n which their little brother died. It was before they were born; but
she remembers it. And as they pray together, it seems almost as if the
spirit of the little lost one was hovering round the group. So they pass
away: friends, kindred, the dearest-loved, grown people, aged, infants.
As we go on the down-hill journey, the mile-stones are grave-stones, and
on each more and more names are written; unless haply you live beyond
man's common age, when friends have dropped off, and, tottering, and
feeble, and unpitied, you reach the terminus alone.

In this past year's diary is there any precious day noted on which you
have made a new friend? This is a piece of good fortune bestowed but
grudgingly on the old. After a certain age a new friend is a wonder,
like Sarah's child. Aged persons are seldom capable of bearing
friendships. Do you remember how warmly you loved Jack and Tom when you
were at school; what a passionate regard you had for Ned when you were
at college, and the immense letters you wrote to each other? How often
do you write, now that postage costs nothing? There is the age of
blossoms and sweet budding green: the age of generous summer; the
autumn when the leaves drop; and then winter, shivering and bare. Quick,
children, and sit at my feet: for they are cold, very cold: and it seems
as if neither wine nor worsted will warm 'em.

In this past year's diary is there any dismal day noted in which you
have lost a friend? In mine there is. I do not mean by death. Those who
are gone, you have. Those who departed loving you, love you still; and
you love them always. They are not really gone, those dear hearts and
true; they are only gone into the next room: and you will presently get
up and follow them, and yonder door will close upon YOU, and you will be
no more seen. As I am in this cheerful mood, I will tell you a fine and
touching story of a doctor which I heard lately. About two years since
there was, in our or some other city, a famous doctor, into whose
consulting-room crowds came daily, so that they might be healed. Now
this doctor had a suspicion that there was something vitally wrong with
himself, and he went to consult another famous physician at Dublin, or
it may be at Edinburgh. And he of Edinburgh punched his comrade's sides;
and listened at his heart and lungs; and felt his pulse, I suppose; and
looked at his tongue; and when he had done, Doctor London said to Doctor
Edinburgh, "Doctor, how long have I