Oh! how sad and sick appeared the mother, as she bent to take the last look at the little form she had loved and cherished so tenderly!  Her nights of anxiety and watching had left their traces upon her face; her usually light and elastic step was feeble and slow, and she rested heavily upon the arm of her husband.  His form also was bowed, and his countenance bore traces of the deepest grief.

One of those sudden changes which we so often experience in this our most changeful climate, took place that day.  At noon it was very warm and bright, but before we returned from the funeral it was cloudy and cold.

The next day Mrs. B. was quite sick with severe cold, and the effects of the past excitement and grief.  We flattered ourselves that rest and quiet, with good nursing, would soon restore her; and you may judge of our dismay upon learning, the day after, that she was dangerously ill.

“Oh no,” we thought and said a hundred times, “it cannot be so; she will surely be better to-morrow.”

We could not have it otherwise.  We could not for an instant admit the idea that she would not recover.  The bare supposition was agony.  Oh! how harrowing to me is the remembrance of those long summer days, and those wakeful moonlight nights, in which, prostrated by disease, lay that young and lovely being so idolized by us all, but whom, indeed, we were destined to see no more on earth.

The Divine fiat had gone forth, and hearts were agonized, and looks grew sadder and sadder, as day after day sounded like a knell in our ears the fearful words, “Not materially better.”  But we could not give her up; hope would linger.  No one was permitted to see her but the family and nurses, for the doctor said all excitement must be carefully avoided.  We said, “She will not die; God will raise her up.”  In our weakness and blindness, we could see no mercy nor wisdom in this terrible bereavement, this scorching desolation of the already heavily-stricken servant of the Most High.  He was naturally of a most hopeful disposition, and this, notwithstanding the discouraging words of the physician, buoyed up his soul, and he with us hoped against hope.  They could not persuade him to leave her for a moment.  Whole nights he watched by the side of her he loved best on earth, anticipating every word and look, and administering to her comfort.

How you would have felt for us, dear Anna, had you been here!  We would walk by the house, and look up at the windows or door, not daring to knock for fear of disturbing her, but hoping to see one of the physicians or some one of the family, of whom to make inquiries.  Oh, the nervousness of those days! the restless, weary nights we passed, till our fears and apprehensions became a racking torment, and we felt almost that we must die (sic) ourselves ourselves or be out of suspense; but when, on the evening of the tenth day after her illness, a messenger came with pallid face and almost wild look to say that she was dead, we were stunned.  I really think we were almost as much shocked as though we had not heard of her illness; for we felt that, at the eleventh hour, some favourable turn must take place.  I think we expected a miracle to be performed, so certain were we, or wished and tried to be, that she would recover.