ossoms of hope to
bloom again in the bosom of bereavement. Memory should be immortal, but
mourning should last but a season."

"I meant that I never should forget her," I cried, my tears flowing
gently under her subduing accents. "Dear Mrs. Linwood, you have made it
impossible for me always to mourn. Yet there are times, when her
remembrance comes over me with such a power that I am borne down by it
to the level of my first deep anguish. These are not frequent now. I
some times fear there is danger of my being too happy after sustaining
such a loss."

"Beware, my dear child, of cherishing the morbid sensibility which
believes happiness inconsistent with the remembrance of departed
friends. Life to your mother, since your recollection of her, was a sad
boon. As she possessed the faith, and died the death of the Christian,
you are authorized to believe that she now possesses an exceeding and
eternal weight of glory. Can you take in the grandeur of the idea,--_a
weight of glory_? Contrast it with the burden of care under which you
saw her crushed, and you will then be willing to exchange mourning for
the oil of joy, and the spirit of heaviness for the garment of praise."

"I _am_ willing, dear Mrs. Linwood, my kindest friend, my second mother.
I will in all things be guided by your counsel and moulded by your will.
No, oh no, I would not for worlds rob my mother of the glorious
inheritance purchased by a Saviour's blood. But tell me one thing,--must
we all pass through tribulation before entering the kingdom of heaven?
Must we all travel with bleeding feet the thorny path of suffering,
before being admitted into the presence of God?"

"The Bible must answer you, my child. Do you remember, in the
apocalyptic vision, when it was asked, 'What are these, which are
arrayed in white robes? and whence come they?' It was answered, 'These
are they which came out of great tribulation, and have washed their
robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb.'"

"Therefore are they before the throne of God, and serve him day and
night in his temple; and he that sitteth on the throne shall dwell among
them."

I remembered them well.

"Go on," I said, "that is not all."

"They shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more, neither shall the
sun light on them, nor any heat."

She paused, and her voice became tremulous from deep emotion.

"One verse more," I cried, "only one."

"For the Lamb which is in the midst of the thro