As to May, with the advice of Father Fabian and Mr. Fielding to aid her in the distribution of her wealth, she became gradually reconciled to the idea of being rich, because it afforded her an unfailing source of happiness in the reflection that she could now, in an extended view, become the benefactor of her kind.  And from that day to this she has been the busiest—­the most untiring—­the most loving friend of the poor and afflicted.  Decorating the sanctuary—­visiting the widow and orphan—­relieving distresses, not only by alms, but by words of cheer—­raising up the fallen, and soothing the broken-hearted, was the business of her life; a business sweetened by such ample consolations, that she sometimes dreaded lest she should seek more her own comfort than the kingdom of heaven.  And then she often paused, and wondered and feared, because no wild torrents swept across her way, and no ruggedness wounded her feet in life’s pathway.  But she need not.  The love of God—­a perfect charity, smoothed and brightened all.  Where others would have made gloom, she made sunshine; where others found the waters of life bitter, she sweetened them by her perfect union with the divine will.

And better than all, her practical works of charity were continually adding members to the Church of Christ.  But we must bid her adieu.  She is growing old, but her step is light, and her cheeks still tinted with the hue of health; and, perchance, in some future sketch of life, we may meet her again in her ceaseless round of charity.  Helen was one of her consolations.  A truly Christian wife and mother; though timid and humble in her spiritual life, her unobtrusive piety, amidst temptation and worldly associations, made her an example and edification to all who knew her.  Mr. Fielding, always devoted to May, and admiring the indomitable and cheerful energy of her character, was at last persuaded that, as there is but one God, so there was but ONE FAITH, and ONE BAPTISM, the fruits of which he sought with great humility and steadfastness.  We regret to add, that the benevolent and warm-hearted Mrs. Tabb was so profuse in her charitable belief of the right of all to be saved, that she easily fell in with the New Light of the day—­Spiritualism; and got her head so filled with “circles,” and “progression” and “manifestations,” that not recognizing the demoniac origin of it all, she became hopelessly insane.  Mrs. Jerrold, enraged at the loss of Mr. Stillinghast’s fortune, and the conversion of her son and Helen, retired to the “Cedars,” where between “whist” and opium she drags out a lengthened and miserable existence—­refusing all spiritual aid, and denouncing May in no measured terms, as the cause and prime mover of all her reverses.  We should like to have told all this in our own way, but our limits, already transgressed, warn us to silence, while the night-lamp, burning low in its socket, and the watch ticking faintly, like the last pulses of the dying, tell us, in emphatic language, that the “good-night” hour has come.