often turned on themes of which I had heard much.  It spoke of God, of heaven, of the goodness and love of the blessed Savior, of the hopes and privileges of the Christian.  I liked to hear it; there was no constraint in it.  They might have talked of any thing else; but I knew they chose the topic because they liked it,—­I felt that they were true Christians, and that it was safe and good to be near them.  Sometimes the conversation turned on earthly hopes and plans, and then it became less intelligible to me.

One ride, I remember, which occupied a long summer afternoon.  We left home after an early dinner, and wound our way over hills rocky and steep, from which we would catch views of the river, keeping always near its bank, till we came to Mr. Williams’s own home, or rather that of his mother.  What a pleasant visit was that!  How Mr. Williams’s mother and sisters rejoiced over our coming!  What a pet they made of me! and how much they seemed inclined to pet my Cousin Mary Rose.  I have an indistinct idea of a faint flush passing now and then over the White Rose.  What a joyous, bountiful time it was!  Such pears, and peaches, and apples as were heaped up on the occasion!  How social and cheerful was the gathering around the teatable, lavishly spread with dainties!

How golden and glorious looked the hills, the trees, and the river in the last rays of the setting sun, as we started from the door on our return!  How the sunset faded to twilight, and the dimness gave place to the light of the rising moon, long before we reached the door, where anxious Aunt Rose was watching for us!  How much talk there was with the old people about it all; for I suspect that, in their life of rare incidents, it was the custom to make much of every thing that occurred.  What an unlading there was of the chaise-box, and bringing to light of peaches and pears, which kept the journey in remembrance for many days after!

That night, as on every other night of my stay, my kind cousin saw me safely placed in my bed, after I had knelt beside her to repeat my evening prayer.  Then, as she bent to kiss me, and gently whispered, “God bless thee, child,” she seemed to leave her serene spirit as a mantle of repose.

When the Sabbath came, I walked hand in hand with her to the village church.  There was much there to distract my attention, particularly in that rare sight, the ample white wig (the last of the wigs of Connecticut!) on the head of the venerable minister, who, though too infirm for much active service, still held his place in the pulpit; but I listened with all my might, intent on hearing something which I might remember, and repeat to please Cousin Mary Rose; for I knew that she would expect me to turn to the text, and would question me whether I had understood it.  I have pleasant hymns too, in recollection, which date back to this very time.  They have outlived the beautiful little purse which was Mr. Williams’s parting gift to me, and the tortoise-shell kitten, with which Aunt Rose sought to console me, in my grief at seeing myself sent for to return home.  The summons was sudden but peremptory, and I obeyed it with a sad heart.