6 I feel that my heart is fixed, trusting in the Lord,' and I 'shall not be afraid of evil tidings.'" I have found only one more letter to Mr. Bise among her papers, of which the following is an extract : "You call me an affectionate girl. I thank you, and could you read my heart, I trust you would see the appositeness of that endearing epithet. You seem to anticipate much happiness in our future life. Dear B we shall be hap py, or it will be our fault. We do not expect to be exempt from little troubles; but if the spirit of kindness governs our actions, it will prove a firm bulwark against every assailment of this kind; and union of soul and harmony of feeling, with the grace of God to sustain us, will triumph over all difficulties incident to social life, and cause the heavy afflictions we may experience to pass lightly over our retreat. "I cherish no fears that our love will lose its strength if it part with some of its fervor. The only misfortune peculiar to the married state is the decay of mutual love. Hence the idea of the Honey-moon ;' and they who talk of it are those who have never felt that deep affection, which sur vives the revolution of the heavenly bodies, and even death itself. "After their honey-moon is past, unkindness, like a seven-headed monster, is continually creeping into the social scene in the form of cruel words and painful actions, which darken the brightest features of domestic life, and even blot out the cheerfulness of the fireside. "But a brighter lot is in reserve for us. I feel that our union of soul is so complete, that unkindness will never intrude to desecrate the sacredness of our love. In you I expect to find all I hope for this side the tomb-reciprocal love. I will cling to you with tenderness and confidence, and I expect not only the protection of your arm, but the devotion of your heart. "But if we do not expect a paradise here, and we must not, let us live in the fear of God, and we may expect one hereafter, beside the stream of life.' "Your own affectionate "MARY." CHAPTER XVIII. "And say, without our hopes, without our fears, CAMPBELL. AT length Mary's bridal day came, and on the 8th of September, 1832, she was married to Mr. Benjamin Bise of Green River, with whom she had long been intimate, and for whom she cherished the most devoted attachment. She was in the freshness and beauty of youth. She had seen but twenty-one summers, but her accomplishments were superior to her age and fortune. For several years her health had been better than she had ever enjoyed; but it was still delicate. Although her hopes had been consummated, and she began to realize all she had hoped for in a scene of retired domestic love; although she had at last found a safe retreat from all the misfortunes which had previously embittered her life in the home of her affection; although she lived in her native valley, on the verdant bank of the Green River, guarded by the Blue Mountains, and the solemn temple, "whither the tribes go up," overshadowed her dwelling; yet the insidious approaches of disease began to mar this lovely scene, and she was reminded, by frequent and painful attacks, that she had "here no continuing city." She knew that she must soon leave these lovely scenes; but the thought of death did not ruffle the calm of her soul, and she addressed herself with calmness and serenity to the duties of life, she greeted probation with joy, and awaited death with cheerfulness. vens. Her soul was stayed on God, and a deep and abiding consciousness filled her bosom that when this earthly house of her tabernacle was dissölved, she would have a building of God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heaThis consciousness threw a radiance over the rough features of disease, and softened the rugged declivities of an early exit. There is still preserved a fragment of a most chaste and beautiful composition which she wrote at this time, which exhibits in lively colors the nature of her feelings. She says: “What are the real enjoyments of human life? It will be admitted by all, that unalloyed happiness dwells not on earth. The frailty of our mother has contaminated our most exalted terrestrial pursuits. Yes, we taste the bitter fruits of thy fatal transgression, and our own equally reprehensible guilt. "But let us not condemn life as perfectly wretched, because we do not find happiness unmixed with pain. When we acknowledge that our earthly enjoyments are all incomplete and unsatisfactory, will it follow that there is no object on earth which deserves our pursuit, or that all our pleasures become contemptible because they are imperfect? "Let us contemplate our condition with an impartial eye, and be just to the various gifts of heaven. "Surely there is much, very much in life that is desirable, although sin has clouded our brightest scenes of earthly joy. But how vain soever this life, considered in itself, may be, the comforts and hopes of religion are sufficient to give solidity to the enjoyments of the righteous. Besides the ineffable enjoyments peculiar to the glorious hope of the Gospel, there are other pleasures attainable |