is a feeling in our nature which will arise when we again find
ourselves in the tenement where death has been, and all traces of it
have been removed. It is a feeling of satisfaction and relief at having
rid ourselves of the memento of mortality, the silent evidence of the
futility of our pursuits and anticipations. We know that we must one
day die, but we always wish to forget it. The continual remembrance
would be too great a check upon our mundane desires and wishes; and,
although we are told that we ever should have futurity in our thoughts,
we find that life is not to be enjoyed if we are not permitted
occasional forgetfulness. For who would plan what rarely he is
permitted to execute, if each moment of the day he thought of death? We
either hope that we may live longer than others, or we forget that we
may not.

If this buoyant feeling had not been planted in our nature, how little
would the world have been improved even from the Deluge! Philip walked
into the room where his mother had lain one short hour before, and
unwittingly felt relief. Taking down the cabinet, he now recommenced
his task; the back panel was soon removed, and a secret drawer
discovered; he drew it out, and it contained what he presumed to be the
object of his search,--a large key with a slight coat of rust upon it,
which came off upon its being handled. Under the key was a paper, the
writing on which was somewhat discoloured; it was in his mother's hand,
and ran as follows:--

"It is now two nights since a horrible event took place which has
induced me to close the lower chamber, and my brain is still bursting
with terror. Should I not, during my lifetime, reveal what occurred,
still this key will be required, as at my death the room will be opened.
When I rushed from it I hastened upstairs, and remained that night with
my child; the next morning I summoned up sufficient courage, to go down,
turn the key and bring it up into my chamber. It is now closed till I
close my eyes in death. No privation, no suffering, shall induce me to
open it, although in the iron cupboard under the buffet farthest from
the window, there is money sufficient for all my wants; that money will
remain there for my child, to whom, if I do not impart the fatal secret,
he must be satisfied that it is one which it were better should be
concealed,--one so horrible as to induce me to take the steps which I
now do. The keys of the cupboards and buffets were, I t