her age, only one year and twenty-three days from her marriage-day, and
before she had fully entered upon the life to which she had consecrated
herself. Of her it has been as truly as beautifully said:

"Thy labor in the vineyard closed,
Long e'er the noon-tide sun,
The dew still glistened on the leaves,
When thy short task was done."

And yet this life, "so little in itself," may be found to have an
importance in its consequences, hardly anticipated at first by those
who, overwhelmed by this sudden and impetuous providence, were ready to
exclaim, "To what purpose is this waste?" Her day of influence will
extend beyond the noon or the even-tide of an ordinary life of labor.
"_Sweet Mary Hawes_" (as she is named by one who never saw her, and
whose knowledge of her is all derived from the volume we have been
reviewing), shall long live in these pages, embalmed in unfading youth,
to win and to guide many to Him, at whose feet she sat and learned to
"choose the better part." Her pleasant voice will be heard in our homes,
assuring our daughters that "there is no sphere of usefulness more
pleasant than this;" bidding them believe that "it is a comfort to take
the weight of family duties from a mother, to soothe and cheer a wearied
father, and a delight to aid a young brother in his evening lesson, and
to watch his unfolding mind." They shall catch her alacrity and cheerful
industry, and her "facility in saving the fragments of time, and making
them tell in something tangible" accomplished in them. They shall be
admonished not to waste feeling in discontented and romantic dreaming,
or in sighing for opportunities to do good on a great scale, till they
have filled up as thoroughly and faithfully as she did the smaller
openings for usefulness near at hand.