A poor little lad died a few weeks ago in a narrow and crowded street of Central London after four years of terrible suffering from hip disease. His sweet and uncomplaining nature endeared him in a particular way to the friends who visited him, and one of them has taken a picture of him, as he sat up in bed, surrounded by his flowers and small comforts, not long before his death. "Mousie" got his pet name from the doctors at a big hospital, who were so struck by his gentleness, and by the quiet courage with which he endured his painful operations. He had been originally knocked down by a cab, and his feeble constitution never recovered from the accident. Once, to his great delight, he was well enough to attend a meeting of the Ministering Children's League, of which he was a member. He was supported on a table, and helped to make a cushion for a sick old woman. But he was soon obliged to keep to his room and his couch altogether. Even then "Mousie" was often thinking of others. "Can't I do a toy for some poor child who has none?" he would say, and with the wool that was given him he would make balls for babies. "It is not Jesus who sends me this pain," he once explained to the friend who pens this brief memory of him; "He is far too kind: it was my own fault for getting in the way of the cab." Poor "Mousie"! he was only ten years old, but he had his own solution of the mystery of pain. He loved to hear hymns. Someone sang "There is a Happy Land" to him the night before he died, and a little later those who were watching him were surprised to hear him croon the first verse all through in quite a strong clear, voice. Then he sighed pitifully, "Lord Jesus, do take me!" and said to his mother, "I shan't have a bit of pain _there_, you know!" And after a few unconscious hours "Mousie" knew why God had permitted his pain. [Illustration: (_Photo: Mr. W. T. Piper._) "MOUSIE."] Always Rejoicing. When, in 1849, the American author, Nathaniel Hawthorne, was dismissed from being a surveyor, his wife thus writes of the supposed calamity in a letter to her mother: "It has come in the way of an inevitable providence to us (whatever knavery some people may have to answer for who have been the agents in the removal), and I never receive inevitable providences with resignation merely, but with _joy_, as certainly, undoubtedly, the best possible events that can happen for me." Surely this is the right way to regard the changes and so-called chances of this mortal life, if we believe that our Heavenly Father orders the lives of each one of us with individual care. [Illustration: (1) THOMAS BROWN. (_Gordon Boys' Home._) (2) HARRY CASTLEDINE. (_Orphan Working School._) (3) CLARA A. LANGDON. (_Orphan Working School._) (4) FLORENCE ANDERSON. (_National Refuges._) (5) EDWARD M. NYE. (_Reedham Orphanage._) (6) CHARLES E. SMITH. (_Reedham Orphanage._) THE QUIVER GOOD CONDUCT PRIZE WINNERS, 1898.] An Interesting Group.