could not weep; but life was never again the same thing to him; he
never parted for a moment with the memory of his loving and dearly-
beloved wife. He was then only thirty-five years old, but he never
married again; and when urged to take another wife, he always
replied, "I cannot marry again." He felt that he was married forever
to his dear Agatha.

I must relate to you some of the beautiful things Henry's daughter
told me about her mother. Agatha had such a refined and beautiful
taste and manner that though, from her parents' poverty, she had not
had the benefit of an education, yet it was a common saying of the
many who knew her, that she would have graced a court. She never
said or did any thing that was not delicate and beautiful. Her
dress, even when they were very poor, had never a hole nor a spot.
She never allowed any rude or vulgar thing to be said in her
presence without expressing her displeasure. She was one of nature's
nobility. She lived and moved in beauty as well as in goodness.

When she found she was dying, she asked her husband to leave the
room, and then asked a friend who was with her to pray silently, for
she would not distress her husband; and so she passed away without a
groan, calmly and sweetly, before he returned. An immense procession
of the people followed her to the grave, to express their admiration
of her character and their sorrow for her early death. There were in
Hamburg, at that time, two large churches, afterwards burned down at
the great fire, which had chimes of bells in their towers. These
bells played their solemn tones only when some person lamented by
the whole city died. These bells were rung at the funeral of Agatha.

Henry, ever after his separation from her, would go, at the