w who can rightly sympathize with that mother and
her babes; and I am one of the few. Ah! my kind friend, none but the
mother, who like me has been brought to the verge of eternity, can
truly feel for one in like circumstances. I have looked at my own
precious ones, as I felt the waves of time sweeping my feet from
their earthly resting place, and wept bitter tears as no answer came
to the earnest question, 'Who will love them, who will care for the
when I am taken?' You cannot know, Mrs. Endicott, how profoundly
thankful to God I am, that He spares my life, and yet gives me
strength to do for my children. I bless His name for this tender
mercy towards me when I lie down at night, and when I rise up in the
morning, I bear every burden, I endure every pain cheerfully,
hopefully, even thankfully. It is because I can understand the heart
of this dying mother, and feel for her in her mortal extremity, that
I undertake her cause. You have only one child, my friend, and she
is partly grown. 'A babe in the house is a well-spring of pleasure.'
Is it not so? Take one, or even both of these children, if the
mother dies. They are the little ones who are born upon the earth,
in order that they may become angels in Heaven. They are of God's
kingdom, and precious in His eyes. Nurture and raise them up for
Him. Come! oh, come with me to the bedside of this dying mother, and
say to her, 'Give me your babes, and I will shelter them in my
heart.' So doing, you will open for yourself a perennial fountain of
delight. The picture of that poor mother's joyful face, painted
instantly by love's bright sunbeams on your memory, will be a source
of pleasure lasting as eternity. Do not neglect this golden
opportunity, nor leave other hands to gather the blessings which lie
about your feet."

That earnest plea was echoed from the heart of Mrs. Endicott. The
beautiful enthusiasm, so full of a convincing eloquence, prevailed;
and the woman in whose heart the waters of benevolence were growing
stagnant, and already sending up exhalations that were hiding the
Sun of heaven, felt a yearning pity for the dying mother, and was
moved by an unselfish impulse toward her and her babes. Half an hour
afterwards she was in the sick-chamber; and ere leaving had received
from the happy mother the solemn gift of her children, and seen her
eyes close gently as her spirit took its tranquil departure for its
better home.

"God will bless you, madame!"

All the dy