Glancing back through the long avenue of past years, many a green mound rises by the pathway over the wasted victims of this fearful disease.

First upon memory’s list, comes up a smiling infant, of rare beauty and patient mien, that won our love by those little winning ways that are the prerogatives of that tender age.  A slight cough and extreme weakness, were the only indications of the fearful work that was progressing within.  A bright flush rested upon the lily cheek, and none who looked upon the unwonted brilliancy of those eyes ever could forget their lustre.  The pure spirit seemed to look forth from their azure depths.  A moan seldom escaped her lips, but she would lay quiet in her little cradle, looking out unmoved upon the business and stir of that life, upon which she had so briefly entered, but where she was to bear so small a part in its fluctuations and concerns.

Anxiously did the fond mother watch over her precious one, and endeavor by a thousand attentions, to strengthen the feeble tenure that held her to life.  She was the darling, the youngest one of a numerous family, and all the purest affections of many fond hearts were offered at her shrine.

But could this bribe death?  O no, the destroyer stayed not in his course, but drew stealthily along, and aimed his dart secretly but surely, at his victim.

It was a chilly day in early spring; vegetation was just arousing from winter’s sleep, and the spring blossoms were just beginning to peep from their casing of green, when this little bud of beauty perished from earth.  She lay in the cradle usually, because it wearied her to be held in the lap.

It was noon, when the mother bent over her to administer some nourishment, and thought she perceived a change upon her countenance.  The same glad smile rested upon her features, but it was more heavenly in its expression.  She seated herself by the cradle, and raised her affectionately in her arms, saying as she did so,

“My dear child, I shall not lay you down again till you look better.”

She looked at her a few moments, her blue orbs were turned to heaven, and by their earnest gaze seemed penetrating the glories of the upper world.

There was soon an effort to vomit, succeeded by the fearful death rattle that comes but once in human life.  It was the struggle that must come to all, sooner or later.  The angel of death was leading this feeble infant through the valley of the shadow of death, by a gentle hand; one little struggle, one gentle sigh, one little quiver of the lip, and the sinless spirit had departed ere the father and brothers, who had been hastily summoned, reached her side.

Beautiful beyond description was the touch of death as it lingered upon that marble brow, and rested upon the beautifully chiselled features of the dear babe.