lay parted on that brow, where an infinite capacity had set its seal. And that spiritual eye-so quickly perceiving-so eagerly exploring! and those sweet red lips-love and laughter, and beauty are there. Now she snatches a tuft of flowers from the grass-now she springs to meet her playmate, the young, frisky dog-and now she is shouting playfully: he has knocked her over, and they are rolling on the turf together!

Before three months passed away, she had lain down the beautiful garments of her mortality; she had entered the gates of immortal life and those who followed her to its threshold, felt that, to the end, her ministry had been most sweet. "Life is sweet" to the young, with their unfathomable hopes—their unlimited imaginings. It is sweeter still with the varied realization. Heaven has provided the ever-changing loveliness and mysterious process of the outward world in the inspirations of art —in the excitement of magnanimous deeds-in the close knitting of affections-in the joys of the mother-the toils and harvest of the father-in the countless blessings of hallowed domestic life.

"Life is sweet" to the seeker of wisdom, and to the lover of science; and all progress and each discovery is a joy to them.

"Life is sweet" to the true lovers of their race; and the unknown and unpraised good they do by word, or look, or deed, is joy ineffable.

But not alone to the wise, to the learned, to the young, to the healthful, to the gifted, to the happy, to the vigorous doer of good, -is life sweet: for the patient sufferer it has a divine sweetness.

What," I asked a friend, who had been on a delicious country excursion, "did you see that best pleased you?"

My friend has cultivated her love of moral, more than her perception of physical beauty, and I was not surprised when, after replying, with a smile, that she would tell me honestly, she went on to say: "My cousin took me to see a man who had been a clergyman in the Methodist connection. He had suffered from a nervous rheumatism, and from a complication of diseases, aggravated by ignorant drugging. Every muscle in his body, excepting those which move his eyes and tongue, is paralyzed. His body has become as rigid as iron. His limbs have lost the human form. He has not been lain on a bed for seven years. He suffers acute pain. He has invented a chair which affords him some alleviation. His feelings are fresh and kindly, and his mind is unimpaired. He reads constantly. His book is fixed in a frame before him, and he manages to turn the leaves by an instrument which he moves with his tongue. He has an income of thirty dollars! This pittance, by the vigilant economy of his wife, and some aid from kind rustic neighbors, brings the year round. His wife is the most gentle, patient, and devoted of loving nurses. She never has too much to do, to do all well; no wish or thought goes beyond the unvarying circle of her conjugal duty. Her love is as abounding as his wants -her cheerfulness as sure as the rising of the sun. She has not for years slept two hours consecutively.

"I did not know which most to reverence, his patience or hers! and so I said to them. Ah!' said the good man, with a

most serene smile, 'life is still sweet to me; how can it but be so with such a wife?"

And surely life is sweet to her, who feels every hour of the day the truth of this gracious acknowledgment.

Oh ye, who live amidst alternate sunshine and showers of plenty, to whom night brings sleep, and daylight freshness-ye murmurers and complainers who fret in the harness of life till it gall you to the bone-who recoil at the lightest burden, and shrink from a passing cloud,-consider the magnanimous sufferer my friend described, and learn the divine art that can distil sweetness from the bitterest cup!

LEONORA L'ESTRANGE.

BY MRS. FRANCES SARGENT OSGOOD.

CHAPTER I.

THE QUESTION.

"MAMMA-mamma!" cried little Rose Russel, a beautiful child of nine years old, scampering into the breakfast-room, with her blue gingham sun-bonnet in her hand, and her satchel on her arm, "mamma, you said I should have the fancy-ball, if I brought home the History medal to-day!"

"And so you shall, my precious child-but let me put on your bonnet quick, or you will be late to school!" and the fond mother smoothed back the glossy, golden, clustering curls, tied the strings under the dimpled chin, kissed the sweet, smiling mouth held up to her, and bade her darling hasten on her way.

Little Rose's heart beat quick that day as she took her place at the head of her class in History; but unfortunately, in her eager agitation, she missed-as they say at school-in the very first question put to her. The question passed on unanswered, till it reached the last child in the class. It was a new scholara plain-looking little stranger, in deep mourning, with large,

wistful, dark eyes, sallow complexion, and straight black hair, hanging neglected about her ears.

As she gave the answer promptly and correctly, the wild eyes lighted up, and a faint tinge of red stole into the hitherto colorless cheek; but, directly, the lashes drooped again-the light— the glow faded as suddenly as they came, and she took her place at the head with an air of listless languor, for which the other eager little aspirants tried in vain to account.

Poor Rosy's blue eyes sparkled through their tears with momentary resentment at what she looked upon almost as an usurpation of her rights; but when she saw the sorrowful expression in her schoolfellow's face, her ready sympathies were at once excited in her behalf, and before the lesson was finished, she found herself almost as much interested in her rival's success as in her own.

At the last question, Leonora, the young stranger, hesitated— evidently, for the first time, at a loss.

"Now," said Rose, to herself, with a triumphant glow on her fair sweet face, "I shall be at the head again-and I shall have the ball!"

She looked up eagerly, exultingly to her companion. Leonora's cheek was intensely pale-her lips trembled, and her dark eyes flashed with the earnest excitement of the moment.

The fresh, young heart of Rose was touched and awed, she hardly knew why, by this strange enthusiasm in one so little older than herself. With a generous impulse of interest and pity, she suddenly cast down her eyes, and softly whispered the answer to her companion.