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them. This was a cruel shock to his adoring family; it was to them the commencement of

their sorrows; till now they had heard of sadness and of suffering only by name; they had been strangers to its influence, but its first appearance was overwhelming. For five long weary days they watched in vain for symptoms of amendment, whilst every hour served but to deaden hope and to create despair. At length, on the sixth, the last stay of expectation was removed, and the physician informed Mrs. Hartwell that her husband's recovery was now beyond the reach of hope.

In the mean time, Captain Hartwell had arrived at the rectory, having been summoned on the first appearance of danger. All day the wretched family watched wistfully around the couch of the dying rector, whilst each succeeding minute promised to be the last of his mortal struggle. It was evening ere he expired: as he reclined in motionless agony, his dim vacant eye was fixed upon the window

of the chamber where he lay; the sun was fast sinking behind a chain of distant hills, and their vivid brilliancy, as they caught his sight, seemed to attract his unconscious gaze; but all at once the glorious rays of the sunset burst over some opposing cloud, and flashed full and sudden upon him: he started at the unexpected blaze, threw his damp, clammy hand across his eyes, turned with a deepdrawn sigh towards his wife, and in the same instant, and sudden as the flash of the sunbeam, the setting light of reason returned to him. But the transition was a painful one; he might have slept in peaceful unconsciousness, and only awoke to never-ending bliss; he might have glided gently and calmly away, but now he revived to the full and painful feeling of his sufferings and his distress. He gazed for a moment with a sad expression on the face of his wife, and grasping her hand with his attenuated fingers,

a gush of tears served to relieve his bursting eyeballs; he felt that he was dying, and all at once the thoughts of years seemed crowded into a moment; he reflected on his helpless boy and his delicate little daughter, and his fond but now friendless widow, till, his brother assuring him of his future exertions in their behalf, he grew for a moment more calm. But the torpor of death was gaining on him; in turns he bade an eternal farewell to his brother, Mrs. Hartwell, and Emily, and then, pressing the hand of Frank, his last breath was spent in bestowing on him his blessing and his counsel; he enjoined to him a remembrance of his God and obedience to his surviving parent, besought him to curb that self-will which had ever been the blemish in his character, and his last fearful injunction, that "disobedience to his guardian would prove his curse here, and his curse eternally," was scarcely uttered, when his lips

grew faint, his eye calmly closed, and his hand, relaxing from its grasp, sunk lifeless on the coverlet.

The funeral of the good rector was attended by almost every inhabitant of Elm Grove. Frank and his uncle followed the hearse in the carriage of Mr. Avonmore; he heard the last committal of "dust to dust" pronounced above the remains of what, but a week before, had been so dear to him; he heard the hollow deadening sound of the first clod cast upon the coffin of his father; but he heard no more,

his grief became so violent that Captain Hartwell was forced to hurry him away, and during a long and circuitous walk, he in some degree recovered his self-possession, and returned to the rectory.

That was the first truly miserable night of Frank's existence: the excitement of hope during his father's rapid illness, and the stupor of grief immediately on his decease, had equally served to blunt the poignancy of his sorrow;

but now it was all over; he approached that door to which he had so often accompanied his fond father, but he could enter it no more; he seated himself in the parlour which had once looked bright because he was present, it was now dark, and deserted, and melancholy;—his father's hat still hung upon the window where he had last placed it with his own hands: but alas! his head was now within the cheerless tomb-he sickened at the thought, and throwing himself upon the sofa, he sobbed aloud. His mother shortly after entered the room, and seemed by a violent effort to have suppressed her emotion; she gently soothed her son, reminded him that vain tears were now less his duty than good resolutions as to his future conduct, exhorted him to manliness and selfpossession, and finally succeeded in restoring him to composure.

During the few following days which his uncle remained at Elm Grove, the arrangements of the family were completed; it was resolved