red vaguely what would
become of the wife and children; and some knelt at night surrounded by
unclouded happiness in their own homes, but nevertheless praying with a
full heart for those who had so suddenly been left desolate.

The day of the funeral came, and the husband and father was carried from
the home that had been almost an earthly paradise to be laid beneath
"the cold clod of the valley," and the weeping family clung to each
other, and sobbed and prayed as that first dreary night came on, and
they recognized all the vacancy of hearth and heart. Such scenes are
daily passing; yet the world goes on as ever, and some dance to the
music of gay revelry, while others put on the "garments of heaviness"
with breaking hearts.

And then the return to actual life! How harassing it is when our
thoughts are with the dead and the living claim our care! Mrs. Burton
found the sad truth of this as, with well meant, but harsh kindness, she
found her brother waiting one morning, scarce a week from the day that
had made her a widow, to talk over her future prospects. He had an
ungracious task before him; for he was forced to communicate what was
galling to his pride, as well as distressing to those more nearly
interested in the intelligence. Mr. Burton's affairs were left in almost
inextricable confusion; a pittance, a mere pittance, of some two hundred
a year was all that would remain to his family; and what was this when
their annual expenditure had been thousands? He was luxurious in taste,
and had not hesitated to gratify every whim. He was an indulgent father,
and had lavished uncounted sums upon his children. He had not intended
to be unjust to them or his lovely wife; but he was one of those who
seem to think a long life secured to them by present health, and, being
in excellent business, thought it time to "lay by" when the children
were educated and his boys began to "look out for themselves." Besides,
he belonged to one of the oldest, proudest families in the city, and he
was not to be outshone by any of them.

But how did matters stand now that, by an unalterable decree, he had
been suddenly removed from them? Let us see if he had been "a just man,"
as was pompously stated in his epitaph. Lucy, the eldest daughter, was
but nineteen, beautiful, accomplished, and betrothed to the son of an
old friend. She was provided for, said the world, and, of course, their
relatives could take charge of the younger children--Grace,