And so she reassured him—and oh! he was very willing to be reassured—and she continued the charge of her school—anxious for every good principle she could instil into the minds of her young pupils—saying to herself, “These little ones will hereafter be the wives and mothers of law-makers, as all our people are law-makers; they will live in an era when American women will have more influence upon the destinies of the nation than they dream of now. That influence must be for the right; I must sow the good seed, and cultivate it while I live, that, after I die, the germ may grow and flourish, and bring forth much fruit in other lives!” But the day came at last when her school had to be closed, and the labourer was obliged to rest from her labour. It was during the afternoon session of a certain Friday—a day never to be forgotten by the young girls, who loved their gentle teacher with enthusiastic devotion—in the midst of one of the class-exercises—a little _extempore_ lecture on their history lesson—that a sudden failure of strength drew all colour from her face, her head dropped forward on her desk, and she swooned. And after this she did not teach. Her school was opened but once more, and for the last time. It was the day that she received her pupils for the purpose of bidding them farewell. It was quite a cheerful parting on her part, saddened by no vain repining; on theirs, darkened by no vision of the shadow of death. She made it the occasion of a little festival, that her children’s last reminiscences of her might be associated with pleasant thoughts; and yet it was an earnest parting, too, that she sought to sanctify to their good. In taking leave of each dear girl, she laid upon the heart of each a text of Scripture, suited to the individual need, to be remembered for her sake, and acted upon until they should meet again. For instance, Regina’s besetting sin was ambition, and with her she left, “What shall it profit a man, if he gain the _whole world_ and lose his own _soul_?” and to Augusta, who had a haughty mind, she said, “_Pride_ goeth before a fall, and a haughty spirit before destruction;” to Maud, who had a high temper, she whispered, “A _soft answer_ turneth away wrath, but grievous words stir up anger;” to little Alice, who was poor and neglected, and inclined—child as she was—to despondency, she said, “Blessed are the _meek_, for they shall inherit the earth;” to Fanny, who was an impetuous, impassioned child of impulse, she said, “He that _ruleth his own spirit_ is greater than he who taketh a city.” All these the affectionate girls promised to lay to heart, and act upon until they should meet their teacher again. Only Fanny said she hoped their dear teacher would not treat them as Lycurgus did the Spartans, and leave them laws to be obeyed during her absence, and then go away, never to return. A cloud passed over the sunshine of Rosalie’s countenance; but after a little hesitation she said, “If I live, dear girls, I will