the Spirit, for
they rest from their labors, and their works do follow them."

I found myself repeating these holy words, as I stood looking at the
white, shrunken features of the departed.

It was not until the next day that I saw Blanche. But Constance was with
her immediately after the sad news jarred upon her sympathizing heart.

"How did you leave her?" was my anxious query, on meeting my wife at
home.

"Calm," was the brief answer.

How much the word included!

"Did you talk with her?"

"Not a great deal; she did not seem inclined to talk, like some who seek
relief through expression. I found her alone in the room next to the one
in which the body of her mother was lying. She was sitting by a table,
with one hand pressed over her eyes, as I entered. 'Oh, my friend! my
dear friend!' she said, in a tone of grief, rising and coming a step or
two to meet me. I drew my arms around her, and she laid her head against
me and sobbed three or four times, while the tears ran down and dropped
upon the floor. 'It is well with her!' I said.

"'Oh, yes, my friend, it is well with her,' she answered, mournfully,
'well with her, but not with me. How shall I walk onward in life's
difficult ways, without my mother's arm to lean upon? My steps already
hesitate.'

"'You have another arm to lean upon,' I ventured to suggest.

"'Yes, a strong arm upon which I can lean in unfaltering trust. In this
God has been good to me. But my wise, patient mother--how shall I live
without her?'

"'She is only removed from you as to bodily presence,' said I. 'Love
conjoins your souls as intimately as ever.'

"'Ah, yes, I know this must be. Too many times have I heard that
comforting truth from her lips ever to forget it. But while we are in
the body, the mind will not rest satisfied with any thing less than
bodily presence.'

"I did not press the point, for I knew that in all sorrow the heart is
its own best comforter, and gathers for itself themes of consolation
that even the nearest friend would fail to suggest. We went in together
to look at the frail tabernacle from which the pure spirit of her mother
had departed forever! How sweetly the smile left upon the lips in the
last kiss of parting, lingered there still, fixed in human marble with
more than a sculptor's art! There was no passionate weeping, as we stood
by the lifeless clay. Very calm and silent she was; but oh, what a look
of intense love went out from her sad eyes! Not