and cordially your friend, SALLIE ELLIS. CINCINNATI, July 28,1885." Strangely enough, one's first thought of Miss Ellis was never as an invalid. She so ignored the poor, weak body that she made you forget it too. She was always so _alive_, so full of interest and joy in her work. With what delight would she say, "This new tract is exactly the thing to send ----," or announce, "such a good letter from ----." Even during the last months, when the ravages of disease could no longer be concealed, she _would_ not be sick. She set aside your sympathy. She was always "better," "only my limbs are so weak to-day," or "my breath is so short," or "it always makes me cough to walk," as if these were mere casual incidents quite unworthy of notice. The last of her life, it was pitiful to see her still clinging to her work, still persisting in caring for her own room, declining all offers of help. She often rose at five o'clock Sundays, because obliged by weakness to work slowly, that she might reach church early, to prepare her Tract Table before the congregation arrived. When no longer able to remain to the services, she still came and ministered to her own special congregation at the Tract Table, though obliged by weakness to sit. When she no longer had strength to arrange her hair, she quietly cut it off. But she went on with her work. To one offering help she said, "When I cannot do my work, I don't want to live." Again, she said, "There are many who need me, and they keep me alive." To the last she declined being considered an invalid,--did not wish any one to walk out with her, although the family were very uneasy to have one so weak and so deaf on the street alone. She walked out every day, until the last time she was forced to lean against the door-post and gain breath and strength to take the final step up into the house.