r aunt, "I do not think that I shall. I think that before a
great while I shall die."

"Why, aunty!" said Ellen. She was much shocked to hear such a declaration.
"I _hope_ you will not die," she continued presently, speaking in a very
low and solemn manner. "What shall I do if you should die!--What makes you
think that you will die?"

"There are two reasons why I think that I shall die," said her aunt. "One
is, that I feel that I am growing weaker and weaker all the time. I have
grown a great deal weaker within a few days."

"Have you?" said Ellen, in a tone of great anxiety and concern.

"Yes," said her aunt. "The other reason that makes me think that I am
going to die is greater still; and that is I begin to feel so _willing_ to
die."

"I thought that you were always willing to die," said Ellen. "I thought we
ought to be all willing to die, always."

"No," said her aunt, "or yes, in one sense we ought. We ought always to be
willing to submit to whatever God shall think best for us. But as to life
and death, we ought undoubtedly, when we are strong and well, to desire to
live."

"God means," she continued, "that we should desire to live, and that we
should do all that we can to prolong life. He has given us an instinct
impelling us to that feeling. But when sickness comes and death is nigh,
then the instinct changes. We do not _wish_ to live then--that is, if we
feel that we are prepared to die. It is a very kind and merciful
arrangement to have the instinct change, so that when we are well, we can
be happy in the thought of living, and when we are sick and about to die,
we can be happy in the thought of dying. Our instincts often change thus,
when the circumstances change."

"Do they?" said Ellen, thoughtfully.

"Yes," said her aunt. "For instance, when you were an infant, your
mother's instinctive love for you led her to wish to have you always near
her, with your cheek upon her cheek, and your little hand in her bosom.
Mothers all have such an instinct as that, while their children are very
young. It is given to them so that they may love to have their children
very near them while they are so young and tender that they would not be
safe if they were away.

"But _now_," she continued, "you have grown older, and the instinct has
changed. Your mother loves you just as much as she did when you were an
infant, but she loves you in a different way. She is willing to have you
absent from her, if you are only w