The funeral was over with its mourning weeds and solemn burial service, and all that was earthly of Grandma Adams rested in the grave; but what shall we say of those she has left in their now lonely home?  My uncle and aunt were still as deeply attached to their mother as in the days of their childhood and youth, and her age and utter dependence upon them for years past had all the more endeared her to their hearts, and when she was thus suddenly removed a blank was left in their home which they felt could never again be filled.  But the affairs of life do not stand still, and we are often obliged to take up again the realities of life, with the tears of bereavement and anguish still upon our cheeks, and even this may be wisely ordered to prevent us from indulging our grief, even to a morbid melancholy.  But lonely enough seemed the house when the kind friends and neighbors had all again departed to their homes, and we were left alone.  There was grandma’s arm-chair with the little stand for her large Bible, her glasses lay upon its worn cover, even as she had laid them aside on the last night of her life.  Many had offered to remove them, but my aunt would not allow them to be disturbed, and it was several days after the funeral that I quietly removed them to another room while my aunt was busied elsewhere, and she never questioned me as to why I had done so.  From the day of her mother’s death my aunt was a changed woman, her disposition seemed softened and subdued, and if, from long habit, she sometimes spoke in sharp quick tones, she was gentle and far more forbearing with the failings of others than formerly.  Uncle Nathan said but little, but it was easy to see that the loss of his aged mother was much in his mind; and often was he seen to brush away a tear when his eye rested upon the vacant corner.  It was not long after this that they received a letter from cousin Silas, informing them that he expected to arrive with his family in a few days.  Aunt Lucinda never uttered an impatient word, but began quietly to make preparations for their reception.  Very likely she remembered what her mother had said sometime before.  It is very often the case that advice which we give little heed to while the giver is in life and health becomes a sacred obligation after their death.  Almost every day she went over to the house which was to be their home, and spent several hours in putting it in order, and when they arrived, a comfortable home awaited them.  Cousin Silas was, as may be supposed, a much talking, do-nothing kind of a man, his language was plentifully adorned with flowery words, to which he often added scripture quotations, although seemingly he took little pains to inculcate in his own family the principles taught in that sacred volume.  When, soon after his arrival, he was informed of their late bereavement, he made a long, and I suppose very appropriate speech, but I am inclined to think, it failed to carry much consolation to his listeners.  It would be difficult for one to imagine