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of yesterday was communicated to him.
“He was sitting by the window as the mutilated body was carried by on a shutter, which so affected him, that he fainted, and has not been able to sit up since,” said Mr. Graham.
6. This is not the first accident which has happened in consequence of Radford's rum."
“ It was not rum, it was cider brandy, some of his own manufacture. If I was Radford, I should rather live in a shanty than to live in his splendid mansion he talks so much about, and have that the price of blood. I thought when Stumbleton and his two children were burned to death, that Radford would be a little more careful to whom he sold his liquor;
but if he can get the money, it is evident he is regardless of the consequences."
The two gentlemen walked to the
house of their friend, where they found Dr. Williams seated by the bedside of his pale and emaciated patient. Several weeks elapsed before he recovered from the shock he received. Mrs. Morse watched her husband unceasingly, anticipating all his wants-she listened in tearful silence, as he talked with composure of his approaching dissolution. As she kissed the almost transparent lips of her husband, he said, “I would be glad, Carry, if you could converse with me upon the subject of death more calmly."
Her tears were her only reply. At this moment Odora entered the room; she approached the bed cautiously, and kissed the pale hand of her father as he extended it to her; turning to her weeping mother, she said, “Do not cry, mamma, papa is better; when he laid his hand on my head to bless me, he said all
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