ms, social privileges and advantages of home to be broken up and
changed. Many a family, which, in former days, enjoyed all the pleasures
and privileges of wealth and social distinction, have now to struggle with
cruel poverty, and receive from the world, scorn and ridicule and dishonor.

But the greatest bereavement of home is, generally, death. They only, who
have lived in the house of mourning, know what the sad bereavements are
which death produces, and what deep and dark vacancies this last enemy
leaves in the stricken heart of home.

"The lips that used to bless you there,
Are silent with the dead."

To-day we may visit the family. What a lovely scene it presents! The
members are happy in each other's love, and each one resting his hopes upon
all the rest. No cares perplex them; no sorrows corrode them; no trials
distress them; no darkness overshadows them! What tender bonds unite them;
what hopes cluster around each heart; what a depth of reciprocated
affection we find in each bosom; and by what tender sympathy they are drawn
to each other!

But alas! in an hour of supposed security, that loving group is broken up
by the intrusion of death, and some one or more carried from the bosom of
love to the cold and cheerless grave. The curfew-bell speaks the solemn
truth, and warns the members that "in the midst of life they are in death."
Where is the home that has not some memorial of departed ones,--a chair
empty, a vacant seat at the table,--garments laid by,--ashes of the dead
treasured up in the urn of memory! What sudden ravages does this ruthless
foe of life, often make in the family! The members are often taken away,
one by one in quick succession, until all of them are laid, side by side
beneath the green sod.

What a memorable epoch in the history of home is that, in which death finds
his first entrance within its sacred enclosures, and with ruthless hand
breaks the first link of a golden chain that creates its identity! We can
never forget that event. It may he the first-born in the radiant beauty of
youth, or the babe in the first bursting of life's budding loveliness, or a
father in the midst of his anxious cares, or the mother who gave light and
happiness to all around her. Whoever it is, the first death makes a breach
there which no subsequent bereavement can equal; new feelings are then
awakened; a new order of associations is then commenced; hopes and fears
are then aroused that never subside; a