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other, and our babes.--"We will save them, Idris," I said, "I will save
them. Years hence we shall recount to them our fears, then passed away with
their occasion. Though they only should remain on the earth, still they
shall live, nor shall their cheeks become pale nor their sweet voices
languish." Our eldest in some degree understood the scenes passing around,
and at times, he with serious looks questioned me concerning the reason of
so vast a desolation. But he was only ten years old; and the hilarity of
youth soon chased unreasonable care from his brow. Evelyn, a laughing
cherub, a gamesome infant, without idea of pain or sorrow, would, shaking
back his light curls from his eyes, make the halls re-echo with his
merriment, and in a thousand artless ways attract our attention to his
play. Clara, our lovely gentle Clara, was our stay, our solace, our
delight. She made it her task to attend the sick, comfort the sorrowing,
assist the aged, and partake the sports and awaken the gaiety of the young.
She flitted through the rooms, like a good spirit, dispatched from the
celestial kingdom, to illumine our dark hour with alien splendour.
Gratitude and praise marked where her footsteps had been. Yet, when she
stood in unassuming simplicity before us, playing with our children, or
with girlish assiduity performing little kind offices for Idris, one
wondered in what fair lineament of her pure loveliness, in what soft tone
of her thrilling voice, so much of heroism, sagacity and active goodness
resided.
The summer passed tediously, for we trusted that winter would at least
check the disease. That it would vanish altogether was an hope too dear--
too heartfelt, to be expressed. When such a thought was heedlessly uttered,
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