“Weakness, I grant, would make him less impetuous and violent,” answered his wife, “but would it make him patient, and docile, and considerate, if there were not some radical change in his feelings and temper?” During the last few days of his life, and when the flickering flame was hourly expected to die out, his uncle saw more of him, and he, too, became convinced of the change in Lewie, and was certain that for him to die would be gam. And at last, with words of prayer upon his lips and a whisper of his sister’s name, he sank away as gently as an infant drops asleep. “How like he looks,” said old Mammy, with the tears streaming down her withered cheeks, “how like he looks, with the bonny curls lying round his forehead, to what he did the day he lay like death at the Hemlock’s, when he was only two years old.” Mrs. Wharton’s mind immediately reverted to the scene, and to that young mother’s prayer of agony, “Oh, for his life! his life!” and as she thought over the events of that short life of sin and sorrow, she said within herself, “Oh! who can tell what to choose for his portion! Thou Lord, who knowest the end from the beginning, choose Thou our changes for us, and help us in the darkest hour to say, ‘Thy will be done.’” And in the quiet spot where the willow bends, and the brook murmurs, by the side of his mother, and near the grave of Rhoda Edwards, rest the remains of _Lewie_. It is strange how much a human heart may suffer and yet beat on and regain tranquillity, and even cheerfulness at last. It is a most merciful provision of Providence, that our griefs do not always press upon us as heavily as they do at first, else how could the burden of this life of change and sorrow be borne. But the loved ones are not forgotten when the tear is dried and the smile returns to the cheek; they are remembered, but with less of sadness and gloom in the remembrance; and at length, if we can think of them as happy, it is only a pleasure to recall them to mind. So Agnes found it, as after a few months of rest and quiet in her uncle’s happy home, the gloom of her sorrow began to fade away, the color returned to her cheek, and she began to be like the Agnes of former times. And now that health and energy had returned, she began to long for employment again, and though she knew it would cost a great struggle to leave her dear friends at Brook Farm, she began to urge them all to be on the watch for a situation for her as governess or teacher. At length, one day, some months after her brother’s death, Mr. Wharton entered the room where she was sitting, and said: “Agnes, there is a gentleman down stairs, who would like to engage you to superintend the education of his children.” If Agnes had looked closely at her uncle’s face, she would have observed a very peculiar expression there; but only laying aside her work, she said: “Please say to him, uncle, that I will come down in one moment.”