my mother was carried from our
plantation on James River to the opposite shore, where was our family
burial-ground. Can I ever forget my father's uncontrolled grief, and the
sorrow of the servants, as they followed, dressed in the deepest mourning.
I was terrified at the solemn and dark-looking bier, the black plumes that
waved over it, and all the dread accompaniments of death. I remember but
little for years after this, save the continued gloom of my father, and his
constant affection and indulgence toward me, and occasionally varying our
quiet life by a visit to Richmond or Washington.

"My father was a sincere and practical Christian. He was averse to parting
with me; declaring, the only solace he had was in directing my education,
and being assured of my happiness.

"My governess was an accomplished and amiable lady, but she was too kind
and yielding. I have always retained the most grateful remembrance of her
care. Thus, though surrounded by good influences, I needed restraint, where
there was so much indulgence. I have sometimes ventured to excuse myself on
the ground that I was not taught that most necessary of all lessons: the
power of governing myself. The giving up of my own will to the matured
judgment of others.

"The part of my life that I wish to bring before you now, is the year
previous to my marriage. Never had I received an ungentle word from my
father; never in all my waywardness and selfwill did he harshly reprove me.
He steadily endeavored to impress on my mind a sense of the constant
presence of God. He would often say, 'Every moment, every hour of our
lives, places its impress on our condition in eternity. Live, then, as did
your mother, in a state of waiting and preparation for that account which
we must all surely give for the talents entrusted to our care.' Did I heed
his advice? You will hardly believe me, Alice, when I tell you how I repaid
his tenderness. I was the cause of his death."

"It could never be, mother," said Alice, weeping, when she saw the tears
forcing their way down her mother's cheek. "You are excited and distressed
now. Do not tell me any more to-night, and forget what I told you."

Mrs. Weston hardly seemed to hear her. After a pause of a few moments, she
proceeded:

"It was so, indeed. I, his only child, was the cause of his death; I, his
cherished and beloved daughter, committed an act that broke his heart, and
laid the foundation of sorrows for me, that I fear will