It was the will of Providence that Mary should experience almost every
species of sorrow. Her father was thrown from his horse, when his blood
was in a very inflammatory state, and the bruises were very dangerous;
his recovery was not expected by the physical tribe.

Terrified at seeing him so near death, and yet so ill prepared for it,
his daughter sat by his bed, oppressed by the keenest anguish, which her
piety increased.

Her grief had nothing selfish in it; he was not a friend or protector;
but he was her father, an unhappy wretch, going into eternity, depraved
and thoughtless. Could a life of sensuality be a preparation for a
peaceful death? Thus meditating, she passed the still midnight hour by
his bedside.

The nurse fell asleep, nor did a violent thunder storm interrupt her
repose, though it made the night appear still more terrific to Mary. Her
father's unequal breathing alarmed her, when she heard a long drawn
breath, she feared it was his last, and watching for another, a dreadful
peal of thunder struck her ears. Considering the separation of the soul
and body, this night seemed sadly solemn, and the hours long.

Death is indeed a king of terrors when he attacks the vicious man! The
compassionate heart finds not any comfort; but dreads an eternal
separation. No transporting greetings are anticipated, when the
survivors also shall have finished their course; but all is black!--the
grave may truly be said to receive the departed--this is the sting of
death!