man, more than a year since, received a commission, and joined the
army at Mexico. He left with her a sealed paper, and his favorite dog.
The animal was already most affectionately attached to her, and now
became her constant companion. Never did I see an animal so completely
devoted to a human being; never was kindness more reciprocated than
was that of the companion of her walks; he patiently awaited at the
door of the church for the conclusion of the services, and at night
held vigils beneath her window. I think the dog, too, must have
understood something of the beauty of this scenery; for I have seen
him for an hour together standing wistfully beside his mistress, and
gazing up into her face, and then not meeting with an encouraging
look, stretching his sight far away in the direction of her eyes, as
if determined to share with her whatever contributed to her pleasure
or her pain.

"Less than four months ago news reached the family of the death of the
young man--I do not remember the exact time, or the place of the
engagement in which he fell--but his death produced deep sensation in
the family generally, but it went to the heart of the young lady. I
saw her once or twice on her favorite place in the field, but I dared
not approach her--she had no companion but the faithful dog. In two
weeks she was confined to her bed--and shortly afterward the family
was plunged in new afflictions by her death. I was inquiring of one of
the family relative to the particular disease of which she died, and
heard it suggested that it might have been a rapid consumption."

"I think not," said a very little girl, who had shared in the
affectionate instruction of the deceased.

"And why?"

"Can the heart of a person break to pieces?" asked the child.

"The heart may be broken," I said.

"Then that is it--for I heard mamma tell sister that Miss Mary's heart
was broken."

"I have noticed that the death of an affianced one is more severely
felt by a woman, as a severe disturbance of affection, than is the
death of a husband. And I suppose this comes from the delicacy of a
maiden that shrinks from the utterance of a grief which finds vent and
sympathy with a widow. I never hear of such a bereavement without
deeper sorrow for the survivor's sufferings, than I have for the
mourning wife. God help her who's crushed by a grief that she may not
openly indulge; who must hide in her bosom the fire that is consuming
her life."

The sea