In our neighborhood lived a family consisting of two grand-parents, father and mother, and six children. Two months ago they were all well and happy; but disease entered their circle, and in a few days the kind, loving mother, was taken away and borne to the silent tomb. Little Delia was the youngest of the family, and hardly old enough to realize that her mother was dead. It was indeed pitiful to hear her beg of the family to take her to her ma; and often she would put up her little hands and say, "Ma, do take me! do tales met" And when she saw that her mother was gone, she would quiet herself to sleep.

Her oldest sister and other friends, watched over her day and night and tried to soothe her, but she failed rapidly. Disease preyed upon her little form, and in about twenty days she died. The little hands were crossed over her pulseless heart. The little tongue that so often plead to go to her ma, was still. A bunch of early moss was placed in her small whitehand to wither with her. She was taken to the silent grave and buried with her mother, there to wait till Jesus, the life-giver, shall wake the dead. Then we trust that angels will bear her to the tree of life, and Jesus will place a crown upon her head.

Dear children, we know not how soon death may enter our houses, and take a kind parent, or a brother, or sister. Let us therefore prepare for the solemn scenes that await us, that whether we wake or sleep, we may at last have a resting place in the heavenly kingdom. 


Burlington, Mich.