t, when that spectre met us, feared and dreaded alike by the
strong man and the little child, and one was taken, and the other left.

One was caught away sinless to the bosom of the Good Shepherd, and one
was left to weep pitiless tears, to eat the bread of toil, and to think
the bitter thoughts of misery,--left "to clasp a phantom and to find it
air." For often has the adversary pressed me sore, and out of my arms
has slid ever that which my soul pronounced good: slid out of my arms
and coiled about my feet like a serpent, dragging me back and holding me
down from all that is high and great.

Pity me, dear one, if thy sweet sympathies can come out of the glory, if
the lovelight of thy beautiful life can press through the cloud and the
evil, and fold me again as a garment; pity and plead for me with the
maiden mother whose arms in human sorrow and human love cradled our
blessed Redeemer.

She hath known our mortal pain and passion--our more than mortal
triumph--she hath heard the "blessed art thou among women." My
unavailing prayers goldenly syllabled by her whose name sounds from the
manger through all the world, may find acceptance with Him who, though
our sins be as scarlet, can wash them white as wool.

Our hearts grew together as one, and along the headlands and the valleys
one shadow went before us, and one shadow followed us, till the grave
gaped hungry and terrible, and I was alone. Faltering in fear, but
lingering in love, I knelt by the deathbed--it was the middle night, and
the first moans of the autumn came down from the hills, for the frost
specks glinted on her golden robes, and the wind blew chill in her
bosom. Heaven was full of stars, and the half-moon scattered abroad her
beauty like a silver rain. Many have been the middle nights since then,
for years lie between me and that fearfulest of all watches; but a
shadow, a sound, or a thought, turns the key of the dim chamber, and the
scene is reproduced.

I see the long locks on the pillow, the smile on the ashen lips, the
thin, cold fingers faintly pressing my own, and hear the broken voice
saying, "I am going now. I am not afraid. Why weep ye? Though I were to
live the full time allotted to man, I should not be more ready, nor more
willing than now." But over this there comes a shudder and a groan that
all the mirthfulness of the careless was impotent to drown.

Three days previous to the death-night, three days previous to the
transit of the soul