THE CURATE'S WIDOW. Oh! amiable lovely death!-SHAKSPEARE. CHAPTER I. In order to present the young reader with a contrast to the foregoing picture, it is almost necessary to enter into the humble and limited experience of the true christian, under similar, and even greater trials. Such a picture of private life offers nothing in the way of romantic interest; nothing to excite the passions; nothing to awaken in the soul one spark of poetic feeling; but if it should possess a charm of sufficient power to fix the attention of the reader, to excite a greater love of virtue, or awaken in the soul a spark of religious zeal, the Author will not have to lament that she has written in vain. "How shall I build an altar, To the Author of my days; I'll do thy holy bidding, With unrepining heart; I'll bring each angry feeling, So shall I build an altar, To the Author of my days; With lips though prone to faulter, So shall I sound his praise." Such were the words sung by Alice Bland, as she sat on a low bench at her own door, one beautiful sabbath evening; and the cheerful cadence was joined by the sweet voice of a little dark-haired boy, whom she pressed closely to her side; while their eyes met with an expression of such affection, as none but a mother and a child can know. And then they looked away again, over the green fields, far on to the village spire, and traced a little winding path that issued from a group of stately trees, with diligent search, as if for the appearance of some expected object, that was to bring additional enjoyment to their quiet and peaceful pleasures. "He is coming, he is coming," said the child, and they both ran forward through the garden gate, and down the green lane, where they met a tall, sallow, and exhaustedlooking young man, dressed in clerical costume, and wearing the still more imposing solemnity of his sacred office, as one who deeply felt its awful and almost overwhelming responsibility. Never did plumed warrior, returning from the field of glory, meet a kinder welcome from his lady-love, than that with which Alice Bland greeted her returning lord-lord both of her heart and home. And he too had his full particpation of delight, as might be seen in his dark and often melancholy eyes, now lighted up with all the feelings of the husband, and the father, as he stooped to kiss his boy, the very emblem of himself;---he stooped, for he had lately discovered that to lift him from the ground, required an effort almost beyond his strength; especially after so long a walk, a day of such laborious duty, and on a sultry summer's evening: indeed the first | greeting was hardly over, before he complained of the oppressive heat of the weather, took off his hat, and wiped his brow, that was pale and wrinkled with exhaustion and fatigue. Alice placed his arm within hers, and led him gently up the lane, while the boy ran forward and threw open the garden gate, holding it back at the very widest, that his father and mother might pass through without hinderance. Within the cottage all was peace and simple comfort. Their one domestic was enjoying the liberty of the sabbath amongst her own people, and Alice with her willing hands, had prepared the social tea, with cream, and fruit, and every thing that she thought would be most refreshing to the weary invalid. Little Marcus had gathered a plate of strawberries, of which he felt himself the proud proprietor, and these, with both his hands, he presented to his father, with that deference which his mother had taught him was due to those who were ill; and though his father told him again and again that ladies should be first attended to, the influence of the mother prevailed, and the ill-mannered boy persisted in the error of his ways. Happy pair! this little point of etiquette was all that Marcus and Alice Bland ever found to contend about; for in duty, as well as in pleasure, their hands and hearts were united. The social meal was prolonged by pleasant converse, and the frolic of the happy child, until the golden hues of sunset, and the lengthened shadows of the trees gave place to the sober livery of twilight. Little Marcus had sung his evening hymn, and lisped his evening prayer, and the fond parents had both pressed their farewell kiss upon his cheek, when they sat down together, and in silence, as if listening to a boding voice, which of late had often whispered to their hearts, though neither had trusted their lips with a response. At last the husband spoke, and that melancholy sound seemed to Alice deep and impressive, as the tolling of the bell, to those who watch the motionless body of the dead. "When I am gone," said Marcus, and he paused; for he was startled by the convulsive pressure of the hand that was clasped in his, but his wife made no reply, and again he spoke: "Alice, my beloved wife, there is an awful sentence pronounced upon us. We have long known it, why should we shrink from acknowledging to each other that we must part. Close, as the connection between soul and body, has been the union of my spirit with thine; but as it is appointed unto all that they should die, so is it appointed to the dearest that they should part. We are not as those who are sorrowing without hope; for we know, and believe and are persuaded, that we shall meet again; and that in all things excellent, and pure, and holy, we are bound together by ties which death cannot tear asunder. Look up my beloved, and tell me, though this separation must cut us off for ever from earthly hope, tell me that thou hast no repinings, no murmurings against the divine will." And Alice answered in a firm and steady voice, "I have none;" and then they pursued the solemn subject, and branched out into its painful realities, with the faith and the confidence of sincere and humble christians. The father spoke tenderly of his child; and then the mother covered her face with her hands, and wept aloud; but her tears were tears of womanly feeling, not of despondency or doubt. CHAPTER II. ALICE Bland was a plain and useful character, with few pretensions to gentility; but she possessed that rare and valuable tact, which preserved her from every offence against the laws of good breeding. Her husband was a scholar and a gentleman; glory. And Alice prayed also, both with her husband and in secret; still bearing nobly on, for the end was not yet, and she had all those hallowed duties to perform which keep alive the heart of woman. but they were both of humble parentage; and had it not been for their unbounded affection for each other, their simple habits, and contentment in their lowly station, they would have found it extremely difficult to exist, upon the slender pittance which the curacy of the neighbouring parish afforded. But Alice was cheerful, active, and domestic, and made the best of every thing, even of herself, though without knowing it; for her appearance, dress, and manners, were as simple and unpretending, as well could be. And then she had such a warm welcome in her very look; indeed some people said it was her comfortable, and care-taking ways, that first won upon the poor invalid; for he was a lodger in her mother's house, long before they married, and Alice used to wait upon him like a sister, and truly he both deserved and needed it; for he was an orphan left almost destitute, was kind in his disposition, studious in his habits, constitutionally pensive, and pious upon principle. It was scarcely possible for the relentless hand of death to cut asunder a closer, dearer or more tender thread than that which bound together this simple pair; and yet they saw every day that there was urgent need for preparation for that awful and tremendous event, which, after they had once spoken of it, became the theme of their serious and most confidential communion. Marcus Bland was sinking fast away; but to him death had no terrors, and though his griefs were those of the husband and the father, his hopes were those of the Christian, pure, and elevated, and holy; bearing him above all considerations either earthly or perishable. But she, the vine, who had bound her tendrils round his branches, and interwoven her very existence with his, and the young sapling, how were they to endure the storms of winter, without the shelter of the parent stem. For them he mourned in secret; for them he prayed, that every rough blast might be turned away, that genial showers might descend, and that they might live and flourish in the sunshine of eternal "You are better to day," said she to her husband one afternoon, when he seemed to be recovering from the severest paroxyism of his disorder. "I am better," said he, "but I want breath;" so Alice folded back the curtains of the bed, and opened the window, and they looked out together again upon the green fields, and the winding path, which he had so often trod when going forth on his pastoral duties. "I want breath," continued he, "and voice, and energy, to tell you of the ineffable enjoyment of dying the death of the Christian. My heart is filled with the unspeakable love which we believe to be a part of the Divine essence; for which we have often prayed, and which is of such difficult attainment amidst the troubles and turmoils of life. Alice, thou shouldst have no tears for such an hour as this. Oh, cherish the remembrance of our parting scene, as the support and the consolation of thy future life; and when I am gone, think not of me as a man who was humble, and pious, and devout, but of one who lived and died in the love of Christ Jesus, and the faith which is built upon his resurrection: who, if he had any knowledge above that of the vilest sinner, owed that knowledge to the precepts of his heavenly Master; if he had any faith beyond that of the hypocrite, freely acknowledged that faith to be from above; and if he were at last supported through the bitterness of parting from the dearest of earthly companionships, knew it could only be by the interposition of divine mercy. "Think of these things, my beloved wife, more than of me. The cup of which we have partaken together, has been sweet as the waters of paradise. Remember from whence that cup was filled, and believe that there are rivers of delight in store for those who faithfully fulfil their appointed task. My last, my parting injunction is, to pray fervently; and to teach our child to pray. By forgetfulness of this duty, we often suffer estrangement from the Divine presence, and then, in our times of utmost need, when we would willingly return to this resource, it seems as if a veil had dropped between us and heaven. Pray, then, dear Alice, even when the refreshing dews are upon thy path, and there seems no immediate need for prayer." Alice made no answer; but she pressed his hand as if to say, "My path must henceforth be through the desert," and then her husband went on. "There is a strange fluttering at my heart, and I feel that death is near. Tremble not, I beseech thee, but raise my head, and let me die where it was my happiness to live. My poor boy! I would not have him near me, for he could not understand my situation, and might learn to be afraid of death. I have nothing to bequeath him but a father's blessing, and a father's kiss; thou shalt press it upon his cheek when I am gone -the last and the dearest." And then his words became inarticulate, and his breathing difficult; but Alice supported him to the very last, unaided, and alone; for to her it would have seemed like profanation, to call in the help of stranger-hands; and, having no fear of death, nor weak longing to escape from the presence of the dead, she remained alone in the chamber, through the solemn stillness of that hour which follows the mortal separation of soul and body; while the room seems filled with the atmosphere of death, and voices of etherial beings are whispering tidings from the land of spirits. The first sound that startled her from that heavenly communion, was the voice of her child in the garden below. It became necessary to rouse herself, and descending into her little parlour, she caught up ber boy in her arms, and for the first time burst into an agony of tears. ceased, watching that pale extended figure, until the white bed clothes seemed to tremble beneath the intensity of her gaze; and sometimes she started at a fancied heaving of the breast; but faith and love were strong within her, and sweeter to her was that silent vigil, than all which the busy world without could offer. As the miser delights to count over every item of his hoarded treasure, so she recalled and dwelt upon each excellence of him, whose expiring lamp had, so far as regards the things of this world, left her in total darkness. But as she knew that another morning would dawn, and that the sun would return again; that light would dance upon the hills, and the voice of gladness be heard in the vallies, so she trusted that the sun of righteousness would arise, and shine upon the darkness of her benighted soul, and she trusted not in vain, for oil was poured upon the troubled waters, and her soul was filled as with an holy calm. Tell us, ye sons of pleasure, ye daughters of dissipation, how it is that you endure the blasts of the desert, without the aid of religion-without the consolation of prayer. Though Alice Bland forgot not for a single moment that the wheels of destruction had passed over her earthly hopes, she remembered also that she was poor; and that to the poor belong many duties, which the children of affluence and refinement think it inconsistent with the tenderness of wounded feelings to perform. To every arrangement for household comfort she attended with her wonted punctuality; and all things for the order and decency of the burial were of her contriving, without any omission of what was respectful and neighbourly. The day before the funeral arrived, and Alice had not yet taken her child into the sacred chamber. She had herself been there since the first rising of the sun; and while the dew was yet glittering upon the leaves, she had gathered sprigs of thyme, and rosemary, to place within the coffin, and sweetand How solitary was that long night to the heart of the widowed mother! Hour after hour she spent in the chamber of the de-scented flowers to garnish the room; now, when her silent breakfast was over, and she and the child and the one domestic had knelt down together, to pray for the blessing of their heavenly Father upon the transactions of another day, she led her child up stairs, and raising him in her arms, he rested with his rosy fingers upon the side of the coffin, and looked upon the face of the dead. He looked earnestly and long, and then directed an enquiring glance to his mother, as if he asked of her an explanation of the strange mystery; but he made no remark, though he turned again and again, as if fascinated by the beauty of that still pale countenance, from which every trace of anxiety and care had passed away. It is true, the raven hair retained its few silver threads, but it rested on a brow as serenely beautiful as the surface of the summer sea, when its waters sleep beneath a cloudless sky, and make no ripple on the shore. And the bright eyes were closed upon the world for ever, not as in weariness or disgust, but as if, to their inward vision, was revealed a light, compared with which all without was perfect darkness; and the pure lips were closed, from whence had flowed the eloquence of feeling, the force of truth, and the inspiration of that wisdom which is from above. Little Marcus soon returned to his usual sports, but many times during that day he broke off suddenly, and went and leaned upon his mother's knee, and once he looked anxiously in her face, and said, "Was it my father?" But his happy little bosom bounded with fresh enjoyment, and his mother tried in vain to make him sensible of his irreparable loss. In the midst of the preparation for the last solemn rites, Alice was not inactive; but seemed to be thinking of every one more than of herself; planning for their accommodation, and attending to their wants, yet all with a sweet mournful dignity, as if she bore about with her a sorrow too deep for common sympathy or condolence. The most trying part of that day, was the quiet after the funeral, when the guests were gone, and she retired without an object to 'direct her steps. Extreme restlessness, that dreadful accompaniment of the last degree of mental suffering, took possession of her, and she wandered from room to room, as if hoping in every place to leave some portion of the load that weighed upon her, until at length she sought consolation in prayer, and remembering her husband's parting injunction, knelt down, and humbly and fervently petitioned, that to her cup of bitterness there might be added some drops of comfort. And her petition was not rejected; for sweet sleep stole over her wearied senses, and she awoke in the morning with fresh strength and courage to pursue her solitary way. CHAPTER III. How little is known of what the human heart may endure and struggle through, by those who slumber in the lap of indulgence! Death, it is true, with his grim visage, and aim that no earthly power can avert, will sometimes steal in upon their visions, but they can gather round them a band of graceful mourners, and having no active part to take in the ceremony of preparing for the grave, they are at liberty to sigh away their sorrows in costly weeds, and weep at will over the urn of the departed. But the luxury of weeping gracefully, nay, the rational privilege of mourning quietly, and without interruption, is too frequently denied to the poor. Wounded and weary, they must go forth again upon active service; they must engage in the bustling concerns of life, even when the light of life has been extinguished; they must arise and gird themselves for warfare, when their bosom's shield has been cleft asunder. Thus it was that Alice Bland compelled herself, or was compelled by circumstances, to enter upon a serious consideration of her present melancholy and deserted situation; not in order the more fully to comprehend the extent and the depth of her affection, but |