been living, the maternal bosom might have been the receptacle of her trials; but as death removed this sympathising friend, no other should be a substitute. Not even before her two oldest children, did she ever utter a word that would betray her secret uneasiness; but bitter were the complaints that she murmured in the unheeding ear of the youngest boy, as she pressed him to her heart; and scalding tears she shed upon his head, called forth by her blasted hopes. Except for her children's sake, life had no charms for her. To a benumbed heart, what can be either attractive or interesting!-yet Helen dearly loved her children; on their account, life was valuable. The human heart that has anything to love, and that is loved in return, cannot be utterly and irremediably desolate and wretched.

fect of Helen's over him. He often sighed with regret, that his wife could not have lived to see the happy couple, that they now were! How delusive are appearances!

It was many months after the wreck of his domestic happiness that Mr. Howard was nominated for a member of Congress. He asked Helen's opinion on the subject, and it met her warm approbation.

"I believe you to be a patriot, in the true sense of the term," said she, "and should you be elected, you may do your country much good. I know that you are above being influenced by narrow and selfish party views, and your principles and talents must command respect, and exert a beneficial influence. I hope you will prove a successful candidate."

Flattering as this answer was to Mr. Howard's vanity as a man, it wrung his heart as a husband. Some two or three years before, his name had been mentioned as a candidate for the State Legislature, and it filled Helen with alarm. She entreated him not to engage in public business.

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"Only think," said she, as she seated herself on his knee, "only think how many long weeks you may be from home! How could I live so long without seeing you?-and so many tedious miles between us! O, I should pine to a skeleton in your absence!"

Had Mr. Howard been what he had now become, one short year before, he had been the happiest of husbands, and Helen the most beloved of wives. Never, since the first week of their union, had he been so attentive-so studious to please her; and never, at any period, so ingenious in devising means to touch her heart,-not even in the days of his youth. His fault-finding, too, was nearly or quite gone, for when with Helen he was too much engrossed by other cares, to allow his noticing things of trifling moment. But alas! for himself also for her too, the change came too late! It was "like pardon after execution." Had Helen's deportment been different from what it was, her husband's heart might have been alienated from her. Had she sought pleasure or sympathy abroad; had she been fretful or negligent at home, he would gradu-to not even a sigh! ally have ceased to respect, and then to love her; but in truth, till now, he had never known of what she was capable. Formerly he had looked upon her as a child, that needed a guide—a master:-lovely, endearing child,

it is true, but a child still. He now saw her a high-souled, efficient woman, equal to the discharge of duties of her station, without the support of any one; and-that which was far higher proof of elevation and strength of character-equal to bearing her own sorrow without the aid of sympathy. In truth, the heart of his wife had never appeared to him so great a treasure-a thing of such inestimable value, as now that he had lost it: never before had he been so much in love!

Meantime, Mr. and Mrs. Howard were the envy or the admiration of the little world in which they moved. They were pointed out as the best matched pair that could be found!every way suited to improve, and make each other happy! Even Mr. Atwood, high as his expectations had been raised, was astonished at the dignity and strength of character his daughter had acquired under Mr. Howard's influence; and equally so at the softening ef

Such had been her feelings, but now, though the distance between them must be doubled and doubled again, should he be called to Washington, and though his absence must be for months instead of weeks, the thought caused not the slightest agitation!-gave rise

In a softened voice, Mr. Howard said-"but how my dear Helen would you get along during my absence, should I be called away. Your cares must necessarily be greatly multiplied."

"The same good Providence," she replied, trust to the end of my days. I feel no appre"that has hitherto guarded me, will do so I

hension."

Mr. Howard's disquietude was in exact proportion to Helen's self-possession; but he could not endure to have it discovered-and he arose and left the room. Probably the pride of most men revolts from the expression of deep emotion: particularly when they are conscious that they have been in the wrong, and will not truly and thoroughly humble themselves to make the wrong right. Much as Mr. Howard had done, this was the very He could be very thing he had left undone. kind-very attentive, but he could not stoop to say- I have been to blame; pray pardon me."

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The election came on, and Mr. Howard was the successful candidate. He could not but

be gratified by the honor thus conferred on him; yet the idea of leaving his wife, while her feelings were in their present state, caused him unutterable anxiety. He conjectured, too, that her health was less firm than formerly, though she made no complaint; indeed she would acknowledge no indisposition, even when he solicitously made inquiries on the subject.

the slightest symptoms of regret at their sepa||ration. She appeared only the noble and patriotic woman, thinking of her country's good; the lofty and independent-minded wife, enjoying her husband's honors, but not leaning on him for support.

At breakfast table the feelings of Mr. Howard nearly overpowered him. To eat was impossible, and it was with difficulty he swallowed a cup of coffee.

"I shall write to you very often, Helen," said he, abruptly. "You will not let all my

letters remain unanswered?”

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Certainly not," Helen replied: “I can readily understand how anxious you will feel about the children."

Mr. Howard bit his lip to prevent a different expression of feeling-and after a silence of some length, said

Some time intervened between his election and the period when he was to take his seat in the national Legislature; but it hastened away, and the hour for his departure to Washington was rapidly approaching. His apprehension for Helen's health increased, as the time for him to leave her drew near. He had some cause for alarm. Her two brothers and a sister had fallen victims to consumption at a much earlier age than that at which she had arrived; and her mother had been taken away by the same unrelenting destroyer.ble Mr. Howard's anxiety became so great, that a week or two before he started on his journey, he requested Dr. Miller, the family physician, to call, as if by accident, and ascertain, if possible, whether Helen was really diseased-or whether his fears were only the offspring of a distempered imagination.

The doctor did as he was requested to do. He called on Mrs. Howard, to see, as he said, how she was likely to bear so long a separation. After chatting with her for an hour on the common topics of the day, he made some passing remark concerning her health. She confessed, that as the cold weather came on, she felt some diminution of strength, and occasional pains in the chest; "but nothing," she added, "to interfere with my avocations, or to affect my spirits." With the freedom of an old friend, and family practitioner, the doctor took her hand, and found it hot and dry; he felt her pulse, and it was considerably accelerated. He, however, made no comment, and without apparent uneasiness, remarked

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Perhaps it is well Mr. Howard goes to Washington this winter. Such a pattern wife as you are, will of course be very domestic during his absence; and I doubt whether much exposure to our cold northern air would do any good."

To Mr. Howard the doctor made a report as favorable as his conscience would permit : but confessed that Helen's symptoms were not such as he could wish. Mr. Howard's look of deep distress led him to add-" but I hope much from her firmness of mind and equanimity of spirits. And after all I should think very lightly of her complaints, were not consumption the disease of her family."

"Will you promise to take the best possicare of your own health?"

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Surely, there is little need of exacting such a promise from a mother," answered Helen. "I feel that my life is of some value to my little ones,-and of course consider it a duty to do all I can to preserve it."

By thus referring to the children, both as the exclusive objects of his interest, and her own, Helen completely closed the lips of her husband, when he would have expressed tenderness to herself. Her dignity and reserve, seemed to form a kind of magic circle around her, over which he found it impossible to pass. The kindness of her actions, and the unvarying coldness of her manner; her fondness in expressing her opinions, and her concealment of her feelings, kept Mr. Howard in a constant state of wonder and excitement; and gave rise to such conflicting emotions, and such contradictory thoughts, that one could not obtain utterance, ere its opposite had driven it away.

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Having the children with you," said Mr. Howard, while yet at the breakfast tableyou will feel less solitary than myself, separated from all I hold dear."

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"You will not, you must not feel solitary," said Helen. "You must give your mind to your country, and in discharging your duties as a patriot and statesman, you will find enough to engross your heart. And beside, who can talk of solitude in the midst of Washington society?"

"The mind is in its own place,' '" said Mr. Howard,-"and one may feel as solitary in a crowd as in a desert."

Both the husband and wife now remained silent; and in a short time they were aroused by the horn of the stage-coach sounding before the door. The table was deserted in an The morning of his departure found the instant, and after showing the stage waiter feelings of Mr. Howard in a tumult. Vain his baggage, Mr. Howard returned to the parhad been his endeavors to detect in Helen "lor and closed the door.

"The bitter moment has at length come,' said he. "We must part! (), Helen,-in pity say that we part friends!"

,"health was much the same," or, "there was no essential change”— -was the whole amount of the matter. She was truly ingenious in contriving to close her letters with due courtesy, and yet without any of that tenderness of expression which always precedes the signature of a wife, when writing to the husband she loves. In receiving and writing letters; in attending to her children, and in reading; in the occasional calls of her circle of friends, and in the frequent visits of her father and Dr. Miller, Helen's time passed away without weariness or discontent.

"Friends?" reiterated Helen-in a voice as cheerful now, as ever she spoke in-for the light, glad tone of earlier days had vanished away, together with the "wreathed smile" that had accompanied it. "Friends?- -assuredly we do!—and most sincerely do I wish you such success as will leave you nothing to ask."

There are moments in our lives, when the|| most bitter wailings of grief would be sweeter to the ear than the gladdest strains of music, and thus it was in the present instance with Mr. Howard. Helen's undisguised indifference, even at the moment of parting, wrung every fibre of his heart. With a look of intense feeling he turned to the children, and pressing them to his bosom, murmured a few farewell words to each. As he replaced the youngest on the carpet, Helen presented her hand. He took it without uttering a syllable, pressed it firmly, and then darting from the house, seated himself in the coach, which the next moment rolled away.

But though scarcely aware of it herself, Helen was much altered. Her strength had so gradually declined, that she was hardly sensible of its diminution; her flesh had wasted by such slow degrees that she scarcely perceived it; and, like all persons laboring under the same disease, she flattered herself that each day she felt a little better than the last. Her friends laughed at her for pining on account of Mr. Howard's absence, and her father almost chid her on the same ground, but Dr. Miller looked on with deep solicitude and anxiety. Still his hopes were at least as strong as his fears, until about the beginning of February. At that period, Helen one day took a drive with the children, when the air was very humid from the dissolving snow, and she took a severe cold. Its fatal effects was soon obvious. She was at once confined to her room. Still Helen herself was not alarmed, but calculated to be out again in a few days. It devolved on Dr. Miller to give the alarm to her father. He pronounced her to be in a hectic and the father betrayed to his daughter the Doctor's opinion. At first it was a stunning blow to her; then she thought the doctor unnecessarily alarmed; but the remembrance of her mother, her brothers, and her sister, rushed upon her mind; she looked fairly at her own symptoms, and felt that her doom was sealed.

It was toward the latter part of November when Mr. Howard left home, and for a number of weeks there was no marked change in Helen's health. She was really happier than she had been for many, many long months, for she had now to perform no heartless duties; she had to pay no heartless attentions. A burden was removed from her mind. She was a very tender mother; and during her husband's absence, she resolved to forego society as much as possible, and devote herself to the comfort and education of her children, and to the cultivation of her own mind. She received three or four letters from Mr. Howard. They were full of interest, as he detailed all that he saw or heard, which could entertain or instruct her. There was, too, a peculiar kind of tenderness about them.Whenever his own feelings were the subject, The confusion, the rush of thought and he wrote like a timid lover, as if in doubt feeling incident to the first shock, soon passed whether what he said would aid or injure his away, and Helen calmly set herself to examsuit. In each letter he urged her to tell him ine her present position, and, as the Scripeverything concerning herself and her chil-ture expresses it, "set her house in order," dren-as the most trifling incidents, even the prattle of the little one-was full of interest to him.

preparatory to the last great change. The first thing was to review her past life. Looking back from among the shadows of death Helen wrote often to Mr. Howard, and kept which now surrounded her, how bright and him well informed, as to all that was in pro- cheerful appeared her youth, in the bosom of gress among their friends and acquaintances; her father's family! How sunny and joyful the she told him all there was communicable first years of her married life! How dark the about the children, their health, their improve- clouds that had more recently overshadowed ment, their fond and untiring questions about her! For this last, who was to blame? Her their father, and their impatience for his re- natural freedom from a self-justifying spirit, turn; but of herself she said nothing, except together with the fearful thought, that she to answer his direct inquiries for her health, was soon to appear before her final Judge, and this she did in the most indefinite manner disposed her to condemn herself. Still justice possible. "She was as well as usual," "her" asserted her right; and Helen was conscious

Joy and grief contended for the mastery in the heart of Mr. Howard as he read this epistle;-joy exquisite and unutterable, that the affections of his wife were restored to him,— for he knew her too well to have the shadow of doubt respecting her sincerity, and grief and alarm the most harrowing with regard to her health. He had stronger proof of her indisposition and debility than any expressions made use of in the letter. The tremulous

too obvious. It was entirely different from Helen's neat and beautiful hand-writing, when in usual health. On the instant he wrote to Dr. Miller to learn the worst he had to fear. Ten tedious days must pass before he could hope to receive an answer; for at that time the mails were conveyed in lumbering stage-coaches, and to a heart racked by anxiety, they seemed to travel at snail's pace.

that to please her husband, and render him happy, had been the first object of her heart. Yet notwithstanding this, she was willing to believe, that she had often given him just cause for displeasure. With intense anxiety she reviewed the last year and a half, and asked herself what she had done for his happiness, while her affections for him had been dormant. She could find no special neglect of duty of which to accuse herself,-yet the remembrance of duties heartlessly performedness of the hand that had written it, was but gave little satisfaction, and to Helen the whole seemed a dark and troubled and guilty dream. Now that she was awakening, it left a most gloomy and painful impression on her mind. And while she had, in this unfeeling manner, been discharging her conjugal duties, what had been Mr. Howard's deportment toward her? The prospect of her own dissolution, produced on Helen's mind much the same effect that the death of her husband would have done. His increasing gentleness, his tenderness, his delicacy and forbearance, which had hitherto remained entirely unfelt and unnoticed, came thronging on her memory, and at once the beloved of her youth, the idol of her early wedded life, was restored to her in all his perfection! Her heart swelled, and gushed forth in love, in gratitude, and penitence. His recent letters were all brought forth, re-perused; and all those expressions of love and tenderness that had before fallen as on a rock, caused her heart to thrill with emotion. "Ah!" thought she, "how constant has that heart been to me, in spite of all my coldness, my heartless indifference, and sometimes, I fear, my disdain!"

When Dr. Miller's letter arrived, it more than confirmed Mr. Howard's worst apprehensions. The doctor had actually begun to write before he received his friend's letter.It told him that Helen was undoubtedly in a confirmed hectic, and that her life could not be protracted to many weeks; and farther, that if Mr. Howard wished to make certain of seeing her again, he had best not wait for the close of the session. It was a kind and sympathising, but perfectly honest letter.

Mr. Howard's resolution was at once taken, He asked and obtained leave of absence from Congress; and after the unavoidable intervention of one day from the receipt of the Doctor's letter, he commenced his homeward For the first time since Mr. Howard's de- journey. Ample time had he to reproach parture from home, did Helen feel a pang on himself, and every body else, while seated in account of his absence; but now she felt her a coach, the horses attached to which seemed loneliness as in former days. How was she to him to be all the time in a leisurely walk. to endure the remainder of the tedious session" Why had he trusted to Helen's account of of Congress? Alas! would she still be an her own health? Why had he been so inexinhabitant of earth, when it should have come || cusably negligent as not sooner to have writto a close? But notwithstanding this re- ten to Dr. Miller? Why did the doctor wait awakened regret on account of her husband's till the last possible moment before writing absence, and the awful solemnity of her situ- to him? Why had not Mr. Atwood informe ation, how sweet did she find it again to love, him of his daughter's danger? These, tolove with tenderness and ardor! and with fer-gether with other thoughts, far more bitter vent gratitude did she raise her eyes and and grievous, were continually revolving in thoughts to heaven, that her heart was aroused his mind. from its lethargy.

With regard to Mr. Atwood and Dr. Miller, the fact was, that they both knew the frequency of Helen's letters to Mr. Howard, and had no idea of the degree of ignorance under which he labored, else they would certainly have given him the truth.

Helen's next letter to Mr. Howard was very different from those which had preceded it. She did not, indeed, express in direct terms her new-found love; but its spirit breathed in every line. Toward the close she mentioned having taken a severe cold, Slow as Mr. Howard's progress was, comand gave some intimation of Dr. Miller's pared with the present rate of locomotion, he opinion as to the result. She subscribed her- at length reached the place of his reidence self-" Your own truly grateful and affection-in safety. He occupied the back seat of the ate Helen." This was the last letter she || mail-coach, and as it drove up to the post ofever sent him, though not the last she wrote. "fice, he involuntarily drew himself back,

dreading to read fatal news in the countenance || husband murmured in her ear?-how soothing of any acquaintance who might, perchance, were the kisses he imprinted on her fevered get a view of him. From his partial con- brow!-and how precious to him were the cealment he glanced around, and, among single words of whispered love, that fell from others, saw Dr. Miller at a few rods distance, her quivering lips!-aye-a treasure to be coming toward the carriage. In his eager- the solace of years! ness to read the Doctor's face, he leaned a little forward, and their eyes met.

"Thank heaven!" exclaimed the Doctor, as he sprang to the side of the coach,-" thank heaven, you have come!"

Mr. Howard actually gasped for breath, and could with difficulty command voice to say, "then I am not too late?"

"No-no," said the Doctor, "she yet lives;" and the coachman at that instant drawing up the reins, Dr. Miller took the seat at his side, and was driven to Mr. Howard's.

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Beyond expectation, Helen lingered a week after Mr. Howard's return; and he scarcely left her by day, or by night. For some time the children had been at Mr. Atwood's, as the sight of them seemed too exciting in their mother's sinking state; but once, after their father's return, they were brought home to give, and to take, the last, fond, parting kiss. As the youngest child was taken from her, Helen looked at the father-looked at the little ones, and then raised her tearful eyes to heaven. Words would have been useless, “Tell me,” said Mr. Howard, as he alighted had she been able to utter them. Her face at his own door, and grasped his friend's hand || expressed far more than language could have -"what have I to hope? What have I to done, and its meaning was engraven on her husband's soul. Two days after parting with her children, Helen breathed out her spirit, while her head reclined on the bosom of her husband, as peacefully and gently as an infant falls asleep in its mother's arms.

fear?"

The Doctor shook his head. "The fever has made dreadful havoc with her strength," said he. "Within the last week she has sunk rapidly. I sometimes feared that all would be over before you could reach us."

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"Will she know me?" asked Mr. Howard. O, yes, but she will hardly be able to speak to you. Since yesterday she has spoken one word only at a time, and that in a whisper.But I must hasten to prepare her to meet you. I have sometimes thought that the hope of seeing you, has helped to keep her alive."

The doctor left the room, and Mr. Howard walked the floor, with sensations which the feeling heart may conceive, but which no one should attempt to describe. It seemed an age before Dr. Miller returned, but he came at length, and taking his friend's arm within his, to lead him to the chamber, said

"Now compose yourself, my dear sir. Remember that Mrs. Howard is not in a situa. tion to bear strong excitement."

Mr. Howard spoke not; but the doctor felt hiswhole frame tremble as he leaned on his arm. Helen's eyes were fastened on the door as it opened. They sparkled like diamonds, and her cheeks were like the rose. To the inexperienced eye, she might have appeared the picture of health, as she was of beauty. She made an effort to raise herself, but in vain; and by a forcible grasp of his arm, the Doctor constrained Mr. Howard to walk across the floor, instead of springing toward her. When he had led him quietly to the bed-side, and had seen his wife's hands clasped in his, he left them.

In the solitude-the utter desolation that follows the last sad offices to a departed friend, nothing is so natural as to examine every relic they have left behind. Particularly do we love to touch, and look at those things, which have not been removed from the position in which the lost one had placed them. Above, and beyond all, is the value attached to any nemoranda, any diary, in which the thoughts and feelings of the departed have been last recorded.

One of Mr. Howard's first occupations, when left to himself, after the interment of his wife, was to examine the contents of her secretary and writing-desk, the keys to which had been last turned by her own hand. He suffered not a scrap of paper that bore the mark of her pen, to pass unread. He found much that was calculated to exalt his wife in his opinion, in respect to the qualities both of her head and her heart.

In searching the desk, he found in its most secret compartment, a large packet, carefully enveloped in white paper, and tied with a ribbon. This he laid aside, until he had examined all the loose, and apparently less important papers. This done, he took the chair which Helen used to occupy, and placing it at her table, he proceeded to open the packet. It contained all the letters he had written to his wife before marriage; one written by herWhat a world of joy and grief can the self, to each of her children, to be handed to human heart endure at the same moment them at a future day, and last of all, one to of time! How sweet, yet how agonizing himself. This he opened with trembling eawas the meeting! How did Helen drink ingerness, and a throbbing heart. It was dated the words of love and tenderness that her a few days later than the last received from