But, at the same time, it matters not what we suffer, we must allow nothing in this world of trial to shake our trust in God.

Here, however, is our poor little messenger.

Well Edward, any letter ?" "Oh, yes, papa; there is one from Matilda.

I know her writing." He then handed the letter to his father, and immediately going over to his sick sister, he placed a slice of bread and butter in her hand, adding, "The head-constable of police gave it to me; I would have refused it though--but for Maria." "Did you eat none of it yourself, Edward ?" asked Maria.
"No," he replied, "I thought mamma might make you up some light nice thing out of it." "But I cannot eat it, my dear Ned; divide it as you wish, but thank you, darling, from my heart, for thinking of me." He then would have shared it as equally as he could among them, but to himself and his brother it was left; the others, from a feeling which may easily be understood, declined to partake of it.
We do not, of course, give this as a general picture of the distress which was felt; but we do give it as a picture which was by no means rare among the established clergy at the period of which we write.

We know, from the best authority, that the privations of the time were frequently so severe as to find many families without food to eat.
Their daughter's letter was touching and simple, but unfortunately it contained, not the remittance they expected; a circumstance which, in their condition, was such a disappointment as cannot well be described.
She stated that, in consequence of the absence from home, for some days, of the family with whom she lived, it was out of her power to send them the full amount of her first quarter's salary as she had intended, or any money at all, as they knew she had none except her salary to send.
She wrote, however, lest they might think or suppose for a moment that she had forgotten them.