“Tell her, father? Oh yes!—Your words will be precious to her, father.” “I know her gentle nature well,” continued Mr. Seyton. “Cherish her, Albert, for she is one of those rare creatures sent among us by God, to purify and chasten the bad passions of men. Cherish her as a dear gift from Heaven to you.” “As Heaven is my hope, I will,” said Albert, “I will live but for her.” “’Tis well, ’tis well. I would have joyed to see her; but no matter. The spirit may be allowed to look with purer eyes upon those it loved on earth, than it could through its earthly organs.” “Your love, father, will cling for ever round us, and we will rejoice in the fond belief that we are seen by you from above.” Albert’s voice became choked with tears, and he sobbed bitterly. “Nay, now, Albert,” said his father, “this is not as it should be. We were talking cheerfully. Do not weep. Death is not a misfortune; ’tis only a great change. We leave a restless, painful scene for the calm repose of everlasting peace and joy. Our greatest thrill of happiness in this life is like a stagnant pool to the ocean, in comparison with the eternal joy that is to come. Do not, therefore, weep for me, Albert, but do your duty while you remain here behind me, so that we may meet again where we shall meet never to part, without the shadow of a pang.” “Father, your words are holy, and full of hope; they will ever be engraven on my heart.” Mr. Seyton was now silent for many minutes; and Albert, by the rapidly increasing light of the coming day, watched with painful interest the great change that was passing over his countenance. “Father,” he murmured. “Yes, Albert, I am here still,” was the reply. “You are in pain?” “No, no. Bless you, my boy!” Albert sobbed convulsively, and took his father’s hand in his— “And bless you too, Ada,” added Mr. Seyton, after a pause. Then he seemed to imagine she was present, for he said,— “You love my boy, Ada? Blessings on you!—You are very beautiful. Ada, but your heart is the most lovely. So you love my boy? Take an old man’s dying blessing, my girl.” Albert was deeply affected by these words, and in vain he endeavoured to stifle his sobs. “Albert!” said his father, suddenly. “Yes, father, I am here,” he replied. “Do you recollect your mother, my dear boy?” “But dimly, father.” “She—she is beckoning me now. Farewell! Bless you, Albert—Ada!” There was one long-drawn sigh, and the kind-hearted, noble Mr. Seyton was with his God.