I was but
a boy. She was a young woman then; I, a wild, heedless boy; but her
look, her smile, her very words, are indelibly impressed on my mind.
What a lovely example of all Christian graces was she, for in her they
seemed blended, like the exquisite tints of the rainbow, into a perfect
whole. Her gentle reproof,--her winning manner ever alluring us to that
which was right,--her unwearied endeavor to make all around her
happy,--these, combined with every womanly charm, made her appear, in my
eyes, more than human; and when death came, much and deeply as I
lamented the loss, I could scarcely wonder that Heaven had reclaimed its
own."

There was a pause, and then Arthur added,--"That I have not gone to the
same extent in folly as others, I believe I owe to her, for when
tempted, by my gay companions at college, to join them in the pleasures
of sin, her look of mild entreaty seemed ever before me, deterring me
from ill; and I often think, had she lived, I might to-day have been a
better and more useful man."

Agnes had been an attentive listener. "I do not wonder," she said, as he
ceased speaking, "that you so highly estimate woman's influence, for you
have largely benefited by it; but though dead, she yet speaketh. Do you
remember what Young says respecting dying friends? That they are

'Angels sent on errands full of love,
For us they sicken, and for us they die.'

We sometimes wonder at the mysterious Providence which often suddenly
removes the excellent from earth; while the wicked are allowed to
remain; but may it not be graciously ordered thus, to excite in us an
ardent desire for that preparation which shall enable us to greet our
friends on the shores of the better land. Oh, without such a hope what
would life be.

'It lifts the fainting spirit up,
It brings to life the dead.'

How often should I be ready to sink in despair," and Agnes's lips
quivered with emotion, "were it not that I am permitted to look forward
to that inheritance which is incorruptible and undefiled, and which
shall prove an abundant recompense for those 'light afflictions which
are but for a moment.'"

"But you," said Arthur, half inquiringly, "are, I trust, a stranger to
those afflictions.

'Rose-leaved from the cold,
And meant, verily, to hold
Life's pure pleasures manifold.'"

"My childhood and youth has, indeed, passed amid flowers and sunshine,"
was the reply; "and if the future appears now to