that book as those do who are always sick, and suffering pain."
It was the rarest thing in the world for Charlotte to allude to her peculiar trials. Harry looked sad, and little Susan, who had the most marvellous faculty of seeing a bright side to every thing, said, in a tender voice, and putting her arm round her sister's neck,
"Then, Lottie, there is some comfort in being sick, is not there?"
"There is, Susan; there is comfort when you cannot eat, nor sleep, nor walk abroad in the pure air, nor look out upon this beautiful world; when neither doctors' skill nor friends' love can lessen one pang, it is then comfort—it is life to the dead, Susan, to read in this blessed book of God's goodness and compassions; to sit, as it were, at the feet of Jesus, and learn from him who brought life and immortality to light; that there is a world where there is no more sickness nor pain—where all tears are wiped away."
There was a pause, first broken by Susan asking if those that were well and happy did not love to read the Bible too.
"Oh, yes, indeed," replied Harry; "I remember mother used to say she read the Bible for every thing—to make her wiser, and better, and happier. I believe seeing mother so happy over it has made me like it more."
"I should think so," said Susan; "I am sure I should not love to read any thing that did not make me happy—but here comes Morris; what book did you get, Morris?"
