earted, was the
business of her life; a business sweetened by such ample consolations,
that she sometimes dreaded lest she should seek more her own comfort
than the kingdom of heaven. And then she often paused, and wondered
and feared, because no wild torrents swept across her way, and no
ruggedness wounded her feet in life's pathway. But she need not. The
love of God--a perfect charity, smoothed and brightened all. Where
others would have made gloom, she made sunshine; where others found the
waters of life bitter, she sweetened them by her perfect union with the
divine will.

And better than all, her practical works of charity were continually
adding members to the Church of Christ. But we must bid her adieu.
She is growing old, but her step is light, and her cheeks still tinted
with the hue of health; and, perchance, in some future sketch of life,
we may meet her again in her ceaseless round of charity. Helen was one
of her consolations. A truly Christian wife and mother; though timid
and humble in her spiritual life, her unobtrusive piety, amidst
temptation and worldly associations, made her an example and
edification to all who knew her. Mr. Fielding, always devoted to May,
and admiring the indomitable and cheerful energy of her character, was
at last persuaded that, as there is but one God, so there was but ONE
FAITH, and ONE BAPTISM, the fruits of which he sought with great
humility and steadfastness. We regret to add, that the benevolent and
warm-hearted Mrs. Tabb was so profuse in her charitable belief of the
right of all to be saved, that she easily fell in with the New Light of
the day--Spiritualism; and got her head so filled with "circles," and
"progression" and "manifestations," that not recognizing the demoniac
origin of it all, she became hopelessly insane. Mrs. Jerrold, enraged
at the loss of Mr. Stillinghast's fortune, and the conversion of her
son and Helen, retired to the "Cedars," where between "whist" and opium
she drags out a lengthened and miserable existence--refusing all
spiritual aid, and denouncing May in no measured terms, as the cause
and prime mover of all her reverses. We should like to have told all
this in our own way, but our limits, already transgressed, warn us to
silence, while the night-lamp, burning low in its socket, and the watch
ticking faintly, like the last pulses of the dying, tell us, in
emphatic language, that the "_good-night_" hour has come.

THE END.