"Why, Aunt Fanny, you must not excite Miss Irving; she is not strong,
you know, and has a long ride before her to-morrow."

"Oh yes, Doctor, it will do well enough for you to tell me not to cry,
but I can't help it, for I love her as if she was my own child, and if
I thought to see her again I should not grieve so much; but I saw her
mother before her, and I know how she grew pale and thin, and then
took to the sofa, and never rose up till she was carried to her grave;
and can't I see that blessed child going just like her? Oh I it's no
use talking to me; she ain't long for this world, and it's hard--yes,
it's hard for her to die away from old Fanny!" and she covered her
face with her apron, and sobbed aloud.

Mary wiped her own tears quickly away, and taking the hand of her
old friend, led her back to the kitchen. For several moments her
companions waited anxiously for her; and soon she advanced slowly to
meet them. Frank drew her arm through his, and sadly they walked away.
Passing the gate, Mary paused and looked out on the river, where she
had so often sat at this hour; and sad though sweet associations,
infinite in number, crowded upon her mind.

How calm and beautiful all nature seemed, as though arrayed in its
loveliest garb to chain her affection, that, in after years, the
memory of that western home might steal gently up amidst surrounding
gloom, to charm away the anguish of some bitter hour, and soothe the
saddened spirit. Her heart was inexpressibly touched, and she averted
her head to conceal the expression of keen sorrow which rested on her
face.

"This view of the San Antonio has often struck me as particularly