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 lovingly, she took her flight. Towards noon she came to her mother and laid her head in her lap, saying "Mother, will you please take me up, I'm so tired!"

A high fever already coursed through her veins, and she fell a victim to a mortal disease very prevalent among children that summer; but she had always been so healthy not one of the family had thought of feeling any anxiety for her. Little were they aware how firmly their affections were centred in her, or how important a part she formed of every plan for the future. If the thought ever suggested itself that she might not live, it was banished with a feeling akin to that a child feels for a mother, who, associated with every moment of life, and sharing every joy and sorrow as no other person can, forms such an essential part of existence, that the thought of parting with her is as unwelcome as a nightmare dream.

Lilly did not suffer as much as some. During most of the time she lay in a languid state, smiling faintly when spoken to, and seldom making an effort to speak. She died in her father's arms, and the last words she said were, "Father, I cannot see you now; but you can see my picture."

That picture! The death Angel touched it and straightway it was transfigured into a celestial beauty earthly hands could not impart, nor earthly passions take away. But who shall describe that father's anguish! During her sickness he had scarcely eaten or slept, and his nervous system was now prostrated. As long as there was life he felt there was hope, and