r. ---- to convey the cruel intelligence by degrees, and with care and
tenderness. "It is all we can do for her," said he.

He looked so grave while writing the supposed prescription, that it
unluckily occurred to Mrs. Woffington to look over him. She stole archly
behind him, and, with a smile on her face--read her death warrant.

It was a cruel stroke! A gasping sigh broke from her. At this Dr.
Bowdler looked up, and to his horror saw the sweet face he had doomed
to the tomb looking earnestly and anxiously at him, and very pale and
grave. He was shocked, and, strange to say, she, whose death-warrant
he had signed, ran and brought him a glass of wine, for he was quite
overcome. Then she gave him her hand in her own sweet way, and bade him
not grieve for her, for she was not afraid to die, and had long learned
that "life is a walking shadow, a poor, poor player, who frets and
struts his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more."

But no sooner was the doctor gone than she wept bitterly. Poor soul!
she had set her heart upon living as many years to God as she had to the
world, and she had hoped to wipe out her former self.

"Alas!" she said to her sister, "I have done more harm than I can ever
hope to good now; and my long life of folly and wickedness will be
remembered--will be what they call famous; my short life of repentance
who will know, or heed, or take to profit?"

But she soon ceased to repine. She bowed to the will of Heaven, and set
her house in order, and awaited her summons. The tranquillity of her
life and her courageous spirit were unfavorable to the progress of
disease, and I am glad to say she was permitted to live nearly three
years after this, and these three years were the happiest period of her
whole life. Works of piety and love made the days eventful. She was at
home now--she had never been at home in folly and loose living. All her
bitterness was gone now, with its cause.

Reader, it was with her as it is with many an autumn day; clouds darken
the sun, rain and wind sweep over all--till day declines. But then comes
one heavenly hour, when all ill things seem spent. There is no more
wind, no more rain. The great sun comes forth--not fiery bright indeed,
but full of tranquil glory, and warms the sky with ruby waves, and the
hearts of men with hope, as, parting with us for a little space, he
glides slowly and peacefully to rest.

So fared it with this humble, penitent, and now happy Christ