blessing. We saw our children the children of God. We resolved to train them up for Him. We thanked Him for His gracious provisions, and took courage. Ours would be a happy home, in whose fond endearments we would find solace under the heavy blows of adversity, and the cruel desertion of seeming friends. Ours would be a holy home, under the happy influence of these birds of song. As we saw their expanding powers moulded by grace, we too would grow more like-minded. The vision was enrapturingthe reality sad. Our home is desolate. The birds have flown. The vision of the day on which the first-born was baptized is totally eclipsed. The intervening years have been years of sorrow. Every child has disappeared. The Most High has waged a long and sore controversy with us. The deeps overflowed us. They have subsided. The influence of the birth, life, death of each lingers a blessed, a subduing power. Many relics adorn the chambers of recollection; but none glitter more brightly than their dedication to God.

Our props have failed. But God's promise, sounding so sweetly upon the day we gave them to Him, and now coming through a "covenant well-ordered in all things, and sure," sustains and solaces. "For the mountains shall depart, and the hills be removed, but my loving-kindness shall not depart from thee, neither shall the covenant of my peace be removed, saith the Lord that hath mercy on thee."

II.

The Golden Bowls Broken.

"Oh! what is life? 'Tis like the bow

That glistens in the sky;

We love to see the colors glow-
But while we look they die.
Life falls as soon; to-day 'tis here,
To-morrow it may disappear."

DURING all this time, the possibility that death might soon come and write his name upon these beautiful earth-built walls did not occur to my mind, nor mar my joy. Our first-born was first taken. He was possessed of so vigorous a constitution that, not having been taught by experience to tremble at the approaching footsteps of the destroyer, we could not associate dark death with his living smile. In our hearts we said, "the child shall live before Thee."

We thought our troubles were enough for

any one to bear. We knew not that there is "a skeleton in every house and in every heart;" and that anguish, keener, bitterer far

than any the world can portion, at least of some.

inflict must be the

Only after we have

built little mounds do we learn that our brightest treasures may the soonest fade. Then may the skeleton appear with his sting.

When the wild storm first passed over our dwelling, crushing the anxieties, responsibilities, hopes, and joys of parental affection, I was stricken to the earth, as much by its sudden and appalling effect, as by a sense of my loss. He was not a little sufferer, as were our other babes. We had not to bend over his bed and see suffering, and eyes looking out imploringly for unavailing relief. In the evening we little dreamed that ere morning the dew of the grave would settle upon the brow of our noble boy-that the wail of anguish would ring through the house, because "the angel of death had passed over our dwelling, and the spirit of our firstborn had fled." I was musing upon the

I

thought of my boy's becoming a herald of salvation, little dreaming that death's dark pinion was hovering over us, and its fearful shadow falling like lead upon our hearts. But his shaft had even then sped, and I was suddenly summoned to the nursery by the startling cry, "He is dying! He is dying!" rushed into the room.-My God! what a change! The impressible solemnity of his features told the tale. He was suffering no pain, but I saw that my noble boy was, unattended by either father or mother, entering into the court of death. His head drooped; his cheek was pale; his eye lay still within its silken enclosure, but shone with an unearthly lustre, brightening and brightening, as if the soul were passing through it into eternity.

He lay upon his mother's lap. Poor woman her heart was bursting with grief. God pity the mother whose babes He is calling away! She laid him on his bed, and we knelt, (it was all we could do), and from the depths cried unto God to spare our boy, if consistent with His holy will. But no relief came.

He