Uncle Timothy was not an envious man—he knew envy by name only. But if at this particular moment his heart could have been anatomised, O, how he envied the good pastor!
“The disease gained ground with fearful strides.
He was obliged to absent himself from business; and as his employers were no-work-no-pay philanthropists, he was left to his own slender resources, and retired here to die.”
“Who sustained my lost son in his long sickness, comforted him, and received his last sigh? Ah! sir—But I dare not disobey your too strict injunction.
'Friend of the poor! the mourner feels thy aid—
She cannot pay thee, but thou wilt be paid!'
“It is not many evenings since that I accompanied my dear young friend in one of his solitary rambles. The sun was setting in golden splendour, and tinged the deep blue clouds that appeared like mountains rising above one another. 'Yon glorious orb,' he cried, with sacred fervour, 'emblem of immortality!
The setting and the rising sun
To me are themes of deep reflection—
Death, frail mortal! is the one,