her grasp is warmer; and her look is--upward!

----"Must it--must it be, dear Madge?"--A holier smile,--loftier,--lit
up of angels, beams on her faded features. The hand relaxes its clasp,
and you cling to it faster--harder,--joined close to the frail wreck of
your love,--joined tightly--but oh, how far apart!

She is in Heaven;--and you, struggling against the grief of a lorn, old
man!

But sorrow, however gre