grateful heart, and was content.

Summer flowers were blooming when Bess went from the old home a
happy wife, leaving her faithful friend alone in the little room
where Jamie lived and died.

Years passed, and Walter's pen had won for him an honored name.
Poverty and care were no longer his companions; many homes were open
to him, many hearts would gladly welcome him, but he still lingered
in the gloomy house, a serious, solitary man, for his heart lay
beneath the daisies of a child's grave.

But his life was rich in noble aims and charitable deeds, and with
his strong nature softened by the sharp discipline of sorrow, and
sweetened by the presence of a generous love, he was content to
dwell alone with the memory of little Jamie, in the shadow of "the
cross upon the tower."






THE DEATH OF JOHN.





This is not a tale, but a true history.--ED.