"You have described my mother, just as she was from the moment her only son, the last of six, was taken from her," I said, at last. "I never quite understood how that final sorrow weaned her, so to say, from herself, and made her life all love to God and all love to man. But I see it now. Dear Mrs. Campbell, pray for me that I may yet wear her mantle!" She smiled with a significance that said she had already done so, and then we parted-parted that she might end her pilgrimage and go to her rest-parted that I might pursue mine, I know not how long, nor amid how many cares, and sorrows, nor with what weariness and heart-sickness-parted to meet again in the presence of Him we love, with those who have come out of great tribulation, whose robes have been made white in the blood of the Lamb, and who are before the throne of God, and serve Him day and night in His temple, to hunger no more, neither thirst any more, for the Lamb which is in the midst of the throne shall lead them into living fountains of waters; and God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes. MAY 25.-We were talking of Mrs. Campbell, and of her blessed life and blessed death. Helen said it discouraged and troubled her to see and hear such things. "The last time I saw her when she was able to converse," said she, "I told her that when I reflected on my want of submission to God's will, I doubted whether I really could be His child. She said, in her gentle, sweet way-: 'Would you venture to resist His will, if you could? Would you really have your dear James back again in this world, if you could?" 'I would, I certainly would,' I said. She returned, 'I sometimes find it a help, when dull and cramped in my devotions, to say to myself: Suppose Christ should now appear before you, and you could see Him as He appeared to His disciples on earth, what would you say to Him? This brings Him near, and I say what I would say if He were visibly present. I do the same when a new sorrow threatens me. I imagine my Redeemer as coming personally to say to me, "For your sake I am a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief; now for My sake give me this child, bear this burden, submit to this loss." Can I refuse Him? Now, dear, he has really come thus to you, and asked you to show your love to Him, your faith in Him, by giving Him the most precious of your treasures. If He were here at this moment, and offered to restore it to you, would you dare to say, "Yea, Lord, I know, far better than Thou dost, what is good for him and good for me; I will have him return to me, cost what it may; in this world of uncertainties and disappointments I shall be sure of happiness in his society, and he will enjoy more here on earth with me than he could enjoy in the companionship of saints and angels and of the Lord Himself in heaven." Could you dare to say this?' Oh, Katy, what straits she drove me into! No, I could not dare to say that!"