tle girls, our impersonation of
cherubs; and the youngest a noble boy, so dear to his mother's
heart. Oh! how many attractions within that charmed circle!

I shall never forget an evening I passed in the nursery with that
dear one surrounded by her happy little band. Willie, "the baby," as
she called him, although more than two years old, was sitting in her
lap, twirling one of her long, beautiful ringlets round his tiny
fingers.

"Sing, mamma!" he said.

"Oh, do!" joined in Effie and Minnie, putting their bright innocent
faces and soft brown curls close to hers; "sing The Dove, mamma,
please."

She laughingly asked me to excuse her, saying, she always devoted
the twilight hour to amusing and instructing the little ones. I
begged her to allow my presence to be no restraint upon her usual
custom. She then commenced, and I thought no seraph's voice could be
sweeter, as she sang one of Mary Howitt's beautiful translations:--

"There sitteth a dove so white and fair
All on the lily spray,
And she listeneth how to Jesus Christ
The little children pray;
Lightly she spreads her friendly wings,
And to Heaven's gate hath fled,
And to the Father in Heaven she bears
The prayers which the children have said.

And back she comes from Heaven's gate,
And brings, that dove so mild,
From the Father in Heaven, who hears her speak,
A blessing for every child.
The children lift up a pious prayer--
It hears whatever you say,
That heavenly dove, so white and fair,
All on the lily spray."

I joined heartily in the thanks and admiration the children
expressed when she had finished.

As she laid them in their little beds, and kissed their rosy lips
and dimpled cheeks, she said, "I can never thank God enough for
these sweet children." She then added, "Oh! what an affliction it
must be to lose a child; I think if one of mine should die, I should
die too; but," she added, "I should not say so; could I not trust
them with Him who doeth all things well?" She little realized how
soon she was to be put to the test. I called there a few days after.
She was in the garden raising and tying up some drooping carnations
which the rain of the preceding day had injured.

"Willie is not well," said she. "I have just sung him to sleep, and
Mr. B. said I must take a little fresh air, for I was fatigued with
holding him, and I thought I would confine myself to the garden, to
be near, if he should