feeling an indefinable
presentiment of coming sorrow.

The glad light of morning in a measure dissipated the shadows of the
previous evening, and the mother and daughter met with a pleasant
greeting,--the little girl busied about her play, while her mother
attended to her domestic duties. They frequently interchanged cheerful
words. Emma would sometimes personate a house-maid, and assist her
mother in dusting and arranging the furniture. But suddenly dropping
all, she stood by her side, and looking earnestly up into her face,
said,

"O mamma, you may have all my clothes next summer."

"Why, Emma," replied her mother, "you will want them yourself."

"O no, mamma, I shall not want them; you may have my little brella,
and all."

The mother's cheek blanched, and a fearful pang again shot through her
heart.

"O Emma, don't talk so, you will wear them all yourself."

"O no, mamma, you may have them;" and seating herself in her little
chair, she sat long, looking thoughtful and serious.

It was morning, bright beautiful morning. The swelling buds had burst
their confines, and the apple, pear, peach, cherry, and plum trees
that surrounded the house, were thickly covered with sweet scented,
many colored blossoms, that gave promise of a rich harvest of
delicious fruit. The birds warbled their matin songs in sweet melody;
the honey bees with drowsy hum, were sipping sweets to horde their
winter's store; and every thing seemed rejoicing in the light of that
glad morning. Even Crib, the great house dog, lay sunning himself on
the door step with a satisfied look, snapping at the flies that buzzed
around him.

But Emma could not arise to look out upon the joyful face of nature.
She lay pale and languid upon the bed, telling her mother she was too
sick to get up, that she could stay alone while she ironed her clothes
which she had starched the night before: but wished her to shut the
door to keep out the light and noise.

The mother pursued her task with a sad heart, but often would she
unclose the door and look in upon the pale child, and show her some
article of dress she had been preparing for her. She would look up
with a smile and say,

"O good mamma, how nice they look;" then closing her eyes drop into a
deep, heavy sleep.

She grew rapidly worse, and the doctor who was called to visit her,
pronounced it scarlet fever, that fearful malady among children, but
thought her symptoms favorable.

Every attention was