well; and will he not get well?" The attention of the child was soon diverted, and the parents were again alone.

Mr. Morse continued, "Carry, when I am dead, I wish you, my dear, to write to Mr. Marteneau, and tell him that it was my request that he should take George as an apprentice. He is one in whom I have confidence. You had better keep Alpheus with you, and in our dear little Odora you will be blessed. I have endeavored to arrange my business so as to lighten in a measure the settling of my estate; you will have grace given you to endure with patience the loneliness of your widowhood. You will soon be called upon to test the immutability of God's promises. As thy day is, so shall thy strength be.' He has promised to be 'a father to the fatherless and

the widow's God,' and into his hands I commit you.""

This memorable interview was interrupted by the announcement of Mr. Willard, who had heard of the sickness of his friend, and hastened to pay him his last visit.

The two gentlemen had been separated for several years. Mr. Morse was glad of this opportunity to exhort and warn his friend to seek an interest in the blood of that atonement which had made him an "heir of God and a joint heir with Jesus Christ, to an inheritance which is incorruptible, undefiled, and that fadeth not away." Mr. Willard had passed through trials during the interval of his absence, but these he scarcely referred to. He was then living with his second wife-his hopes for future happiness seemed concentrated upon his only son, Ashbel, who was scarce a year old: cir

cumstances made the responsibility of the father, unsustained by grace, without a parallel. The two gentlemen talked of the past and future, while one stood upon the verge of eternity, looking through the almost transparent veil that separated him from that celestial city through whose pearly gates he soon expected to pass, to possess that reward, that is laid up for those who have " come up through great tribulations, and washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb"-where the sun would not smite by day nor the moon by night, where the glorious effulgences that burst from the face of the Lamb made radiant the mansion that Christ had gone to prepare for him. The other endowed with the richest gifts of nature, misapplying them, neglecting to obey God's great command, to seek first the kingdom of heaven and its

righteousness, that he might claim the immutable promise, that all things should be added thereunto. He saw in his horizon a dark portentous cloud. Before the two friends parted, the invalid requested to be bolstered up in his bed; he opened his Bible, which lay constantly by his side, and read Romans xii. After making some appropriate remarks on the scriptures he had just read, Mr. Willard then kneeled by the bedside, while the dying man poured out his soul to God in fervent prayer for him from whom he was soon to be separated. As he arose from his knees, and took the hands that had been raised while in prayer, he said emphatically, "My inmost soul envies you; your path is that of the righteous, growing brighter and brighter up to the perfect day; but I am in the broad road that leads to destruction. I shall be left to call upon the

rocks and mountains to fall upon me and hide me from the face of Him who now sits at the right hand of the Father. He has called me, but I have refused to obey;" grasping the hands still closer, with utterance choked with emotion, he continued, "Pray for me, pray for me, farewell, farewell."

At this he hurried from the room, and sprang into his carriage and was soon out of sight. Mr. Willard had a long drive before him, but he resolved to reach home before he slept. It was a beautiful afternoon in June, nature was adorned with her richest robes. As the traveller gazed upon the lofty hills over which the distant mountains cast their venerable, shades looking gravely down into the deep valleys, meeting Flora's milder gaze as she opened her finely painted lids, he thought the trees wore a livelier green, and the wild