Far, far back in the past comes the memory of a day when the joy of our sweet home seemed suddenly extinguished, when a deep gloom shrouded the house and all its inmates. My father, whose vigorous frame had always seemed to defy the encroachments of disease, was seized with a dangerous, a mysterious malady. The doctors came, and went quietly up into the chamber. Not a sound could be heard outside the closed doors. We longed, yet feared, to know what dreadful events were occuring there. We yearned for one word of comfort from mother, but a glimpse into her blanched face made our hearts beat with increased alarm. In terror, in sorrow, in joy, we had always rushed to our father's arms. Our hearts almost stopped beating at the thought: our father may leave us; what can we do then?

The few hours that passed, seemed an age of sorrow. At length mother came softly into the room, where we had all assembled to weep together, and motioning to my brother, said with smile, yet with quivering lip, "Your father is somewhat relieved of his terrible suffering. He wants you all to kneel, and

thank God for his goodness." She was gone before we had time to ask more.

From that day for several years, my father suffered from similar attacks, though I do not remember any that were as severe as this.

The doctor informed us that it was heart disease, and directed that his patient should abandon the use of coffee, which he did for many years; also, that he should avoid excitement of every kind, such as running or even walking fast.