the suffering child they had loved and
pitied a redeemed spirit of light. They could see that the little
flower, which had drooped and faded in the atmosphere of this world,
grew bright and beautiful in the sunshine of immortal love. They knew
that the kingdom of God was made up of just such little children--those
who had died before they knew anything of the sin and wickedness of this
world; or having known it, having grown old and gray beneath its heavy
burden, had laid all at the feet of Jesus, and in spirit gone back to
helpless, guileless infancy again.

They knew that their little friend now dwelt with that dear Saviour,
who, when on earth, blessed little children, who gathers the lambs in
His arms, and carries them in His bosom. Yet it was a sad day for them,
for they mourned the dead, as mortals always mourn when mortals die,
although they did not wish him back, and they pitied the living. More
tears were indeed shed for Mrs Gilman, than for the child.

The contents of Rosa Lynmore's purse had been reserved by Mr Maurice for
this sad occasion, he having supplied all previous wants; and it had
been sufficient to give a decent burial to the little boy, who slept
quietly at his father's side--to be awakened only when you and I, my
dear reader, shall be aroused from the same slumber.

Mr Maurice was right when he said if Mrs Gilman was stricken, it would
be in mercy; for her heart being weaned from the world, at last found a
refuge from its loneliness in the consolations of religion, and left the
broken reed of earthly love, on which it had leaned too confidently, for
the Rock, Christ Jesus, the friend that never fails.

She entered Mr Maurice's family as a domestic, and has grown gray in its
service.

Harry Maurice, it was for a long time thought, would become a preacher
of the Gospel; but when he became old enough to judge, he decided in
favour of his father's profession, declaring that he who fails to do
good in one situation in life, would most decidedly fail in another.

Sweet little Effie! Her struggle with her heart on the occasion of the
book was not the last; it was difficult for her to learn its
deceitfulness, and she required repeated lessons.

As she grew older, however, she was always complaining of her own
sinfulness, while every one else thought her the meekest, the gentlest,
and most self-sacrificing being that ever lived. She had, indeed, become
remarkably sharp-sighted to her own faults, and