deeply impressed by my dream. But now," added my mother, to me, "the
bitterness of death is already past. It is for you only that I grieve. I
trust however, that instead of grieving immoderately for your mother you
will endeavor to discharge your duty in whatever position it may please
God to place you, and so live that whenever you may be called from this
world it may be to meet your mother in Heaven. Since my illness my mind
has been much exercised regarding my own state as a sinner; for be
assured, Clara, that, in the near prospect of death, we find in
ourselves much that is unworthy, which had before escaped our notice
while in the enjoyment of health. But I am now happy while I tell you
that all is peace with me. I now feel willing to depart whenever it is
the will of my Heavenly Father to call me hence, and I feel confident
that in a very few days I shall be summoned from earth. I am sorry to
see you grieve," said my mother, for I was weeping bitterly; "endeavor
to derive consolation from what I have said; and be thankful that when I
leave you it will be to rejoin your dear father where there is neither
sorrow nor sighing."

Seeing that my tears agitated my mother, I succeeded in checking them,
and assumed an air of composure, which I was far from feeling. After the
above conversation with me, my mother enjoyed a night of tranquil
repose. I now felt the certainty of her death, and prayed for strength
to meet the sorrow which that event would bring to me.

So calm and peaceful were the last days of my mother's life that we
could hardly recognize the presence of the King of Terrors, till the
damps of death were gathering upon her brow. She died at sunset on a
mild evening in September. She had passed the day almost entirely free
from pain. Toward evening she slept for an hour; on waking, she said to
me,--