s vegetables and fruit
she carried to the village market, and though they brought but a trifle
in a country town, where every thing was so abundant, yet Peggy said,
"we must not despise the day of small gains." She took the lead in all
business matters in-doors and out-doors. She never asked my mother if
she had better do this and that; she went right ahead, doing what she
thought right and best, in every thing pertaining to the drudgery of
life.

When I was a little child, I used to ask her many a question about the
mystery of my life. I asked her about my father, of my kindred, and the
place of my birth.

"Miss Gabriella," she would answer, "you mustn't ask questions. Your
mother does not wish it. She has forbidden me to say one word of all you
want to know. When you are old enough you shall learn every thing. Be
quiet--be patient. It is best that you should be. But of one thing rest
assured, if ever there was a saint in this world, your mother is one."

I never doubted this. I should have doubted as soon the saintliness of
those who wear the golden girdles of Paradise. I am glad of this. I have
sometimes doubted the love and mercy of my Heavenly Father, but never
the purity and excellence of my mother. Ah, yes! once when sorely
tempted.

We retired very early in our secluded, quiet home. We had no evening
visitors to charm away the sober hours, and time marked by the sands of
the hour-glass always seems to glide more slowly. That solemn-looking
hour-glass! How I used to gaze on each dropping particle, watching the
upward segment gradually becoming more and more transparent, and the
lower as gradually darkening. It was one of Peggy's inherited treasures,
and she reverenced it next to her Bible. The glass had been broken and
mended with putty, which formed a dark, diagonal line across the
venerable crystal. This antique chronometer occupied the central place
on the mantel-piece, its gliding sands, though voiceless, for ever
whispering of ebbing time and everlasting peace. "Passing away, passing
away," seemed continually issuing from each meeting cone. I have no
doubt the contemplation of this ancient, solemn instrument, which old
Father Time is always represented as grasping in one unclenching hand,
while he brandishes in the other the merciless scythe, had a lasting
influence on my character.

That night, it was long before I fell asleep. I lay awake thinking of
the morning's dawn. The starlight abroad, that cam