Heartless? Oh no. There was great wailing and moaning at the funeral, and when the one carriage, with as many of the family as could crowd in beside the poor little coffin, started for the cemetery, this same child stood in the doorway, waving her handkerchief, and shouting tragically, "Fare thee well, baby! Fare thee well!" A half-grown girl came up the steps with two tiny chickens about as large as pigeons, their legs tied together, their voices lifted up in shrill squawks. "Father sent you these two chickens for a Christmas present, and says please send him a coat and pair of breeches, and a vest, too, if you can. And mother sent you these eggs for a present, and please send her a warm underskirt and a pair of shoes!" A modest request, surely. Next, a great girl, barefooted, though it was a raw, cold day that made us huddle gladly over a big fire, and with her a small boy, literally naked so far as his bony little legs were concerned. A few fluttering rags that had once been pants depended from the remnant of what had once been a calico waist. An old bag was pinned around his shoulders, which completed his entire outfit. "Please ma'am, mother says she'll send Johnny to school if you'll give him a coat and some breeches." Alas, there is neither on hand, nothing for the boy except a thin cotton shirt, and a pair of thin overalls to make over, by a mother who is more accustomed to the use of a hoe than a needle, and who has seven children as ragged and miserable as poor Johnny. A messenger rushes in without knocking. "Come quick--Mattie's baby burnt!" "Yes, I'll come. Wrap it in cotton and oil." Away flies the messenger. I seize the bottle of morphine and a hat, and follow to the child's home. The floor is strewn with fragments of burnt clothing. A sickening odor of burnt flesh fills the room. The scorched high chair, in which the child was tied and put before the open fireplace, while the mother went to a neighbor's for milk, lay in a pool of water, and beside it, the burnt whisk-broom that an older baby had put in the fire, then dropped blazing under the baby's long clothes, these told the whole sad story. They were all at the grandparent's house next door--a crowd of screaming people. Upon the bed lay what was left of the poor child, moaning in conscious agony. A drop of water containing the precious anodyne which alone could ease it then, soon brought blessed unconsciousness until death kindly bore the little soul to God. But oh! the heart-rending grief of that poor mother! God grant we may never witness such suffering again. We tried to comfort her with our tearful sympathy and prayers, but God alone can ever heal her sore heart.