ntly as one
presses on, till finally they turn into "mountains of light." Get and
keep a will for God, and everything that will is ready for will come.
This is about a tenth part of what I might say.

_To Miss E. A. Warner, New York, April 25, 1870._

I wish I could describe to you my last interview with Mrs. B. She had
altered so in two weeks in which I had not seen her, that I should not
have known her. She spoke with difficulty, but by getting close to her
mouth I could hear all she said. She went back to the first time she met
me, told me her heart then knitted itself to mine, and how she had
loved me ever since, etc., etc. I then asked her if she had any parting
counsel to give me: "No, not a word.".... Some one came in and wet her
lips, gave her a sprig of citronatis, and passed out. I crushed it and
let her smell the bruised leaves, saying, "You are just like these
crushed leaves." She smiled, and replied, "Well, I haven't had one pain
too many, not one. But the agony has been dreadful. I won't talk about
that; I just want to see your sunny face." I asked if she was rejoicing
in the hope of meeting lost friends and the saints in heaven. She said,
with an expressive look, "Oh, no, I haven't got so far as _that_. I
have only got as far as Christ." "For all that," I said, "you'll see my
father and mother there." "Why, so I shall," with another bright smile.
But her lips were growing white with pain, and I came away.

Did I tell you it was our silver wedding-day on the 16th? We had a very
happy day, and if I could see you I should like to tell you all about
it. But it is too long a story to tell in writing. I don't see but I've
had everything this life can give, and have a curious feeling as if I
had got to a stopping-place. I heard yesterday that two of M.'s teachers
had said they looked at her with perfect awe on account of her goodness.
I really never knew her to do anything wrong.

_To a young Friend New York, May 1, 1870._

I could write forever on the subject of Christian charity, but I must
say that in the case you refer to, I think you accuse yourself unduly.
We are not to part company with our common sense because we want to
clasp hands with the Love that thinketh no evil, and we can not help
seeing that there are few, if any, on earth without beams in their eyes
and foibles and sins in their lives. The fact that your friend repented
and confessed his sin, entitled him to your forgiving love, but not
to