His gentlemanly bearing, his benevolent smile, his tall and commanding appearance won all hearts; while his calm judgment, his energetic course of action gained respect and demanded admiration.  In public and private life he was a pattern of excellence.  Surely his mother must have looked upon such a son with feelings of gratitude and even pride.  As you enter the door, from which no poor man was ever turned empty away, and crossing the hall, advance into the elegant parlor to greet your host and his amiable wife, you can fancy a smile of satisfaction upon the lips of that mother’s portrait, which hangs in the place of honor on the wall, a smile which seems to say, “this is my eldest born.”  But, alas! it was for this son that that mother had put up her last prayer—­for him it was, she had poured forth her soul, and now years have passed since he stood by her helpless remains, and her petition is still unanswered.

* * * * *

It is a May morning, two years later, and cheerily does the sun shine upon the village of ——.  The pine forest at a little distance, sheds forth after the last night’s rain that fragrance which is so delicious, the fields are gay with dandelions, the brooks yellow with the American cowslip, close beside which peeps forth the lovely veronica, while yonder slope is enameled with bright blue violets, and the little white Mayflower.  But no children are seen plucking them.  The very herds in the field low in a subdued manner, and the birds warble their gladsome spring song with a depth which belongs only to sacred music.  None are moving about the streets.  The church doors are open, however, for it is the Sabbath.  Come with me to yonder mansion—­the tasteful shrubbery, the vine-covered window, the well arranged garden bespeak for its possessor wealth and luxury.  Enter with me, but tread lightly as we ascend the staircase.  Upon that white curtained bed, raised by pillows, reposes one who has numbered more than sixty summers.  His brow is scarcely furrowed, though his face is thin.  His clasped hands are emaciated, but he does not look old.  The fever spot burns in his cheeks, and his eye is lighted up with a heavenly ray, which shows that now at least the soul is triumphing over the body.

A small table, covered with damask of snowy whiteness, stands near, on which are placed the emblems of the broken body and poured-forth blood of our Redeemer.  A few Christian brethren and sisters are kneeling around, and the pastor is blessing the bread.  Methinks “it is good to be here.”  The great Master is present, and “his banner over this little company is love.”  One can almost see the ministry of angels as they bend to watch the scene.