ut that only momentary) when as
hot as could be borne. No nurse could be procured. The few that were in
the city had left from fright when the cholera made its appearance
there that fall, and had not returned. But "grandpa" never wearied in
attentions to his wife. After the violence of my disease had abated,
and I was pronounced by my physicians "out of danger," I continued weak
and in a bad state of health for months. Still, how thoughtful, how
watchful and attentive he was! Often at night have I waked, and the
first object that would meet my eyes would be my husband, walking to
and fro with the baby in his arms, trying to hush her to sleep, lest
she should disturb me.

For at least six months after my partial recovery my limbs had to
be bandaged, to lessen the swelling. No one but he could do this
properly. At night he would prepare the bandages, by rolling them
tightly, and in the morning, immediately after returning from market,
(that he might not lose time from business), he would go through with
the tedious process of bandaging--meanwhile keeping up a cheerful
conversation, which is so reviving to the invalid; and, after
breakfast, he would return to my room, to bid me an affectionate adieu,
before leaving for the store.

During this sorrowful year, my dear husband lost both of his
sisters. Mrs. Wahrendorff died in November; Mrs. Kerr the May
following. In this severe dispensation he derived comfort from the
belief that they had exchanged this for a better world, for they both
had a well-grounded hope in the merits of a crucified Redeemer; and,
even while he mourned for his sisters, he was cheerful.

It is surprising how much real happiness we can have in the midst
of trouble, when the heart is right; and it is surprising, too, how
much real misery we can have in the midst of prosperity, when there is
everything apparently to make life pleasant and blissful, when the
heart is wrong.

You know the little song, "Kind words can never die." "Grandma"
realizes to-day that they never do; nor kind looks either, nor good
deeds. With the God of love, nothing is small. He stoops "to feed the
young ravens when they cry," and yet there are men, (not many, I hope),
who, from pride, selfishness, and ill-nature, imagine that, as "lords
of creation," it is utterly beneath them to minister with their own
hands to the sick and feeble, not even excepting the wife of their
bosoms. Life is made up of little things. "A cup of col