to the contemplation of that state in which alone he might ever expect to be united to his son.
The day before the funeral was to take place, Oriana was set down by her aunt at the usual corner, whence she drew near that house of mourning. The closed windows, the awful stillness reigning within, foreboded to her the melancholy catastrophe. Not daring to uplift the knocker, she rang the bell slightly, and being admitted, was immediately made acquainted with what she had feared. Scarcely able to sustain herself, she entered a back parlour, where she was received by Dr. Lovesworth,—that friend so much esteemed by the dear deceased and by herself. He advanced affectionately towards her; compassion and benevolence mingled in his tones and looks as he offered her a seat, into which she sunk, pale and trembling: however long that moment might have been anticipated, the trial seemed infinite and beyond her strength.
"Be composed, my dear young lady," said the Doctor, placing himself beside her: "it is true our loved friend is no more an inhabitant of this sorrowing sphere; we are taught to believe that ere now he has entered upon a state preparatory to final blessedness, from which there are few, I imagine, who would recall their friends."
Oriana could reply only by her tears, which at last flowing plentifully, gave relief to the feelings she had been struggling to suppress.
"It was a happy release from human infirmity,"
