be. At this moment faith so perceives his glory, as to make me willing to be absent from you, that I may be present with him. Willing! far more than willing,—I ardently long to depart, that I may be with him! And when the veil is withdrawn, when I shall really enter his presence, when I shall behold him.'.

He could say no more, but his countenance expressed the rapture of the anticipation. In a little while, he said, I think the day begins to dawn.'

Travers drew aside the window curtains. The sun was just rising. Arthur begged to be supported, so as to see it; he again held our hands.

Let me feel you near me as long as I am here,' said he. He looked earnestly at us again, then a long look at the sun and sky. How I have loved that light!' Then turning to us, 'I shall soon see you in glory,--but that sun, shall it be quenched for ever? It matters not, I go to the source of all light.'

He then begged Travers to read to him the 4th chapter of the 1st Epistle of John. While Travers read, he listened with an expression of heavenly composure. Before he had finished, however, he said,

'I do not hear you, Travers, dear, dear Travers! My father!'

He became quite faint, and we laid him down.

He looked at us, smiling, and said in a very low voice,

• This is death, it has no sting; all is peace, -joy.' Then looking up with an expression of rapture, and, as if he saw the approach of some one, he said, Come, come'

6

His lips still moved, but we heard no more. After a few long breathings, he was at rest for

ever.

CON. How tranquil! how peaceful!
How. It was so indeed.

CON. And poor Travers!

How. Dear Travers! he suffered sadly. While Arthur lived, he never seemed to have a thought for himself. All his endeavour was to make death welcome to his young friend; but when he was gone, all saw how ardently he had loved him. He could see no one for two days; but, after that, I never shall forget his conduct, so feeling, so Christian!

CON. You said, Howard, you had more to tell me of him. Did you mean that which you have now told me ?

How. No; I meant to tell you that, if God spares us all, he is soon to be my son. CON. Emma's husband!-from my soul I rejoice to hear it.

How. I do indeed give her to him with my whole heart; and feel most deeply what cause I have of thankfulness to him who so continually

loads me with benefits. He has now given me this most dear Travers, in the room of my departed Arthur.

CON. And Emma and he will be of one soul in religion.

How. Travers would not have married any woman who was not so. In this, too, he acted like himself. During our dear Arthur's illness, Emma and he, while attending him, were constantly together, and thus became intimately acquainted with each other's amiable qualities; but at that time both were too deeply occupied with their beloved patient, to remark any thing in each other. Travers, ever kind and manly in his feelings, and in a situation so interesting, treated Emma with a tenderness and feeling, and she him with a regard and confidence, which might insensibly endear them to each other; but on their separating, after Arthur's death, there was nothing more. A few months after that event, Travers came to London on business. He had promised to make my house his home when there, and came to us. He was still very sad, and also found us so. We talked of our beloved Arthur, and he remarked how strikingly Emma's countenance recalled his friend to him. know, Conway, she is very like what her brother was. Her every expression reminded Travers of his friend, so that the instant she spoke, his looks were attracted sadly towards her.

You

A month or two after this first visit, Travers paid us another and longer. We had then in some degree recovered our usual cheerfulness. Travers, too, was less sad. Yet I still remarked him, when Emma spoke, regard her with an expression of great melancholy. I began, also, to remark, that Emma did not appear so easy under his observation as formerly; and as he prolonged his visit, this increased. He seemed not to observe it, till one day that I myself could not help being attracted by Emma's striking resemblance to Arthur, though I said nothing. She seemed unusually thoughtful, and not happy; and while I anxiously regarded her, I observed that Travers did so also. She raised her eyes, and meeting his looks, blushed excessively, and turned away with an expression of annoyance and displeasure. I looked at Travers. He seemed surprised,-again regarded Emma,-himself reddened deeply, and continued for an instant or two in intense thought. Next day he left us, and we did not see him again for six months. During the first part of that time, poor Emma seemed very unhappy, and I blamed myself severely for my imprudence; for I had shown her Arthur's letters, and had always spoken of Travers with that admiration so calculated to strike a young imagination. After some time, however, Emma gradually resumed her cheerfulness; and with its return, I observed an anxious