esponsible duties of wife and mother, and
is acting well her part in the drama of life. Her usually volatile
spirit is chastened and subdued by the sorrows that have passed
over it, and it is her earnest endeavor so to live, as to meet the
approbation of God, and her own conscience and train her dear children
for that better life that is promised to the pure in heart.

Were I weaving a tale of fiction, the reason of Edward's conduct would
be required to complete the work; but it has been said

"Truth is stranger than fiction,"

and Annie died without ever receiving any explanation. Thus we will
leave them, with the assurance that they shall again be united,
although their remains are now so widely separated.

Lines, Written during Convalescence from Brain Fever

Sing on, sweet bird, thy gentle strain
"Can't cool my brow, or cool my brain;"
But yet, thou hast a magic pow'r
To lull me in a fev'rish hour;
Thy pleasant notes, so sweet and clear,
Come soft and mellow'd to my ear.
And when my head is rack'd with pain,
Burning my brow, throbbing my brain,--
When all's tumultuous, toss'd, and wild,
And frantic as a wayward child;
Roaring as if old ocean's waves
Were bursting from their coral caves;
Tossing as if old ocean's foam
Were rocking to its highest home;
Moaning as if the sea bird's wail
Were screaming o'er the tattered sail;
And ev'ry ship were tempest toss'd,--
Its rudder gone,--its pilot lost;
And no kind ray of light were giv'n,
To cheer them, from the vault of heav'n,
Save the vivid lightning's flash,--
Pealing the deep ton'd thunder crash,
Glancing upon the tow'ring wave,
Above the seaman's yawning grave;--
Glaring into that dark abyss,
Where hideous monsters dart and hiss,
And ship wreck'd seamen, far from home.
Toss amid the briny foam;
Till the proud wave, with one stern sweep,
Buries the secrets of the deep;
Revealing far, on upper land,
A lawless bandits' wand'ring band,
With sword and rapier, stain'd with blood,
Still thirsting for the crimson flood;
They show no mercy on their kind,
But kill or plunder all they find.
Then dies the flash, as ocean's moan
Sends back a low, sepulchral groan,
Leaving all nature dark and still,
As midnight sleeping on the hill,
While all around unearthly seems,
As frightened Hecate's spectral dreams;
Till bubbling, gushing through each vein,
The frenzied curren