despairing but hopeful
love. The curtain of death hid from her no land of shadows and mystery;
but a world of spiritual realities. Her mother had not gone shrinking
and trembling into regions of darkness and doubt; but in the blessed
assurance of a peaceful reception in the house of her friends.

"How a true faith," said I, strongly impressed by the images which
were presented to my mind, "strips from death its old terrors! When the
Apostle exclaimed, 'Oh, grave, where is thy victory? oh, death, where
is thy sting?' his mind looked deeper into the mystery of dying, and
saw farther into the world beyond, than do our modern Christians, who
frighten us with images of terror. 'I will lay me down in peace
and sleep,' when the time of my departure comes, should be the
heart-language of every one who takes upon himself the name of Him who
said, 'In my Father's house are many mansions. I go to prepare a place
for you, that where I am, ye may be also.'"

"Since I knew Mrs. Montgomery, and felt the sphere of her quality," said
Constance, "my perceptions of life and duty here, and their connection
with life and happiness hereafter, have been elevated to a higher
region. I see no longer as in a glass darkly, but in the light of
reason, made clear by the more interior light of Revelation."

"And the same is true with me," I replied. "We may well say that it
was good to have known her. She was so true, so just, so unconscious
of self, that truth, justice, and unselfishness were always lovelier in
your eyes for having seen them illustrated in her person. And there
was no pious cant about her. No parade of her unworthiness; no solemn
aspects, nor obtrusive writings of bitter things against herself. But
always an effort to repress what was evil in her nature; and a state of
quiet, religious trust, which said, 'I know in whom I have believed.'"

"Ah," said Constance, "if there was only more of such religion in the
world!"

"It would be a happier world than it is," I answered.

"By the impress of a life like hers, what lasting good is done!" said my
wife. "Such are the salt of the earth. Cities set upon hills. Lights in
candlesticks. They live not in vain!'"

I did not see Blanche until the day of burial. Her beautiful face was
calm, but very pale. It bore strongly the impress of sorrow, but not of
that hopeless sorrow which we so often see on these mournful occasions.
It was very plain that her thoughts were not lingering around t