weariness. Sometimes I doubted the truth of what I had heard. Indeed,
it seemed really too dreadful to be true.

On my arrival at my father-in-law's house, I found that the information
I had accidentally heard was unfortunately a sad reality. My brother-
in-law had not left Darlington an hour on his journey to Otonabee
before my wife breathed her last. I had not even the consolation of
bidding her a last adieu. Few can comprehend my feelings on this trying
occasion, except those who have suffered under a similar bereavement. I
was not yet twenty-one years of age. I was in a strange country--the
tie severed between me and my only friends in a manner so afflicting
and melancholy--all my hopes and future prospects in life dashed, as it
were, to the ground. I had expended all my little capital in providing
a comfortable home for her, who, alas! was doomed never to behold it;
and I had a little son to bring up without the aid of my poor Emma,
whose piety and sweet temper would have been so invaluable to our
child.

A nurse was obtained for my poor motherless babe, the babe over whom I
shed so many tears--a sad welcome, this, to as fine a boy as ever a
father's eye looked upon!

I followed the remains of my beloved wife to the grave; and then
tarried for a month in that house of sorrow. My only consolation was
derived from my knowledge that Emma loved her Saviour, and put her
trust in him while passing through the valley of the shadow of death.

"How many hopes have sprung in radiance hence;
Their trace yet lights the dust where thou art sleeping.
A solemn joy comes o'er me, and a sense