study the works of the old masters; how, with his genius (for she knew
not that _taste_ was often mistaken for genius) and persevering
industry, her boy might yet win a high place in the world, as many
others as poor as he had done. But she was too sensible to let her
thoughts dwell long on this flattering subject, and resolved to do
what she considered right as present duty, committing the issue to
God, in whom she so implicitly trusted.

Christmas-day came round again, and it was a mournful one in the home
of the widow and fatherless. Margaret had changed much during the
year: her face was deathly pale, silver lines showed themselves among
her dark hair, and her usually placid and subdued expression was
exchanged for a look of pain. A harassing cough troubled her by day
and prevented her resting at night; an accompanying weakness created
some little anxiety as to what its issue might be; but, with the
hoping spirit which is ever attendant on that insidious disease called
consumption, she believed that the coming spring would restore her.

It came with its wealth of sunshine, and renovated the earth to
promise of fruitfulness and beauty,--beautiful type of the
resurrection, when man shall rise to glorious immortality. All nature
rejoiced in its presence; the flowers came forth and filled the air
with healthful odours; the birds warbled as they built their nests;
the merry children rejoiced as they played on the green, and exulted
in the liberty the vernal season bestowed. But to the widow spring
brought no renewal of health; and now, finding herself unable to wash,
she consulted a physician, who told her it was too late; the disease
had made large progress, and she could not live through the year!

Such an announcement would startle most persons. Death is so repugnant