And thus are God's almoners scattered up and down the valley of tears, with the inscription on their foreheads "greatly beloved." They breathe the air of heaven, and wear its impress. He sends his widows and his orphans to them, for they are in celestial partnership, co-workers with Infinite Love. The children were all educated. They took their places as useful and influential members of society, guided by the wise and prudent instruction of so good a mother.

It was in the evening of a long life, that I became acquainted with the widow B.; she had been residing with a married daughter fifteen years, from whom these particulars were obtained. Most of her time was passed in her little room, with her bible and her knittingwork, having, through the infirmities of age, become unable to go out much, or engage in active duties.

It was a rich treat to sit by her side and listen to the strong, clear thoughts gathered up out of the varied discipline of years; purified

and refined for the higher temple, pervaded by the bible-spirit, and rejoicing in bible-promises. The last time I saw her, the following conversation occurred, which was so remarkable, that I committed it to paper in her very words. "Well, my dear friend, I am glad you still live to pray; the continuance of an aged pilgrim on earth is an unspeakable blessing."

"So far as that is concerned," she replied, "I have no wish-no wish in the world; nor do I desire to wish, lest I might want something which would not be agreeable to His will.”

"No wish," thought I-"no wish?"

"I can think of no place in the universe where I should be unhappy, for where He is, there is bliss; and where He is, there am I. I am willing to live just so long as He pleases, and go when He calls me. I often think I should love to die all alone in my little room,

with none but God."

Not long after this, as the venerable saint was walking across the room, she fell and was laid upon her bed. The call was heard, and

tears of rapture expressed her joy, that "the time had arrived for her to go home."

Submission to God is indeed the life-lesson, but let none imagine that it cannot be attained out of the furnace. It is every where professed it should be every where possessed. Let us inquire, with earnestness, how far we understand and practise it.

Let us carefully examine its ability to cure every anxious foreboding, every fearful and desponding thought, to stop every impatient and fretful word, to bring into perfect contentment and serenity the whole being, as truly in the sunshine of prosperity as in the wild tempest of adversity.

CHAPTER IV.

THE RECORDED WILL.

In a small neat building in High Street, in the city of Portsmouth, a middle aged man, the father of a family, lay upon his death-bed!

He was a teacher of youth, and for many years had gathered up the affections of the children, and secured the grateful love of the parents.

He was moreover, one of the few who carry about an ear for all sorrow, an eye to notice all suffering, a great soul ever ready to sympathize and relieve.

Let us enter this house of mourning! we need not fear to do so. The strong man is indeed laid low. The face is but slightly furrowed, the cheek round and full, the eye yet

speaks, those broad shoulders could have struggled on with life's burdens many a year. But

the call is "Leave!"

A motley group have gathered around him. The poor have come to bless him as he departs. The sick whom he comforted have risen from their beds to look once more upon his face.

At the pillow sits the governor of the State, bending his ear to catch every whisper. A few words fall faintly but forcibly. "Leave thy fatherless children; I will preserve them alive, and let thy widows trust in me!"

Around the weeping family are many comforters.

Some from the lowly, and others from the higher paths of life. The children too, steal in with beating hearts, and creep to the bed-side to take the cold hand of their teacher. One word to each, to all; closing with the memorable promise "Leave thy fatherless, etc."

The young wife, yet in her beauty, sits like marble as she gazes on the coming desolation. A pet lamb in her father's house, cherished like