THE wedding of Mr. Wallingford and Miss Gilbert was over; and the happy couple were on their wedding tour. They were to be absent till August; and Gertrude was both busy and happy in superintending the enlargement of Rose Cottage. Little Paul, at first almost frantic in his joy at seeing her once more, now followed her lovingly about, only fearful lest she should again depart. One morning, on opening her letters, she found an envelope, post marked, "Philadelphia." She had wondered for a week why she heard nothing; for it was time Mr. Dudley should arrive, if he sailed at the time he expected; but now her heart almost ceased to beat. Seizing her boy by the hand she flew to her chamber, shut and fastened the door and sat down to read. The address was in the chirography of his sister Anna, now Mrs. Ridley; but the letter was traced by a feeble hand and contained these words: "Through the favor of the Friend who has promised to lead me safely to the end of my journey, I reached home two weeks ago; but I have been too much exhausted to notify you of my arrival according to your request." "Later. My strength fails so fast I must hasten to make of you one last request. Do not gratify me unless you think it best; or, if it will pain you too much. I am near my end, and with my whole heart I yearn over the child I have never seen. Will you bring him to me, and at once, before it is too late?" The closing sentence was written by his sister. She went on, "Dear Mrs. Wallingford. If you are willing to gratify my poor brother and bring little Paul to his father's death-bed, you will convey one more lasting obligation on hearts that owe you already more than they can express. Our dear, distressed invalid fainted after writing the above; and I have taken it upon myself to forward this to you. He has often since his return told us your motto in regard to him has been, 'Good for evil.' Acting upon this will you not come to Philadelphia at once?" "Evening. I had written so far, when I was summoned to my brother's bed, where it was thought he was dying. He motioned me to his side, and gasping with every word, he said faintly:" "'Tell her, if the blessing of an humble penitent is worth any thing, I leave mine for her and our boy. Tell her, Christ has made himself known, the One above all others; matchless in love and grace.—Tell her I shall shine as a star in her crown.—Tell her, Christ is all my salvation and all my desire. If he will save such a sinner as I am, the very chief, there is no need for any to despair of mercy.—Tell her, to go on doing good to all around, and train her little Paul to follow his Saviour's steps. Farewell.'" "I cannot stop to narrate the paroxysms of pain with which these disjointed sentences were uttered. He has now fallen asleep under the influence of opiates. Our physician still thinks he may survive two or three days longer." "In the deepest affliction," "ANNA D. RIDLEY."