ingenuous, honest-hearted fellow as ever. A happy man--happy in his home--happy because prosperous in his business--but by no means as happy as he might have been. Regarding him in this view, it was melancholy to see him so utterly engrossed in his pursuits and plans. He did not take time to look about him and enjoy. The Sabbath to him was a dull, wearisome, restless day. He had too much respect for it to desecrate it by even a private attention to his affairs, and he had very little idea of any spiritual wants. He was active in erecting a church and securing a good preacher, on whose ministrations he attended regularly with his family. Yet it was a great relief to him when Sunday was over, and he welcomed the succeeding morning with a renewed zest. Joel Burns became a very popular man; he was universally beloved; he was generous and public-spirited. He was unselfish in his ordinary dealings, and always ready to lend a helping hand to those about him. His success was not owing to a close, hard, grasping nature, but was the result of fine business abilities, coupled with extraordinary energy and perseverance. Joel Burns was unjust to no one but himself. He neglected to cultivate his moral nature, and left it in danger of being choked by the cares he voluntarily assumed. He had one safeguard, however. I have observed that he was happy in his family. This consisted of his wife, and one child--a daughter named Sarah, after Joel's mother. When with them, Joel _did_ forget his business life. His love for his wife and child was like a gushing fountain of pure water. It preserved his heart from becoming arid, and his nature from ossification. Twelve years passed, and found Burnsville more nourishing than ever, and Joel Burns yet without any interruption to his fortunes or his happiness. Late in summer, typhus fever--a dreadful visitor in this part of New-England--made its appearance, and became more prevalent than usual, and assumed a severer type. Mrs. Burns was among the first attacked, and with great severity. Joel felt the foundations of his soul giving way when the possibility presented itself that his wife _might_ die. He called to mind with a shudder the scene at the village tavern in Sudbury, when, a child, he stood by his mother's bedside and heard, awe-struck, her incoherent ravings while the delirium of fever was on her. 'O my God! she will die, she will die!' he exclaimed, as he rushed out of the room, unable to control his feelings.