On the day of his death, Squire Fuller, Philip, Lucy and the little children, gathered round his bed to receive his parting blessing. Philip had rightly said, “Old Adam’s benediction on the children will prove a richer heritage than houses or land.” On one and all the patriarch placed his feeble hands, the while he breathed a silent prayer, and said aloud, “O Lord, mah God an’ Sayviour! bless the bairn!” The children were dismissed, the elders remained, and were joined by Adam’s sons and daughters, who gathered round to see a golden sunset such as was never equalled by any gorgeous glory of the western sky. The old man lay propped with pillows, his scant white hair smoothed from his brow, and his thin brown hands laid on the spotlessly white coverlet of his bed. The shadows of evening had not yet fallen, but the sun was fast declining, and its slanting beams fell upon his pillow, and lit up his features with their glow Mary partially drew down the blind to shade his eyes. “Nay, nay, mah lassie,” said Adam, “draw t’ cottain up; ‘It’s a pleeasant thing for t’ ees te behold the sun.’ It weean’t ho’t ma’; mah poor and ees iz gettin’ a cottain drawn ower them, bud that only ’elps ’em te see t’ leet o’ t’ glory ’at’s jost dawnin’ upo’ ma’. Will yan o’ ye read t’ ninety-fost Psalm?” Lucy read it, and as soon as she began, he said, with infinite tenderness,-- “God bless yo’, mah dear; ah’ve heeard yer pratty voice ivver sin yo’ had yan, an’ it’s sweeter noo then ivver. Oh, Maister Philip! bud you _are_ rich! Some fooaks get a treasure _wiv_ a wife, bud you’ve gotten a treasure _iv_ a wife. Bless ’em, Lord, ten thoosandfoad wi’ Thi’ luv an’ fayvour.” When the Psalm was ended he turned to the old squire. “Gi’e ma’ hod o’ yer ’and,” said he; “the Lord’s dealt boontifully wi’ yo’, Maister Fuller, an’ noo, prayse the Lord! that psalm belangs te you as weel as me. ‘He that dwells i’ t’ seeacret pleeace o’ the Meeast High,’ that’s iv His luv i’ Jesus Christ, ‘sall abide under t’ shado’ ov t’ Almighty.’ _Abide!_ hey, for ivver an’ ivver an’ ivver! ‘He sall cuver thee wiv ’is feathers.’ Halleluia! Warm ageean His ’art, an’ oot o’ t’ reeach o’ ’arm. Ah’s there! nestlin’ an’ cuddlin’ an’ seeafe. ‘Thoo sall nut be aflaid for t’ terror be neet.’ Flaid! No: what is there te be freetened on? Jesus ez killed all that, because He’s slayn t’ enmaty, an’ God an’ uz iz yan. He sall give His aingels chayge ower tha’. Glory be te God! they’re here! Ah can ’ear t’ rustlin’ o’ th’ir wings. They’re waitin’ fo’ ma’! ‘Aingels beckons ma’ away, An’ Jesus bids ma’ cum.’