ts within me.' I am truly 'of little faith.' Read
to me, dear, from the book beside me, and it will surely comfort me in
my desolation."

It was the sacred volume, that has so often solaced the grief and
despair of the weary and heavy-laden, and the tremulous voice repeated
the inspired words, with that pathos that can only come from those who
have suffered. A heavenly calm settled over the pale face of the
invalid.

"My child, be not weary of well-doing," she murmured, softly indeed.
"'Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted.' I was
thinking, as I lay here alone to-day, beset by doubts and fears, of a
passage in Baxter's 'Saints' Everlasting Rest.' The eloquent pastor of
Kidderminster, living in the midst of bodily pain and persecution, had
the true faith which is hardly attained in the midst of worldly
prosperity. It strengthens me to listen to his pious instructions. Can
you give me the words, dear?"

Clemence sought the book, and read this passage which her mother had
indicated:

"Why dost thou look so sadly on those withered limbs, or on that pining
body? Do not so far mistake thyself as to think its joys and thine are
all one; or that its prosperity and thine are all one; or that they must
needs stand or fall together. When it is rotting and consuming in the
grave, then shalt thou be a companion of the perfected spirits of the
just; and when those bones are scattered about the churchyard, then
shalt thou be praising God in rest. And, in the mean time, hast not thou
food of consolation which the flesh knoweth not of, and a joy which this
stranger meddleth not with? And do not think that, when thou art turned
out of this body, thou shalt have no habitation. Art thou afraid thou
shalt wander destitute of a resting place? Is it better resting in flesh
than in God? Dost thou think that those souls which are now with Christ,
do so much pity their rotten or dusty corpse, or lament that their
ancient habitation is ruined, and their once comely bodies turned into
earth? Oh, what a thing is strangeness and dis-acquaintance. It maketh
us afraid of our dearest friends, and to draw back from the place of our
only happiness!"

"Oh, there is comfort in words like that," said the widow, clasping her
thin hands. "When I think of the great souls who have lived and
suffered, it seems selfish and wicked to murmur at my afflictions. I
will try to be patient unto the end. Go to your rest, my love, and may
God's