for the loved who went out of its shelter, never more to return.
Life here is like a leaf from the tree, borne down by the passing gale, and amidst all the summer's greenery no one can tell that it is gone. By and by when the sad news reaches those who have prayed for him, and felt his absence from home, then will be shed tears of regret over his memory, while they think with heart-pangs of the returning veterans of war, amongst which he will not be marching.
It is such a blessed thing that time can heal such grief—that the gentle flowers of remembrance can by and by spring up on their graves, and though never forgotten, yet the keen pain is soothed—the bitterness is washed away, and again life holds out its tempting cup for our eager lips, and we quaff and are at rest, waiting the meeting beyond the river.
I had a pleasant evening after an unpleasant day, and then dreamed away with the night my weariness of heart.
Monday, February 6.
I feel quite like myself this morning; the cold air seems to brace me, although I long for the sunny days to come with warm winds and balmy skies, and varied flowers strewing the grass. The question of peace seems to be the one absorbing theme. How I hope something may grow out of it to fill the land with joy.
When I think of the dear ones out of so many lonely homes which want their presence, I can im-
