Beautiful, when life had ended here."

All the children looked at Charley, with their eyes full of love; and in
their prayers that night, they entreated that Jesus would remember their
dear little brother's life-long suffering, and give him a place close to
Him in heaven.

THE FOURTH LETTER.

ILL TEMPER.

_For George._

"DEAR GEORGE:--You know you are now nearly seventeen years old, and
quite a patriarch in the Nightcap family; and I am rejoiced that I can
say with truth, that you have been, and are, a most excellent elder
brother, unselfish, sweet-tempered, and always setting a good example."

"Dear me," interrupted George, laughing and blushing very much, "I do
not deserve such high praise;" but here the expression of his face
changed, his lip began to tremble, and running up to his mother, he
kissed her, and said--"Whatever I am that is good, you, dear mother,
have made me."

"With God's help and blessing, my dear son," said his mother, returning
the kiss; and then she went on reading.

"When you were a little fellow, of not quite seven years, you had the
scarlet fever, and were very ill; and perhaps you remember how cross you
were for a long time after."

"Oh, yes," exclaimed George; "mother used to say somebody else must have
jumped into my skin, for, certainly, I was not the same George."

"I have written a story about this change in temper, and how a cure was
effected. _You_ became sweet-tempered again, as soon as you got quite
well; but Arthur, in my story, required a lesson and some punishment, as
he became cross without scarlet fever, rhyme, or reason. I hope you will
let me know if you think I have invented a good plan to cure a
cross-patch. You know I am a great believer in our always trying first
upon _ourselves_, what we propose to '_do to others_,' as the very best
way of finding out if we would like the same '_done to us_.'"

"Why, that's the 'golden rule!'" cried little Minnie; and now the
children settled themselves, and eagerly listened to the following
story:

ILL TEMPER.

"When Arthur was about seven years old, he was one of the very best boys
to be found in a long summer's day. In the morning he would spring out
of bed with a bright smile, wash and dress himself quickly, with the
help of Mary, his kind nurse, say his prayers slowly and reverently,
(ah! _that_ was the secret of his goodness!) and then all day long he
would be so obliging and good-tempered, that no one cou