IT was a very sad day， and every heart in thehouse felt the deepest grief; for the youngestchild， a boy of four years old， the joy and hope ofhis parents， was dead. Two daughters， the elderof whom was going to be confirmed， stillremained： they were both good， charming girls;but the lost child always seems the dearest; andwhen it is youngest， and a son， it makes the trialstill more heavy. The sisters mourned as young hearts can mourn， and were especially grievedat the sight of their parents' sorrow. The father's heart was bowed down， but the mothersunk completely under the deep grief. Day and night she had attended to the sick child，nursing and carrying it in her bosom， as a part of herself. She could not realize the fact thatthe child was dead， and must be laid in a coffin to rest in the ground. She thought God couldnot take her darling little one from her; and when it did happen notwithstanding her hopes andher belief， and there could be no more doubt on the subject， she said in her feverishagony， “God does not know it. He has hard-hearted ministering spirits on earth， who doaccording to their own will， and heed not a mother's prayers.” Thus in her GREat grief shefell away from her faith in God， and dark thoughts arose in her mind respecting death and afuture state. She tried to believe that man was but dust， and that with his life all existenceended. But these doubts were no support to her， nothing on which she could rest， and shesunk into the fathomless depths of despair. In her darkest hours she ceased to weep， andthought not of the young daughters who were still left to her. The tears of her husband fell onher forehead， but she took no notice of him; her thoughts were with her dead child; herwhole existence seemed wrapped up in the remembrances of the little one and of everyinnocent word it had uttered.
the day of the little child's funeral came. For nights previously the mother had not slept，but in the morning twilight of this day she sunk from weariness into a deep sleep; in themean time the coffin was carried into a distant room， and there nailed down， that she mightnot hear the blows of the hammer. When she awoke， and wanted to see her child， thehusband， with tears， said， “We have closed the coffin; it was necessary to do so.”
“When God is so hard to me， how can I expect men to be better?” she said with groansand tears.
the coffin was carried to the grave， and the disconsolate mother sat with her youngdaughters. She looked at them， but she saw them not; for her thoughts were far away fromthe domestic hearth. She gave herself up to her grief， and it tossed her to and fro， as thesea tosses a ship without compass or rudder. So the day of the funeral passed away， andsimilar days followed， of dark， wearisome pain. With tearful eyes and mournful glances， thesorrowing daughters and the afflicted husband looked upon her who would not hear their wordsof comfort; and， indeed， what comforting words could they speak， when they werethemselves so full of grief? It seemed as if she would never again know sleep， and yet itwould have been her best friend， one who would have strengthened her body and pouredpeace into her soul. They at last persuaded her to lie down， and then she would lie as still as ifshe slept.
One night， when her husband listened， as he often did， to her breathing， he quitebelieved that she had at length found rest and relief in sleep. He folded his arms and prayed，and soon sunk himself into healthful sleep; therefore he did not notice that his wife arose，threw on her clothes， and glided silently from the house， to go where her thoughtsconstantly lingered—to the grave of her child. She passed through the garden， to a pathacross a field that led to the churchyard. No one saw her as she walked， nor did she see anyone; for her eyes were fixed upon the one object of her wanderings. It was a lovely starlightnight in the beginning of September， and the air was mild and still. She entered thechurchyard， and stood by the little grave， which looked like a large nosegay of fragrantflowers. She sat down， and bent her head low over the grave， as if she could see her childthrough the earth that covered him—her little boy， whose smile was so vividly before her， andthe gentle expression of whose eyes， even on his sick-bed， she could not forget. How full ofmeaning that glance had been， as she leaned over him， holding in hers the pale hand whichhe had no longer strength to raise! As she had sat by his little cot， so now she sat by hisgrave; and here she could weep freely， and her tears fell upon it.
“Thou wouldst gladly go down and be with thy child，” said a voice quite close to her，—avoice that sounded so deep and clear， that it went to her heart.
She looked up， and by her side stood a man wrapped in a black cloak， with a hood closelydrawn over his face; but her keen glance could distinguish the face under the hood. It wasstern， yet awakened confidence， and the eyes beamed with youthful radiance.
“Down to my child，” she repeated; and tones of despair and entreaty sounded in thewords.
“Darest thou to follow me?” asked the form. “I am Death.”