I remember, my children, in that dark hour, to have seen your dear mother, kneeling at the head of her precious father, in the deepest woe, alternating between glimmerings of hope, and agonizing fear. To some remark of Col Grimsley, he said, "No, Colonel, no! I forgive my murderer; from the bottom of my heart, I forgive him." Some one asked him if he would not like to see a minister. He answered, "Send for Mr. McPheeters. You will find him at the Second Presbyterian Church, at the meeting of the Church Extension Committee." "My dear Pastor, I am glad to see you, I have always loved you. You have tried to instruct men, and I thank you for it." My beloved sister, for whom my heart is now bleeding--for she too has left us and gone away, to return no more to cheer, to sympathize with, and to comfort us in our sorrows--was at my brother's, six miles from the city, and was late in meeting with us at this mournful scene. When she arrived, in broken accents she asked, "Is there no hope? Is there no hope?" "No hope here," replied my husband, "but a bright hope beyond!" Thank God! for the bright hope which I have that they met again, not, as then, in sorrow, but in the full enjoyment of the blissful presence of the adorable Jesus! But, come back my thoughts from that joyous abode, to the once happy little earthly home, I used to have, and go with me, dear children, to the same parlors, where your dear mother has had so much pleasure in the days of her youth, and behold, laid on a narrow couch, in agony and blood, that noble form. The beloved and admired of all who knew him. The rooms, the halls, are filled with anxious friends, but stillness reigns. Not a sound is heard save the involuntary groans of the dying Christian. In the midst of them he would sometimes exclaim, "God have mercy upon me a sinner!" Through that long dark day, little was said. After many paroxysms of intense pain, Mr. McPheeters said, "Mr. Charless, you know something now about the sufferings of Jesus." "Yes," he faintly replied, "I have been thinking about that, while lying here." Again, Mr. McPheeters repeated, "Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me." In broken accents he replied, "Nevertheless not my will, but Thine be done." Several times, looking full in my face, said he, "I love you." Once, with some difficulty, as if to leave his blessing, he placed his hand upon the head of your poor mother, and said, "My precious daughter." Again and again he uttered, "My poor wife." He well knew how desolate his poor wife would be in this bleak world without him. Towards the close of his sufferings, said he, "Will my heart strings never break? 'Not my will but thine be done.'" When he was almost gone, he whispered to me, "I--love--you." His last words were, "I am satisfied." PEACEFULLY HE LIVED--PEACEFULLY HE DIED!