" Those dear hands that had been so active, administering to
the necessities of her family, had now ceased their labor, and lay
inactive, in their marble whiteness.
How many thoughts come surging up, from the wellspring of memory, as
we looked upon her in her last repose, and glanced retrospectively
upon her useful and exemplary life. Again we heard the rich
instruction that had fallen from those pale lips, and a new-purpose
sprung up in the heart--a new desire to be more entirely consecrated
to God, that our path might be the path of the just, that "grows
brighter and brighter to the perfect day."
Her coffin was carried to the bedside of her husband, who was unable
to rise, and too sick to realize the extent of his sorrow, and so he
looked for the last time upon the countenance of that dear wife, who
had been the partaker in his joys and sorrows, through their long
journey together. It was fifty-five years since their union, and now
the bond was broken. One was an angel of light, the other was left to
drift awhile upon the ocean of life, ere his frail bark sails over
death's sluggish stream.
She, too, was conveyed to the Cemetery, and laid beside her dear son,
who had been deposited there a few month's previous. And they followed
her, slowly and sadly, along the same road she had passed over half a
century before, when she was borne into the neighborhood, a young
and joyous bride, and passed the house that was then built for the
reception of the young mistress.
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