Those gracious words from our sympathizing Saviour, soothed our grief, and were balm to our wounded hearts. When we arose from our knees, we felt a new attraction to our home beyond the skies. We were the parents of an angel. _Saturday, March 17th._ I feel a painful pleasure in thinking over every circumstance connected with the sickness and death of my sweet child. While I write, my little Pauline, who has wept herself sick at the loss of her dear brother, is sitting on a cricket at my feet with her head resting in my lap. She is trying to restrain the sobs which ever and anon burst out afresh, from her tender, affectionate heart. "Mamma," says the trembling voice, "will you please tell me more about that happy place where my brother has gone? Is he playing on his harp now?" I have quieted her by the promise that when I have written a letter to her grandmamma in England, I will read it to her. On Thursday, the eighth of this month, our beautiful boy appeared perfectly well. The weather, which had been very windy and bleak, was unusually mild, and the children could hardly contain their joy at being able to be out of doors. Walter was warmly clad and placed in his wagon, while Pauline was only too happy in helping Ann to draw him round the garden. About ten o'clock the sun was so warm that the walks became damp from the melting of the frost, and I called them in. Walter was put into his crib for his nap, which was undisturbed. When he awoke I gazed at him with pride. His eyes were perfectly brilliant with beauty, his lips were red as coral and his cheeks rivalled the blush of the rose. As I held him in my arms and pushed back the curls from his broad, noble brow, so like his father's, my heart said, "what a beautiful boy, and he is my own." I was astonished to find him so ready to sit quietly in my lap while Pauline, by every art of which she was capable, was trying to decoy him away. He laughed aloud at her antics as she danced about the room, hiding behind the door, and then with a merry shout bursting out upon him; but when she said "brother, hide now," he would lay his head on my breast, and lisp, "tay with mamma." He sat thus nearly an hour, which was so unusual that I began to feel a little alarm. Frank laughed at me for indulging such a feeling, merely because he was quiet; and certainly one could hardly realize danger as they looked upon his face, which was the very picture of health and beauty. After dinner Ann brought him to me in her arms, saying "he wants to lie quiet, and will not eat his bread and milk." Frank then felt his pulse, and said it was too quick. He gave me a powder for Walter to take if he was no better; but in the course of the afternoon, he slid from my lap, and played an hour or two with his sister. He was not as boisterous as usual, and seemed disposed to yield in everything to Pauline's wishes. When I was putting him into bed she said several times, "Isn't brother a nice boy, mamma?"