THE ALMOND BLOSSOM—FADING CHILDHOOD . 
19 
|E longed for you yesterday to sketch the precious one. 
Such spirit-loveliness as his marble face wore I cannot 
describe; it was infantile, yet so intellectual, the features 
somewhat sharpened by death, all most exquisitely 
chiselled; the sweet blue eyes half open, so there was 
no look of death, but an air of calm, satisfied waiting 
for the good things yet in store. It was quite a mercy 
to me; a message from heaven seemed written there, satisfying every 
wish concerning him. It is not so fair to-day. The eyes have sunk 
a little, and there is an impression of the sadness of earth’s decay. 
The other look was from heaven, and will be a precious memory. I 
think my little Harry will be to us all the flower of the household. 
Only a few days ago I was saying, ‘ This boy will perhaps grow up 
to be a poet,’ he was so quiet, so gentle; he loved the soft evening 
light so much. What a boon it is to have had him! 
Doing and Suffering. 
r I THERE is a Reaper whose name is Heath, 
And, with his sickle keen. 
He reaps the bearded grain at a breath. 
And the flowers that grow between. 
‘Shall I have nought that is fair?’ saith he, 
‘ Have naught but the bearded grain ? 
Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me, 
I will give them all back again.’ 
