some weeks before his mother’s case was judged hopeless; and Mrs. Hardcastle, either too much occupied with different thoughts, or too happy in the presence of her son to attend to those cautions which had banished him from his home, saw, without shewing any inquietude, that time had not weakened the affection of her children. Miss Cowley seemed rather to invite her animadversions on her conduct, as this related to Horace; and one day she even ventured to observe to the contented mother, who had been gratified by some tender office in which Horace had assisted, “that _she at least_ could not be surprised by seeing that Horace Hardcastle was still Rachel Cowley’s _favourite_.” The smile with which this observation was received had in it nothing for discouragement; and Mrs. Hardcastle added, “that she hoped he would always be the favourite with the wise and virtuous.” A few days before she expired, she found, on awaking from a lethargic slumber, Miss Cowley and Horace watching at her bedside. “You have been sleeping, my dear mother,” said Horace, “and we have insisted on Lucy and Mrs. Allen’s going into the garden for a little air.” Miss Cowley during this time was prepared with a cordial for the patient; and she, raising herself, was supported by her son. She took the offered medicine in her feeble hands, and fixing her eyes on Miss Cowley, said something, but so low, that neither of the interested witnesses of this scene could understand it. “Oh, it was her blessing,” cried the agonized Horace, “her _last_ blessing on”——“_my children_,” said the subdued mother, sinking on her pillow, and convulsively holding their hands in her own. Horace, unable to maintain any longer his self-command, hastily left the room, and Miss Cowley silently gave herself up to tears. The exhausted invalid again dosed; and she breathed her last sigh, without further confirming the ardent wishes of those to whom her concurrence would have been a sanction for that affection which both believed she wished not to oppose, and which both as fondly hoped would have rendered her happy. Mrs. Hardcastle’s death appeared for a time to have overwhelmed the family with all the force of a sudden and unexpected blow; every one wanted consolation, but none was found who could administer it. Mr. Hardcastle was the first who was capable of exertions; he recollected Lucy, and the feelings of the husband awakened those of the father. Religion sheds its balm on its true votaries: domestic comfort succeeded; and Mr. Hardcastle in contemplating the child before him, blessed Heaven for the solace it gave to his sorrow.