“At about nine o’clock, his hands and feet grew cold, and the affectionate Karens rubbed them all the forenoon, excepting a few moments when he requested to be left alone.  At ten o’clock, he was much distressed for breath, and I thought the long dreaded moment had arrived.  I asked him, if he felt as if he was going home—­’not just yet,’ he replied.  On giving him a little wine and water, he revived.  Shortly after, he said, ’You were alarmed without cause just now, dear—­I know the reason of the distress I felt, but am too weak to explain it to you.’  In a few moments he said to me, ’Since you spoke to me about George, I have prayed for him almost incessantly—­more than in all my life before.’

“It drew near twelve, the time for us to go to the boat.  We were distressed at the thought of removing him, when evidently so near the last struggle, though we did not think it so near as it really was.  But there was no alternative.  The chilling frown of the iron-faced Tavoyan was to us as if he was continually saying, ’be gone.’  I wanted a little broth for my expiring husband, but on asking them for a fowl they said they had none, though at that instant, on glancing my eye through an opening in the floor, I saw three or four under the house.  My heart was well nigh breaking.

“We hastened to the boat, which was only a few steps from the house.  The Karens carried Mr. Boardman first, and as the shore was muddy, I was obliged to wait till they could return for me.  They took me immediately to him; but O, the agony of my soul, when I saw the hand of death was on him!  He was looking me full in the face, but his eyes were changed, not dimmed, but brightened, and the pupils so dilated, that I feared he could not see me.  I spoke to him—­kissed him—­but he made no return, though I fancied that he tried to move his lips.  I pressed his hand, knowing that if he could, he would return the pressure; but, alas! for the first time, he was insensible to my love, and forever.  I had brought a glass of wine and water already mixed, and a smelling-bottle, but neither was of any avail to him now.  Agreeably to a previous request, I called the faithful Karens, who loved him so much, and whom he had loved unto death, to come and watch his last gentle breathings, for there was no struggle.

“Never, my dear parents, did one of our poor fallen race have less to contend with, in the last enemy.  Little George was brought to see his dying father, but he was too young to know there was cause for grief When Sarah died, her father said to George, ’Poor little boy, you will not know to-morrow what you have lost to-day.’  A deep pang rent my bosom at the recollection of this, and a still deeper one succeeded when the thought struck me, that though my little boy may not know to-morrow what