"Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting, The soul that rises with us, our life's star, Hath had elsewhere its setting, And cometh from afar. Not in entire forgetfulness And not in utter nakedness, But trailing clouds of glory do we come From heaven, which is our home." Our little vocalist commenced rehearsing for her chosen profession the very minute that she first saw the light, and she certainly continued the development of her lungs with marvelous persistency. Then her numerous grandparents, uncles, and aunts all vied with each other in petting and spoiling the one pet lamb of the several families, and she basked in the sunshine of unlimited affection. A few bright years sped by, all roseate with love, prosperity and contentment in this happy valley. Then two little cherubs, just alike as "two peas in a pod" came to us at dawn of day, like twin rays from the rising sun, their blue eyes beaming with smiles which have continued ever since. We named them Ada and Ida: but were obliged to label them to tell "which was which," and said label is essential for distinguishment to this very day, though twenty-four bright summers have passed since the sight of them first gladdened our hearts. But almost with the sunbeams came the terrible cloud overspreading all our lives. The mother had scarcely welcomed the twin buds of promise, when she faded away like a flower and was "Gone beyond the darksome river, Only left us by the way; Gone beyond the night forever, Only gone to endless day; Gone to meet the angel faces, Where our lovely treasures are; Gone awhile from our embraces, Gone within the gates ajar." There seemed to be no light left on earth; the sun was blotted out forever, Oh glory of our youth that so suddenly decays! Oh crimson flush of morning that darkens as we gaze! Oh breath of summer blossoms that on the restless air Scatters a moment's sweetness, and flies we know not where! "A boat at midnight sent alone To drift upon the moonless sea; A lute whose leading chord is gone; A wounded bird that hath but one Imperfect wing to soar upon, Are like me Oh loved one, without thee;" but the pitiful wailings of the twin girl babies called me back to earth again, and I took up the cares of existence, though they seemed greater than I could bear. The largest church in the village was filled to overflowing with sincere mourners, for the sweet face of the departed had brought good cheer into many darkened households in our town. All sectarian barriers were for the time burned away by the flame of sympathy, and wonderful to tell, the Universalist clergyman who married us was allowed to pronounce the eulogy in an orthodox Congregational church. When the organ pealed the requiem and the choir chanted the ever dear words of the hymn-- "Only waiting till the shadows are a little longer grown,"