replied that she felt quite comfortable; and, thinking that she might
again fall asleep, I resumed my reading. After remaining quiet for
sometime she softly called my name. As I stepped hastily to her
bed-side, she said,--

"Come and sit near me, Clara, I have something to say to you."

Obedient to her request, I drew my chair near to her bedside, and seated
myself. She clasped my hand in both hers, as she said,--

"My dear Clara, I have long wished to ask you if you are aware that I
must soon leave you?"

As she said these words the grief of my overburdened heart defied
control, and, burying my face in her pillows I sobbed convulsively. This
sudden near approach to death sent an icy chill over my whole being.

"You must endeavor to compose yourself, my daughter," said my mother,
"and listen to me."

I tried to restrain my tears as my mother continued.

"I have long wished to talk with you, but have deferred it from time
to time, through fear of giving you pain; but I now feel it an
imperative duty to converse with you upon the subject. Allow me to tell
you a dream which visited me in the slumber from which I awoke a few
minutes since. In my dream I seemed to be walking alone on a calm
summer's evening, without any definite object in view. When I had walked
for a considerable distance the scene suddenly changed, and I found
myself walking by the banks of a placid river. Looking forward, I