afterward; but in her life it was first the farce of a useless life,
and then the tragedy of a wretched eternity.

Compare the life and death of such an one with that of some Christian
aunt that was once a blessing to your household. I do not know that
she was ever offered the hand in marriage. She lived single, that
untrammelled she might be everybody's blessing. Whenever the sick were
to be visited, or the poor to be provided with bread, she went with a
blessing. She could pray, or sing "Rock of Ages," for any sick pauper
who asked her. As she got older, there were days when she was a little
sharp, but for the most part Auntie was a sunbeam--just the one for
Christmas-eve. She knew better than any one else how to fix things.
Her every prayer, as God heard it, was full of everybody who had
trouble. The brightest things in all the house dropped from her
fingers. She had peculiar notions, but the grandest notion she ever
had was to make you happy. She dressed well--Auntie always dressed
well; but her highest adornment was that of a meek and quiet spirit,
which, in the sight of God, is of great price. When she died, you all
gathered lovingly about her; and as you carried her out to rest, the
Sunday-school class almost covered the coffin with japonicas; and the
poor people stood at the end of the alley, with their aprons to their
eyes, sobbing bitterly; and the man of the world said, with Solomon,
"Her price was above rubies;" and Jesus, as unto the maiden in Judea,
commanded: "I SAY UNTO THEE, ARISE!"




PICTURES IN THE STOCK GALLERY.