There, for instance, sits a brother looking steadily upon his little daughter. His melancholy mien bespeaks a heart wadeing deep in sorrow: he puts his handkerchief to his face and bursts into tears. I ask the cause of that; and am told, that that brother has lately lost his wife; and as he looked upon the young and tender flower, and recognised in her the kind and affectionate features of the companion of his youth who now sleeps in the arms of death, he immediately contrasted all her virtues with every unkind word that he might have given her, and every ungenerous action; and the thought that his children are bereft of a mother, and his own bosom of its dearest friend, swells his heart to a burst of grief; and every unkind word which he might have given her in the warmth of the moment, now rushes upon his memory, pierces his soul, and adds an additional pang to the flood of grief which overwhelms him. "Husbands," whoever you are, "love your wives, and be not bitter against them." The delicacy of their sex, the vivid perceptibility of their mind, and the soft and engaging virtues of their heart, which weave themselves into the rugged recesses of man's masculine temperament and constitute him a fit member of society, render them entitled to the warmest affections of your heart, and to the generous protection of your arm. In another part sits a sister clad in deep mourning, with a number of little children about her. The solemnity which sits upon the countenance, and the sad melancholy which lingers in her eyes, declare that her mourning is not all on the outside. She looks upon the little ones and beholds in them the generous and manly features of their sire, but his place his vacant: And pray, where is he? Oh! as the sturdy oak of the forest is laid low by the shaft from heaven, so has their dear father fallen by an arrow from the bow of a strong archer, and these young and tender branches which have sprung forth from his roots, only are left to perpetuate his name. None but God knows the anguish of that sister's heart, as she hides her face, and pours forth her grief in flowing streams of tearful eloquence. But stay, my hand, open not those wounds afresh when thou hast no balm to bind them up: but may the Lord, whose province it is to comfort all that mourn, and to bind up the broken-hearted, soothe the sorrows of those afflicted ones, and pour the oil of consolation into their grieved and wounded spirit.