mpathy, and
kind words are often better to the poor then costly gifts.' I felt as
you do when I first went among them, but I don't believe our teacher
would ever excuse us from going since she thinks it right. I should
think," continued Rosalie, twining her arms lovingly about her
companion, and drawing as near to her as possible, "that what you have
seen to-day would make you enjoy this pleasant room, and these nice
comforts all the more."

"But, Rosalie," said Jennie, "how can I sleep when there are so many
sick and weary ones down in those dirty streets who have no
resting-place for their tired bodies, although they need it so much more
than I do? It makes me uneasy and troubled. Don't you think we should be
a great deal happier if all the people in the world had an equal share
of the comforts of life?"

"Sometimes I think so, Jennie, but Madame La Blanche says 'it is God
that makes us to differ; that He gives to some poverty, and to others
riches, and that if we only have contented minds we shall be happy,
whether we are rich or poor.'"

"That is not exactly what I mean, Rosalie; you know I am rich now, but I
am sad about others, and don't you suppose that people who suffer for
things that they need feel badly when they see others with more than
enough for their wants, so that they even waste it or throw it away."

"I don't know, Jennie, I suppose they must. It does seem strange to me,
sometimes, that some have so much more than is necessary to their
comfort, while others lack even their daily bread; but Madame La
Blanche, says 'we must never allow ourselves to raise such questions,
even in our own minds; but that we must feel that whatever God does for
His children is right, even as we feel that our earthly parents will do
every thing for our best good, though they may do many things that we
can not understand, and withhold from us much that we earnestly
desire.'"

"Well, Rosalie, it is a comfort to have a higher wisdom than our own to
depend upon! that's what my own dear mother used often to say to me, and
the very day she died--I never can forget that!--she put her hand upon
my head, and said 'Remember, my Jennie, God is to be all your wisdom and
strength, all your wisdom and strength.'"

Poor child! in her own strength what perfect weakness; even while
repeating the word she sunk into a calm and peaceful slumber, and this
weary world, with its burden of sorrows and woes, faded away from her
mental vision