against him? Look at his
patriotism, his benevolence, his noble acts. Recall his energy, his
calmness, his constant devotion to the interests of his country. Look,
above all, at his patience, his humility, as the great scenes of life were
receding from his view, and futurity was opening before him. Hear of the
childlike submission with which he bowed to the Will that ordained for him
a death-bed, protracted and painful. "Lead me," he said to a friend, "where
I want to go, to the feet of Jesus."

Listen to the simplicity with which he commended his body to his friends,
and his spirit, through faith in Jesus Christ, to his God. Regard him in
all his varied relations of Christian, patriot, statesman, husband, father,
_master_, and friend, and answer if the sigh that is now rending the heart
of his country is not well merited.

Yes! reader, thoughts of death are useful to us all, whether it be by the
grave of the poor and humble, or when listening to the tolling of the bell
which announces to all that one who was mighty in the land has been
summoned to the judgment seat of God.

CHAPTER XVI.

Mr. Weston and Phillis returned to the sick-room from the funeral. Fever
was doing its work with the fair being, the beloved of many hearts, who was
unconscious of aught that was passing around her. There was a startling
light from the depths of her blue eyes; their natural softness of
expression gone. The crimson glow had flushed into a hectic; the hot breath
from her parted lips was drying away their moisture. The rich, mournful
tones of her voice echoed in sad wailing through the chambers; it
constantly and plaintively said Mother! though that mother answered in vain
to its appeal. The air circulated through the room, bearing the odor of the
woods, but for her it had no reviving power; it could not stay the beatings
of her pulse, nor relieve the oppression of her panting bosom. Oh! what
beauty was about that bed of sickness. The perfect shape of every feature,
the graceful turn of the head, the luxuriant auburn hair, the contour of
her rounded limbs. There was no vacancy in her face. Alas! visions of
sorrow were passing in her mind. A sad intelligence was expressed in every
glance, but not to the objects about her. The soul, subdued by the
suffering of its tenement, was wandering afar off, perchance endeavoring to
dive into the future, perchance essaying to forget the past.

What says that vision of languishing and lovel