nset faded to twilight, and the dimness gave place to
the light of the rising moon, long before we reached the door, where
anxious Aunt Rose was watching for us! How much talk there was with the
old people about it all; for I suspect that, in their life of rare
incidents, it was the custom to make much of every thing that occurred.
What an unlading there was of the chaise-box, and bringing to light of
peaches and pears, which kept the journey in remembrance for many days
after!

That night, as on every other night of my stay, my kind cousin saw me
safely placed in my bed, after I had knelt beside her to repeat my
evening prayer. Then, as she bent to kiss me, and gently whispered,
"_God bless thee, child_," she seemed to leave her serene spirit as a
mantle of repose.

When the Sabbath came, I walked hand in hand with her to the village
church. There was much there to distract my attention, particularly in
that rare sight, the ample white wig (the _last of the wigs_ of
Connecticut!) on the head of the venerable minister, who, though too
infirm for much active service, still held his place in the pulpit; but
I listened with all my might, intent on hearing something which I might
remember, and repeat to please Cousin Mary Rose; for I knew that she
would expect me to turn to the text, and would question me whether I had
understood it. I have pleasant hymns too, in recollection, which date
back to this very time. They have outlived the beautiful little purse
which was Mr. Williams's parting gift to me, and the tortoise-shell
kitten, with which Aunt Rose sought to console me, in my grief at seeing
myself sent for to return home. The summons was sudden but peremptory,
and I obeyed it with a sad heart.

I cannot tell how long afterwards it was, for months and years are not
very different in the calendar of childhood, when I was surprised with
the announcement that a change had come over Cousin Mary Rose. She was
changed to Mrs. Williams, and had gone with him, I think, to the South.

I doubt if any trace of the family is still to be found in the pleasant
village which was their home. The parents have gone to their rest. The
younger members removed long ago to the distant West.

My Cousin Mary Rose, for many years a happy and useful wife, has at last
found, in some part of the great western valley, a peaceful grave. I do
not know the spot where she lies, but I would fain twine around it these
little blossoms of grateful reme