else. But on Saturday, when I went to inquire after your health,
how was I startled to hear that dear James was gone! Ah, what is
this? My dear benefactors, doing so much good to many, to the
Lord, suddenly to be deprived of their most valued comforts! I was
thrown into great perplexity, could do nothing but murmur, why
these things were done to such a family. I could not rest, but at
midnight, whether spoken [or not] it was presented to my mind--
"Those whom ye deplore are walking with me in white." I conclude
from this the Lord saying to sweet Mrs. Stevenson: "I gave them to
be brought up for me: well done, good and faithful! they are fully
prepared, and now I must present them to my father and your father,
to my God and your God."'

It would be hard to lay on flattery with a more sure and daring
hand. I quote it as a model of a letter of condolence; be sure it
would console. Very different, perhaps quite as welcome, is this
from a lighthouse inspector to my grandfather:

'In reading your letter the trickling tear ran down ray cheeks in
silent sorrow for your departed dear ones, my sweet little friends.
Well do I remember, and you will call to mind, their little
innocent and interesting stories. Often have they come round me
and taken me by the hand, but alas! I am no more destined to
behold them.'

The child who is taken becomes canonised, and the looks of the
homeliest babe seem in the retrospect 'heavenly the three last days
of his life.' But it appears that James and Mary had indeed been
children more than usually engaging; a record was preserved a long
while in the family of their remarks and 'little innocent and