ad upon which a woman lay, her emaciated
form showing her to be in the last stage of consumption. A low fire
burned in the large fire-place, and before it a little girl was
kneeling. She had a small testament, and was trying by the dim
fire-light to read a chapter, as was her custom, before going to bed. A
faint voice called to her from the bed, 'Nellie, my daughter, read the
14th chapter of St. John for your Mother.' 'Yes, Mother,' was the reply,
and after turning the leaves a few moments, the child began. All that
long Winter day that poor mother had been tortured with pain and
remorse. She was poor, very poor, and she knew she must die and leave
her child to the mercies of the world. Her husband had died several
years before. Since then she had struggled on, as best she could, till
now she had almost grown to doubt God's promises to the helpless. 'In my
Father's house are many mansions.' 'I go to prepare a place for you.'
Here the little reader paused, and crept to her mother's side. She lay
motionless, with closed eyes, while great hot tears were stealing down
her wasted cheeks. 'Mother, He has a place almost ready for you, hasn't
He.' 'Yes, my child, and I am going very soon, but _He_ will watch over
you, Nellie, when Mother has gone to her last home.'

"The weeks went slowly by to the suffering invalid; but when the violets
were blooming, they made a grave upon the hillside, and laid the weary
body down to rest, but the spirit had gone to the home which Christ
himself had gone to prepare.

"Years passed away. It was sunny May. The little church of Grenville was
crowded. I noticed in one of the seats a lady plainly but neatly
attired. There was nothing remarkable in the face with its mournful
brown eyes, and decided looking mouth and chin. I ransacked my memory to
find who the lady was. Suddenly a vision of the poor widow came. This,
then, was the little girl, little Nellie Mason. 'We will read a part of
the 14th chapter of St. John,' the minister said. 'In my Father's house
are many mansions; I go to prepare a place for you.' The slow,
deliberate tones recalled me from my reverie, and I looked at Nellie.
Her head was bowed, but I could see the tears flowing like rain."

THE FAITH OF A LITTLE CHILD.

An incident most beautiful was told in the Fulton Street prayer meeting
by a converted Jew.

"Journeying in the cars, I was attracted by two little girls, Jewesses.
I asked them if they loved Jesus. To my surp