with the heat of her meridian sun, Adversity with his freezing winds, to rob him of the mantle of Faith in God's providence. Vain attempt! He only drew its folds more closely about him, and looking upwards, murmured, "It is well! it is well! Even as thou wilt, O Lord!" Herein lies the secret of youthful vigor, of unsubdued buoyancy, of the capacity for enjoyment, of the beauty in age preserved to an eightieth year.
Especially we love to recall his face as it looked upon a memorable celebration at which we were permitted to be present. Every heart beneath his hospitable roof beat gladly upon that day. There was a fête in honor of his seventy-eighth birthday. It would occupy too much space to describe the joyous festival; we will only touch upon the opening scene. The Patriarch sat beside a devoted wife, surrounded by a host of sons and daughters, grandsons and grand-daughters, who had flocked from their distant homes to gather about him. Many friends, too, were there, some whose dark locks had whitened side by side with his.
Within a bowery recess, decked with evergreens, and garlanded with festoons of natural flowers, behold a group of lovely children, clad in white, with flower-crowned brows and radiant faces. In the centre stands a classic-featured young maiden of but nine summers, holding by the hand a little sister of seven. These are the two youngest of the Patriarch's many daughters, the last roses of
