“Not my will,” he exclaimed in a piercing tone of prayer—­“not mine, but thy kind will be done, O Lord!  If it be possible, let the bitter cup pass from me—­but spare not, if thy glory must needs be vindicated.  Bring me to thy feet in meek, and humble, and believing confidence—­all is well, then, for time and for eternity.  It is merciful and good to remove the idol that stands between our love and God.  Father of mercy—­enable me to bring the truth home, home to this most traitorous—­this lukewarm, earthy heart of mine—­a heart not worthy of thy care and help.  Let me not murmur at thy gracious will—­oh, rather bend and bow to it—­and kiss the rod that punishes.  I need chastisement—­for I have loved too well—­too fondly.  I am a rebel, and thy all-searching eye hath found me faithless in thy service.  Take her, Father and Saviour—­I will resign her—­I will bless the hand that smites me—­I will”—­he stopped; and big tears, such as drop fearfully from manhood’s eye, made known to heaven the agony that tears a parent’s heart, whilst piety is occupied in healing it.

It is not my purpose to recite the doubts and fears, the terrible suspense, the anxious hopes, that filled the hours which passed whilst the condition of the patient remained critical.  It is a recital which the reader may well spare, and I avoid most gladly.  At the end of a week, the fever departed from the sufferer.  The alarming symptoms disappeared, and confidence flowed rapidly to the soul again.  At this time the father paid his first visit to his child.  He found her weak and wasted; the violent applications which had been necessary for safety had robbed her of all strength—­had effected, in fact, a prostration of power, which she never recovered, from which she never rallied.  Mr Fairman was greatly shocked, and asked the physician for his opinion now.  The latter declined giving it until, as he expressed himself, “the effects of the fever, and her attack, had left him a fair and open field for observation.  There was a slight cough upon her.  It was impossible for the present to say, whether it was temporary and dependent upon what had happened, or whether it resulted from actual mischief in her lung.”

* * * * *

A month has passed away since the physician spoke these words, and to doubt longer would be to gaze upon the sun and to question its brightness.  Mayhew has told the father his worst fears, and bids him prepare like a Christian and a man for the loss of his earthly treasure.  It was he who watched the decay of her mother.  The case is a similar one.  He has no consolation to offer.  It must be sought at the throne of Him who giveth, and hath the right to take away.  The minister receives the intelligence with admirable fortitude.  We are sitting together, and the doctor has just spoken as becomes him, seriously and well.  There is a spasm on the cheek of the incumbent, whilst I sob loudly.  The latter takes me by the hand, and speaks to the physician in a low and hesitating tone.