an be made
of them. For my part, I do not think the glory would be half so much
glory, if it were not for the sufferings going before."

"To suffer with Christ, and for him, that is glory now," said Mr. Rhys;
"to have been so honoured will always be part of our joy. If any man
suffer as a Christian, let him not be ashamed, but rather let him
glorify God on this behalf. Those be tears that Christ's own hand will
wipe off; and what glory will that be!"

"The word of God fails to express it," said Mr. Amos, "and calls it
'riches of glory.' Riches of glory, to be poured into vessels prepared
to receive it. Surely, being such heirs, none of us has a right to call
himself poor? we are heirs of an inheritance incorruptible, and
undefiled, and not subject to decadence or failure. We may well be
content with our penny earnest in this life, who have such an estate
coming in."

"I feel poor very often," said gentle Mrs. Amos; "and I suppose that
must be my own fault; for the word says, 'Riches and honour are with
me; yea, durable riches, and righteousness.'"

"Those are riches that none but the poor come into possession of," said
Mr. Rhys. "The poor in spirit inherit the kingdom, and nobody else. It
is our very emptiness, that fits us for receiving those unsearchable
riches. But having those, sister Amos, it is no deprivation of this
world's good things that would make you feel poor?"

"O no, indeed!" said Mrs. Amos. "I did not mean that sort of poor."

"The rich he will send empty away"--Mr. Rhys went on.

"So in the matter of suffering," said Mr. Balliol taking up the word.
"If we are partakers of Christ's sufferings now, we are told to
rejoice. For when his glory is revealed, the word is, that we shall be
glad also, and with exceeding joy. When his glory is revealed here, a
little, now, we are glad; our joy seems to be exceeding, now, brother
Rhys. I wonder what it will be when God calls it exceeding joy!"

There was a pause; and then Mrs. Amos, for the sake simply of starting
Eleanor, whose voice she knew in it, began softly the song, "Burst, ye
emerald gates!" She had her success, for Eleanor with the others took
up the words, and carried it--Mrs. Amos thought--where Mr. Rhys's
prayer had been. When the song ceased, there was silence; till Mr. Rhys
said, "Eleanor!"--It was her turn to speak.

"I do not believe," she said speaking low and slowly,--"that either
sufferings, or premises, or duties, will bring the hope o