"Somehow," said Anna, "from the very first, everything seemed to go behind hand. Joe was not so much interested, or at home on the farm as my William; and then his pay had to come out of the produce, whether we made little or much; and though my husband satisfied his employers, and received a good salary, yet I didn't realize much help from it at the cottage. It also weaned him from home, and got him in a way of staying out very late at night; and at length _all was gone_; and he mortgaged our beautiful home to the Squire, when Willie was a baby, telling me he should soon work and get it back again. But every thing went and _went_, until I and my babes moved to this old shanty, with little more of my nice furniture than the bed on which I lie. Even this, I could have borne, had my husband been left to me. I could work, I would do anything for them; but I _have no husband_. A man calling himself William Reynolds lives here; that is, when he is not off on a drunken frolic; but he is not THE _William Reynolds_ I married." It will be readily seen that though William and his wife were, at the time of their living in Rose Cottage, moral, and upright in their characters; yet they were not actuated by the religious principles which were the governing motives of their brother's conduct. But it is to be hoped, that the death of her parents, together with the sad change in her own circumstances, had been blessed to the afflicted woman. Certainly she has been most careful to instil religious principles into the minds of her children. "But where," I asked, "is Edward, her brother?" "He has never been to Crawford since the death of his parents. William was very angry at his brother's interference, as he termed it, in matters which did not concern him; and Anna has not heard from him for several years." CHAPTER XVIII. "There are smiles and tears in the mother's eyes, For her new born babe beside her lies; Oh, heaven of bliss! when the heart o'erflows With the rapture a _mother_ only knows." HENRY WARE, JR. _Tuesday, April 19th, 1836._ DEAREST MOTHER,--Though it has been many a long month since I have had the heart to write in my journal, I cannot let the anniversary of my marriage and departure from home pass away, without at least a few words to the dear family at home. My breath comes quickly, and my tears blind me when I think, they may be _my last_. Often my heart sinks, and my spirit faints, as I look forward with an undefined sense of dread to the future. Sometimes I am enabled to look up with trust and confidence to "Him who doeth all things well;" and by faith to take hold of the precious promises peculiarly addressed to me. I am blessed with a devoted husband; a watchful and tender mother, and an affectionate sister. When I think of these mercies, I can only say, "surely my cup runneth over."