eyes of the oldest an unnatural light burned. She was fast sinking to
the grave, but the mother knew it not. Knew not that her darling child
had contracted a disease, which would shortly take her to Heaven, for
the little Eva spoke no word of complaint. Young, as she was, she saw
her mother's agony of soul, and though the little lips were parched
and dry, she told not her ailing.

The tears continued to flow from Mrs. Wentworth, and still the
children gazed on in wonderment. They knew not what they meant.

"Mother," at last said her little infant, "why do you cry?"

She took her on her knees. "Nothing, my darling," she replied.

"Then stop crying," he said, pressing his little hand on Mrs.
Wentworth's cheek. "It makes me feel bad."

"I will stop crying, darling," she replied, drying her tears and
smiling.

Smiles are not always the reply of the heart. We have seen men smile
whoso whole life was a scene of misfortune, and yet this emblem of
happiness has lit their features. It is outward show--a fruit, whose
surface presents a tempting appearance to the eye, but which is
blasted and withered within. Smiles are often like the fruit called
the _Guava_. It is a beautiful looking fruit which grows in the West
Indies, and to the taste is very luscious, but when examined through a
microscope, it presents the appearance of a moving mass of worms. Its
beauty is deceptive, nothing but a wretched view presents itself,