With the kind assistance of Mr. Kerr, the English consul, he selected her grave in the Greek church-yard.

At the same time, she expressed the desire that after a suitable time, if it could be done with but little expense, her remains should be removed to the Pera cemetery. She felt that it would be a mournful satisfaction to her bereaved husband and children to visit her grave, and there recall her last words of affection. When Mr. Hamlin, in reply, expressed the determination not to leave her remains in Rhodes, with her usual foresight she perceived the obstacles that he would be obliged to encounter, especially with the care of his five motherless children. Under these circumstances, she begged him not to attempt to take her remains with him, on his return to Constantinople.

After dictating several directions with regard to the children's winter clothing, and sending a special message to the Armenian circle in Portland, she said, "I think of nothing more that I can do for my family. I have now done with earth. The little time that remains I wish to devote to preparing myself and children for heaven." In the evening she found her strength prostrated, but was peaceful and happy in mind. The dear children quietly sat down to their evening meal, expressing their willingness that God should take their beloved mother from this world of sin, and leave them desolate and afflicted, till He should call them to follow her. That night they lay down to rest a happy family, for the peace of God reigned in their hearts.

O! sweet it is, my soul, to know

No other will than His!

This is the life-spring's peaceful flow,

This is the heaven of bliss.

THE BAPTISM.

"SAVIOUR, on her young heart sprinkle
Thine atoning, precious blood;
Like her brow, nor spot nor wrinkle
Be upon her soul, my God!"

G. W. BETHUNE.

On the morning of the Sabbath, death seemed to have commenced his last attack. A sense of prostration, and an internal failing of all the powers of life, made her feel that she was near her home.

She was placed upon pillows in her rocking-chair near the window. Her person was emaciated to the last degree, and her lips pale and parted in her pantings for breath; yet her eye was bright and beaming, and her countenance sweet and calm. They had desired to have the baptism of their infant in the morning; but the dear sufferer was struggling for breath, and committing her soul to Him who holds the keys of death and the invisible world. Towards noon she was relieved, and about one o'clock the holy rite was performed. A little china bowl had been procured for the baptismal font, and, as they had no table, a white napkin was spread upon a rude stand. Here were gathered the dying mother, the afflicted father and their five little daughters. There was nothing externally imposing in this scene, but to the eye of faith invisible spectators were there,- an innumerable cloud of witnesses, to behold that mother's last offering. Especially was He present, the Shepherd of Israel,

in pity and in love. And who could say that the departed grand-parents were not with them in that hour?

The meaning of the sacred ceremony being explained to the two elder children, they solemnly pledge themselves to perform to their little sister the duties of a mother, so far as their childhood and inexperience will allow. The holy Scriptures are read, the blessing of God implored, and then, at the mother's request, the infant for the last time is laid in her arms. Again they kucel to pray. But the fountains of grief are broken up; and, while the little Mary is smiling and happy, and the mother serene and calm, the father weeps aloud with his weeping children. After a time, he can only plead "Jesus wept." But they rise not from their knees till he has earnestly besought the good Shepherd that He would look with an eye of loving mercy upon this lamb of the flock, and take it into his own fold. The soul of the mother meantime had reached a higher sphere. It was far above the human sympathies which pierced and crushed their hearts, and, though dissolved in pleading for the blessings of the everlasting covenant upon her child, not a tear dimmed the serenity of her countenance. The napkin and bowl, thus rendered sacred, she placed together, wishing to have them preserved as mementos of that scene.

Lay the mother's tender blossom
Gently on her loving bosom ;
Slowly comes that mother's breath,

Gathers fast the cloud of death.

Soon her precious one she leaveth,
Yet her heart unto it cleaveth.
Who its infancy will bless?
Must she leave it motherless?