physician left us,
saying to Aunt Patience that she must try and induce me to sleep, as
that would help to restore my shattered nerves. Aunt Patience sat by me
during the long hours of that night, but it was not until the day began
to dawn that I sank into a heavy slumber, from which I did not awake
until a late hour in the morning. On first awaking, it seemed to me that
I had had a frightful dream; but, as my mind became more clear, I
realized the sad truth that my mother was no more. I heard a footstep
enter my room, and soon a familiar voice addressed me, saying,--

"My dear Clara, I have come to see if I can be of any assistance to you
in your sorrow."

It was Mrs. Leighton who had thus entered my room, she having hastened
to our dwelling as soon as she learned of my mother's death. I could not
at first reply to her kind words; I could only weep. She did not force
me to talk, but, gently as a mother could have done, did she bathe my
fevered brow and throbbing temples. Telling me to remain quiet for a few
moments, she left the room, and soon returned, bearing a cup of tea,
which she insisted upon my drinking. She assisted me to dress, and
opened a window to admit the cool morning air. I tearfully thanked her
for those kind attentions. She insisted that I should lean upon her for
support, as we descended the stairs, and indeed I felt scarcely able to
walk without assistance.

On going below, I found several kind friends, who had remained with
Aunt Patience to render their assistance in any office of friendship we
might require. Mrs. Leighton accompanied me to the room where lay the
lifeless remains of my mother. I folded back the snowy napkin which
covered her face, and gazed long upon those dear features, now stamped
with the seal of death. As I gazed upon her now peaceful countenance, I
felt that to wish her back again would be almost a sin. I also derived
much comfort from the consoling words of Mrs. Leighton. I cannot dwell
longer upon these sorrows. When I stood at my mother's grave, and looked
down upon her coffin, after it had been lowered into the earth, I almost
wished that I too were resting by her side. Since that period I have
experienced other sorrows; but the sharpest pang I have ever felt, was
when I turned away from the graves where rested the remains of both
father and mother.

As I have before mentioned, Aunt Patience had, in the course of her
life, passed through many trying vicissitudes, and, p