( 13 )
has done its all. The raging diſeaſe mocks the power of medicine. It haſtens with reſitſleſs impetouſity, to execute its dreadful errand; to rend aſunder the ſilver cord of life, and the more delicate tie of ſocial attachment, and conjugal affection.
Thoſe poor innocents, the children croud around the bed; drowned in tears, and almoſt frantic with grief, they ſob out their little ſouls, and paſſionately cry, "Will he leave us? leave us in a helpleſs condition! leave us to an injurious world!"
Theſe ſeparate ſtreams are all united in the diſtreſſed ſpouſe, and overwhelm her breaſt with an impetuous tide of ſorrows. In her, the lover weeps, the wife mourns, and all the mother yearns. To her, the loſs is beyond meaſure aggravated, by months and years of delightful ſociety, and exalted friendſhip.—Where alas! can ſhe meet with ſuch unſuſpected fidelity, or repoſe ſuch unreſerved confidence? where find ſo diſcreet a counſellor, ſo improving an example, and a guardian fo ſedulouſly attentive to the intereſts of herſelf, and her children—See! how ſhe hangs over the languiſhing bed; moſt tenderly ſolicitous to prolong a life, important and valuable, far beyond her own; or, if that be impracticable, no leſs tenderly officious to ſoothe the laſt agonies of her dearerſelf. Her hands, trembling under direful apprehenſions; wipe the cold dews from the livid cheeks; and ſometimes ſtay the ſinking
