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because he loved the altars of the Lord of Hosts; but, when from necessity or accident it so occurred, his ship then became to him, and through him to his companions, the house of God.

Thus, prematurely and mysteriously, was cut off, in the prime of life, one, useful in his generation, honoured in his employment, and universally esteemed. But, if his removal was untimely, and if no human eye was permitted to weep over his grave, for his body, though the most diligent search was made, could never be found, yet will memory, while she dwells upon the mournful event, be consoled in the assurance that whatever is, as emanating from a God, plenteous in goodness and truth, is, and must be, best.-As for poor Blanche, she never smiled again. I saw her carried like a corpse, pale and motionless, within the door she had so often entered arm in arm with her husband, rejoicing to call herself his wife.-Meantime, however, she was still alive; and after a season she

was once more seen occupied in her accustomed avocations. But, if she awoke to the consciousness of existence, the star of her happiness, and even of her life, had set in the wave that closed over him who had so fondly cherished her, and to whom she was so tenderly attached. She resumed the superintendance of her family, now reduced to the youth whom I had beheld supporting her on that melancholy evening-but none could mistake the symptoms of her decline. She was often seen wandering at sun-set along the banks of the lake, with her eyes turned towards the spot where her husband had been lost; and sometimes she was heard by the belated traveller calling on his name. Her appetite forsook her-and for whole nights, particularly when the wind blew loud, she never laid her head upon a pillow.-This could not last. A few months only had elapsed, when she was missed one morning from her usual employments. Her son, and a friend who had kindly resided with her since her

bereavement, were alarmed. They waited a while in expectation of her return. Noon came, but she came not with it. The sun went down, but the shades of evening fell on her deserted home.-As the bell from the distant spire was tolling the hour of midnight, she was discovered in a little recess which she had visited in happier days. She was sitting upon the grass, with her head resting upon her knees, and with a small hymn-book, several pages of which were still wet, with tears it was conjectured, in her hand. They approached, and touched her; but she moved not. They called to her; she replied not-louder, still she spoke not-louder still, she answered not-Blanche was dead!



Α', αἶ, πᾶ τὸ ποθρανὸν ἐμοὶ θάλος;---ἅρπασεν *Adas--*Αρπασεν'---ακμαιον δ ̓ ἄνθος ἔφυρε κόνις.


“ Ah! where is now the loved and living bloom, That my fair flower in vernal beauty drest? Death, like a blight, has o'er its sweetness come; And the dust soils its bright and budding crest!"

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