ment of grief, particularly impressed me. There was
something in the sweep of the branches which suggested the utter
prostration of the heart beneath the first shock of a great affliction.

How still it was! It was not dark, for the moon had risen, and the
clouds were thin. The snow, too, made it lighter.

It was at this solemn, awe-inspiring hour that my companions first
learned the object of my journey. The sympathy with which they met me
did honor to human nature.

'I thought,' said the Englishman, 'that the urgency of my own journey
was great, but it is nothing compared to yours.'

He apologized for any light or careless conversation in which they had
indulged, not knowing the circumstances of my journey, and entered fully
into the sentiment which had prompted me to undertake it. He assured me
that he would see that I got through in time for the cars the next
morning, and begged me to feel no further uneasiness about it.

From that moment, both my companions were more assiduously devoted to my
comfort than ever. Their interest was increased on finding that my
father was the son of a well-known inventor.

His history was soon told. He had inherited his father's business (now
passed out of the family) with something of his mechanical talent. Of a
confiding disposition, he had been wronged by those whom he had
intrusted most extensively, and, property gone and strength failing, his
misfortunes, which he had at all times borne with exemplary patience and
fortitude, had culminated in the loss of his old home, the home of his
father before him, by the hand of the incendiary. He had left me a
precious legacy in his memory, to which my present journey was an
inadequate tribute.

The hours wore on. It did not grow much darker, but oh, it was so still!
You could hear the stillness when the coach stopped, as occasionally it
did.

It was there, in the depths of this remote wilderness, that our subdued
voices mingled in those grand old chorals which belong to the church
universal, and in which, Methodist, Presbyterian, and Unitarian as we
were, we could all heartily join: 'Old Hundred,' so full of worship;
'Dundee,' with its plaintive melody; and 'America,' breathing the soul
of loyalty, whether sung to 'God save the Queen,' or 'Our country, 'tis
of thee.'

My voice was feeble, and soon gave out. I had come near fainting
repeatedly, and had only been resuscitated by the snow and the
Englishman's brandy. I was now near