around whom so many fair hopes clustered, "taken away by a stroke,"
and his soul seemed crushed within him. He bowed his head upon his
hands, and, regardless of other eyes, the proud man groaned, and
sobbed, and wept as never in his life he had done before. Both were
too deeply stricken to utter words of comfort. Clara felt her bleeding
heart torn from her bosom. Yet no tears came to her relief. Her brain
seemed bursting with the pressure upon it. Where was the sustaining
power of boasted philosophy in this hour of darkness?

Ah, when the afflictions of life come home to "the bone and marrow of
our own households" they are far different to us from those which
concern only our neighbors. It is an easy thing to look on pleasure
philosophically, or even the afflictions of others, but when our turn
to suffer comes we shall feel our need of a strong staff to lean upon,
a sure support that can keep us in perfect peace, even in the furnace.
Clara had sought to pray when the agony of fear was upon her, but God
seemed too far away to listen.

"I cannot give him up, my husband!" was the agonized cry of the mother
as they stood for the last time by his side before he was to be taken
forever from their chamber. "I cannot give him up," was the despairing
language of both their hearts. There can be no true resignation where
a loving Father's hand is not recognized in the affliction; where this
poor world is allowed to bound the spirit's vision. But at last the
precious dust was borne away to be seen no more by mortal eye till the
resurrection morning.

[Illustration: Christ the Good Shepherd.]

Time, the great healer, wore away the sharpness of the bereavement,