SICKNESS.
The second summer had nearly passed away, when sickness visited Elmwood.
Mr. Merritt was prostrated by a violent fever. Early and late his wife
watched by his bed. Sleep was a stranger to her eyes. Agonizing prayers
ascended in petition for his recovery. At last they were heard. Slowly
the sick man improved, and after many weeks, was able to breathe the
fresh air, and walk abroad.
Then, the dear little prattler, the youngest child, drooped. The petted
one lay helpless in its willow cradle, and pale and anxious faces
gathered around it. Eyes, red with weeping, witnessed its struggles.
Several days it lingered after hope had fled the broken-hearted
mourners, and then the little sufferer was called in its pure, unspotted
innocence, to Heaven!