ry precious does it
become to them. With what ecstatic joy do they note the first dawn
of intelligence as it beams from the starry eyes! How merry their
own hearts now, as they listen to the shouts of childish glee as
they burst from the coral lips! Ay, very, very dear is this little
one, and their cup of bliss seems full without alloy; when suddenly
the relentless destroyer enters their happy home, and sets his seal
on that snowy brow, so like a lily's leaf, in its pure beauty.
Disease fastens itself upon the loved one, and, like a tender bud
nipped by the untimely frost, it withers, droops, and dies. Then
come the fearful words, "Baby is dead!" With what a crushing weight
do they fall on the ears of that mourning family! How reluctantly do
their bruised hearts acknowledge the sad truth! But stern reality
avers it so, and the spectre Grief claims them for its own, as they
gaze upon the pale face of the little sleeper.

Ah! the light of those bright eyes is for ever quenched, and the
lids are closed tranquilly over them; the rose tint has fled from
the round cheeks; the ruby lips are colourless, and the youthful
heart has ceased its throbbings.

Yes, "Baby is dead," and silently they prepare it for the cheerless
tomb. The golden tresses they so oft have wound lovingly over their
fingers, are gently smoothed for the last time, while one fairy curl
is severed and placed next the mother's heart; oft will she gaze
upon it, as the months of her sorrow come and go, and weep over the
memory of her departed treasure.

Sadly the little form is robed in the tiny shroud, and the dimpled
hands crossed sweetly over the pulseless bosom. Gently he is placed
in the coffin--it is a harder bed than he was wont to rest on, but
he will feel it not. With unutterable anguish they follow him to the
dark, cold grave; strange hands lower him into its gloomy depths,
and the clods fall heavily upon the coffin. Each one seems to sink
with laden weight into their hearts. It is filled up now, and the
green turf covers the late smiling cherub, and the mourners turn
sadly away. Oh! how dark the world seems now, which was so full of
sunshine a little while ago! How desolate their once joyous house!

"Baby is dead--our idol is gone," is the language of their hearts.
Yes, stricken ones, your sunbeam is gone; but where? You have buried
the beauteous casket beneath the green sods of the valley; but the
precious jewel it contained is beaming brightly i