nmost soul many precious dreams of a brilliant
future, who can wonder? Who shall blame her?

It is now many years since "the dust fell on that sunny brow," but I
well remember Henry Hamilton--"handsome Henry Hamilton"--and seldom
indeed since have I seen a more striking form and face. There was a
frank, joyous expression beaming forth from his dark eyes, and his mouth
had always a sweet smile playing about it; there was a high intellectual
forehead, indicating thought, though it was half hidden by the sunny,
brown curls which clustered about it, and gave a youthful look to even
this portion of his face. His tall, well-developed figure was the
perfection of manly symmetry, and his musical laugh was ever ringing out
freely and unconsciously. His temperament was just the reverse of
Arthur's. Bold, courageous, self-relying, he hoped all things, and
feared nothing that man could do; by nature too, he was quick and
passionate, yet full of affection and all generous impulses. Such was
Henry Hamilton, now eighteen years of age--the pride of his family--the
favorite of all who knew him.

The night of his return home, he became violently ill, and no remedies
appeared to relieve his sufferings. I will not pain my young readers
with a recital of his agonies. They were most intense; and on the third
day after he was attacked, at six o'clock in the afternoon, he went from
an earthly to a heavenly home; from the bosom of his mother, to the
bosom of his God! There were few intervals of sufficient ease, to allow
of conversation. During these, he expressed entire confidence in the
Saviour, and perfect submission to the will of God, though death then
was most unexpected to him. He also expressed regret that he had done
so little for God, and besought a friend who stood by his bedside, to be
faithful to his Christian vows.

The last struggle was a fearful one; but his mother supported him in her
arms to the last; and to her his last look was given,--a look of sweet
affection, trust, and gratitude.

I stood beside his dead body an hour after the spirit had left it. I had
never before, and have never since, seen one so beautiful in death. The
last rays of the setting sun streamed softly in at an open window, and
one sweet ray fell upon his head. It was a bright halo,--a glorious
crown, for that sleeping dust to wear. The fair, wide brow, the rich,
dark curls, the softly-closed eyelids, the beautiful mouth, had never
been so lovely. Al