mother to me, and I loved them with my
whole heart. Their sickness was sorrowful, and I often wept bitterly
over their bodily sufferings. But when the conqueror came, how easily
the feeble conquered. Instead of fearing the destroyer, as you call
Death, they went forth to meet him with songs of joy, and welcomed him
as a friend.

"Oh, had you seen my Lucy die! Had you seen the glory that rested upon
her pale brow; had you heard the music that burst from her sweet lips
ere they were hushed for ever; had you seen the hand that pointed upward
to the skies; you would have exclaimed, with her, 'O death, where is thy
sting! O grave, where is thy victory?'"

The child paused, for her utterance was choked with tears. Anthony took
her hand; he started, for pale as it was, it burnt with an unnatural
heat. Fever was in every vein. "Are you ill, Clary?"

"Ill? Oh, no! but I never feel very well. I have had my summons,
Anthony; I shall not be long here."

Seeing him look anxiously in her face, she smiled, and going to a corner
of the room, brought forward a harp which had escaped his observation,
and said, playfully, "I have made you sad, cousin, when I wished to
cheer you. Come, I will sing to you. Fred tells me that I sing well. If
you love music as I do, it will soon banish sorrow from your heart."

There was something so refreshing in the candor of the young creature,
that it operated upon the mind of Anthony like a spell, and when the
finest voice he ever in his life heard burst upon his ear, and filled
the room with living harmony, he almost fancied he could see the halo
encircling the lofty brows of the fair young saint:

The flowers of earth are fair
As the hopes we fondly cherish;
But the canker-worm of care
Bids the best and brightest perish.
The heavens to-day are bright,
But the morn brings storm and sorrow;
And the friends we love to-night
May sleep in earth to-morrow.

Spirit, unfold thy drooping wing;
Up, up to thy kindred skies.
Life is a sad and weary thing;
He only lives who dies.
His the immortal fruits that grow
By life's eternal river,
Where the shining waves in their onward flow
Sing Glory to God for ever.

These lines were sung to a wild, irregular air, but one full of pathos
and beauty.

"You must give me that hymn, Clary."

"It is gone, and the music with it. I shall never be able to remember it
again. But I wi