her sat afar off, with her face hid
in her apron, "that she might not see the death of the child." The aged
minister was there, and the Bible lay open before him. The father walked
to the side of the bed. He stood still, and gazed on the face now
brightening with "life and immortality." The son lifted up his eyes; he
saw his father, smiled, and put out his hand. "I am glad _you_ are
come," said he. "O George, to the pity, don't! _don't_ smile on me so! I
know what is coming; I have tried, and tried, and I _can't_, I _can't_
have it so;" and his frame shook, and he sobbed audibly. The room was
still as death; there was none that seemed able to comfort him. At last
the son repeated, in a sweet, but interrupted voice, those words of
man's best Friend: "Let not your heart be troubled; in my Father's house
are many mansions."

"Yes; but I _can't help_ being troubled; I suppose the Lord's will must
be done, but it'll _kill_ me."

"O father, don't, don't break my heart," said the son, much agitated. "I
shall see you again in heaven, and you shall see me again; and then
'your heart shall rejoice, and your joy no man taketh from you.'"

"I never shall get to heaven if I feel as I do now," said the old man.
"I _cannot_ have it so."

The mild face of the sufferer was overcast. "I wish he saw all that _I_
do," said he, in a low voice. Then looking towards the minister, he
articulated, "Pray for us."

They knelt in prayer. It was soothing, as _real_ prayer always must be;
and when they rose, every one seemed more calm. But the sufferer was
exhausted; his countenance changed; he looked on his friends; there was
a faint whisper, "Peace I leave with you"--and he was in heaven.

We need not dwell on what followed. The seed sown by the righteous often
blossoms over their grave; and so was it with this good man. The words
of peace which he spoke unto his friends while he was yet with them came
into remembrance after he was gone; and though he was laid in the grave
with many tears, yet it was with softened and submissive hearts.

"The Lord bless him," said Uncle Lot, as he and James were standing,
last of all, over the grave. "I believe my heart is gone to heaven with
him; and I think the Lord really _did_ know what was best, after all."

Our friend James seemed now to become the support of the family; and the
bereaved old man unconsciously began to transfer to him the affections
that had been left vacant.

"James," said he to hi