Mrs. Endicott looked surprised.

"I am a better woman, and therefore happier. I do not say this
boastfully, but only to meet your question. I am a more useful
woman, and therefore happier, for, as I have learned, inward peace
is the sure reward of benefits conferred. The doing of good to
another, from an unselfish end, brings to the heart its purest
pleasure; and is not that the kindest Providence which leads us, no
matter by what hard experiences, into a state of willingness to live
for others instead of for ourselves alone? The dying mother, whose
gift to you has proved so great--a good, might have passed away,
though her humble abode stood beside the elegant residence I called
my home, without exciting more than a passing wave of
sympathy--certainly without filling my heart with the yearning
desire to make truly peaceful her last moments, which led to the
happy results that followed her efforts in my behalf. My children,
too; you have often lamented that it is not so well with them as it
would have been had misfortune not overshadowed us,--but I am not so
sure of that. I believe that all external disadvantages will be more
than counterbalanced by the higher regard I have been led to take in
the development of what is good and true in their characters. I now
see them as future men and women, for whose usefulness and happiness
I am in a great measure responsible; and as my views of life have
become clearer, and I trust wiser, through suffering, I am far
better able, under all the disadvantages of my position, to secure
this great end than I was before."

"But the way is hard for you--very hard," said Mrs. Endicott.

"It is my preparation for Heaven," replied the patient sufferer,
while a smile, not caught from earth, made beautiful her
countenance. "If my Heavenly Father could have made the way
smoother, He would have done so. As it is, I thank Him daily for the
roughness, and would not ask to have a stone removed or a rough
place made even."

LOOK ON THIS PICTURE.

O, IT is life! departed days
Fling back their brightness while I gaze--
'Tis Emma's self--this brow so fair,
Half-curtained in this glossy hair,
These eyes, the very home of love,
The dark thin arches traced above,
These red-ripe lips that almost speak,
The fainter blush of this pure cheek,
The rose and lily's beauteous strife--
It is--ah, no! 'tis all _but_ life.

'Tis all _but_ life--art could not save
Thy gr