advice. Leave little Anna at
home with your mother and a careful nurse; and then, with your husband
and some female friend, upon whose judicious care you can rely, go to
the Springs and spend a few weeks."

The advice of the physician was taken, and the young mother, with
clinging, though lacerated affections, resigned to the care of a hired
nurse the babe over which her heart yearned with unutterable tenderness.

Three weeks were spent at one of the Virginia springs, but little
apparent benefit was the result. The young mother grieved for the loss
of her babe so deeply and constantly, often giving way to tears, that
the renovating effects of changed air and medicinal waters were
counteracted, and she returned home, drooping in body and depressed in
spirits. Her infant seemed but half restored to her, as she clasped it
to a bosom in which the current of its young life had been dried up.
Sad, sad indeed was her realization of the immutable truth, that the
way of transgressors is hard!

Two years more of a painful and anxious existence were eked out, and
Amanda again became a mother.

From this additional shock she partially recovered; but it soon became
evident to all, that her shattered and enfeebled constitution was
rapidly giving way. Her last babe was but four months old, when the
pale messenger passed by, and gave his fearful summons.

It was toward the close of one of those calm days in September, when
nature seems pausing to note the first few traces of decay which autumn
has thrown upon garden, field, and forest, that Mrs. Beaufort, and the
husband of her daughter, with a few friends, were gathered in the
chamber of their beloved one, to see her die. How sad, how very sad is
the death-bed of the young, sinking beneath premature decay! In the
passing away of one who has met the storms of life, and battled with
them through vigorous maturity, and sinks at last in the course of
nature, there is little to pain the feelings. But when the young and
beautiful die, with all their tenderest and earliest ties clinging to
them--an event so unlooked for, so out of the true order of nature--we
can only turn away and weep. We can extract from such an affliction but
few thoughts of comfort. All is dreary, and blank, and desolate.

"Bring me my children," the dying mother said, rousing up from a state
of partial slumber, with an earnest emphasis, that brought both her
mother and her husband to her bedside.

"What did yo