death.

It was my first realization of death--the first corpse I had ever seen;
and as I knelt beside the coffin, where the pale hands that lay
cross-folded on the breast, the motionless features, and the dreadful
stillness of the whole figure, spoke eloquently of the change that had
taken place, I thought of my many acts of wilfulness, ingratitude, and
unkindness, which had often pained the loving heart that had now forever
ceased to beat. Could I but see those still features again animated with
life, I felt that never again would my tongue utter aught but words of
kindness; but it was now too late for amendment--there was nothing left
me but repentance.

My parents too grieved at her death; she had been in the family so long
that they were loathe to miss the old familiar face from its post in the
nursery. She was buried from our own house; and there were more true
mourners at her funeral than often fall to the lot of the great and
gifted.




CHAPTER XV.


"Papa, have you any relations?" I asked one evening rather suddenly,
after pondering over the subject and wondering why it was that our
family consisted of no one but papa, and mamma, and us children; while
other people always had aunts, or uncles, or cousins living with them.
We had plenty, to be sure, who came and made visits at different times;