with the bitterness of regret, unsullied by the corroding hand of time, unruffled by the perplexing cares of life, and undarkened by the tempests of indisposition.  Is such a father absent—­far distant on land or ocean where duty calls?  The heart of his family goes with him, and he too leaves his heart lingering behind.  His companion counts the moments as they slowly roll—­is faithful to his interests—­makes preparation to receive him—­sighs for his safe return, and welcomes him home with those emotions of ecstatic joy, that cause him to forget his past labors, toils and dangers.  Is he stretched upon a bed of pain?  Unwearied she sits beside him, hushes every sound that might interrupt his broken slumbers, and watches every breath he draws.  She whispers to him the soothing words of encouragement and consolation—­ gives neither sleep to her eyes, nor slumber to her eyelids, but is the guardian angel of his pillow.

When all human aid has failed—­when the pulse beats faint—­the once sparkling eye grows dim and rolls faint and languid in its socket, she stands mute and pensive at his dying bed.  Her whole soul is absorbed in the interest of the scene and rent with agony.  She wipes the cold sweat of death from his face, gazes with exquisite anxiety till the last dreadlful struggle is over, and breathes to the throne of mercy the prayer of affection for the repose of his spirit.  And so feels the kind husband over his companion, indulgent parents over their dying children, and dutiful children over their parents.

But it is a lamentable circumstance, a painful consideration, that there are too many unhappy divisions in the domestic circle.  Yes, it is a painful consideration indeed, that those, who are so nearly allied to each other, should, even for one moment, indulge in feelings of acrimony.  It is but a short time, at longest, that we can be together, and such unhappy divisions must render the parting scene, at the bed of death, doubly painful.  Thoughtless, giddy or oppressive as we may be to those, who are near to us in life, while blooming health is their lot, yet righteous heaven has so constituted our natures, that the most painful reminiscences will force themselves upon the mind when the injured object, to whom we have given distress, is upon a dying bed.  Every unkind word, every harsh treatment, the whole dark picture our ungenerous conduct will present itself to the imagination in all its naked woes.  And be that dying one a parent, a companion, a child, their very silence, as thy turn upon us a languid eye fading in death, will harrow up every painful recollection.  O! if we wish to tread upon their graves with an unsullied conscience before heaven, let us be of one mind, live in peace, and discharge, to them, those sacred duties of kindness and affection, which the ties, that bind them to us, enjoin.