to be without an influence. The humblest
effort, if it is all that _can_ be made, is as full of greatness at
the core, as the most ostentatious display.

THE DEAD.

IT is strange what a change is wrought in one hour by death. The
moment our friend is gone from us for ever, what sacredness invests
him! Everything he ever said or did seems to return to us clothed in
new significance. A thousand yearnings rise, of things we would fain
say to him--of questions unanswered, and now unanswerable. All he
wore or touched, or looked upon familiarly, becomes sacred as
relics. Yesterday these were homely articles, to be tossed to and
fro, handled lightly, given away thoughtlessly--to-day we touch them
softly, our tears drop on them; death has laid his hand on them, and
they have become holy in our eyes. Those are sad hours when one has
passed from our doors never to return, and we go back to set the
place in order. There the room, so familiar, the homely belongings
of their daily life, each one seems to say to us in its turn,
"Neither shall their place know them any more." Clear the shelf now
of vials and cups, and prescriptions; open the windows; step no more
carefully; there is no one now to be cared for--no one to be
nursed--no one to be awakened.

Ah! why does this bring a secret pang with it when we know that they
are where none shall any more say, "I am sick!" Could only one
flutter of their immortal garments be visible in such moments; could
their face, glorious with the light of heaven, once smile on the
deserted room, it might be better. One needs to lose friends to
understand one's self truly. The death of a friend teaches things
within that we never knew before. We may have expected it, prepared
for it, it may have been hourly expected for weeks; yet when it
comes, it falls on us suddenly, and reveals in us emotions we could
not dream. The opening of those heavenly gate for them startles and
flutters our souls with strange mysterious thrills, unfelt before.
The glimpse of glories, the sweep of voices, all startle and dazzle
us, and the soul for many a day aches and longs with untold
longings.

We divide among ourselves the possessions of our lost ones. Each
well-known thing comes to us with an almost supernatural power. The
book we once read with them, the old Bible, the familiar hymn; then
perhaps little pet articles of fancy, made dear to them by some
peculiar taste, the picture, the vase!--how costly ar