soon dropped into a peaceful slumber.

Thus evening was spent after evening with the mother and her dear
child, happy in each other's love.

Winter passed, and genial spring came forth in infantile beauty,
unbending the streamlets from their icy fetters, and swelling the buds
upon the trees, thus making her early preparation for future beauty
and usefulness.

Emma awoke early one Sabbath morning, and leaving her little crib,
nestled down beside her mother. After laying quiet some time, she
asked suddenly,

"Is it Sunday, mamma?"

Being answered in the affirmative, she said,

"It would be a beautiful day to die. Less die to-day, papa, mamma, and
Emma, and go to heaven, and get our golden harps; you have a great
one, you and papa, and Emma will have a little one like my little
angel cousin."

A shade of sadness passed over the mother's face, but rested not upon
it. The form of her darling child was in her arms, her downy cheek
resting against her own, and the bright blue eyes gazing earnestly
into hers with a volume of meaning in their azure depths.

"But you must get up now, for it is a beautiful Sabbath day, and we
shall go to meeting to-day, and the minister will pray for us to God.