LETTERS.
Heaven.
You do like to do good, and live a life worth living, and when you get to heaven you will always want to do exactly the thing by which you can best please the dear Lord. The fashions there in Heaven are set by Him who made himself of no reputation, and came and spent years among poor, ignorant, stupid, wicked people, that He might bring them up to himself,—and I dare say the saints are burning with zeal to be sent on such messages to our world,—I don’t think they “sit on every heavenly hill,” paying compliments to each other, but they are flying hither and thither on messages of mercy to the dark, the desolate, the sorrowful. That’s the way you’ll be when you get there, and spite of all you say about yourself, you’ll get to liking that sort of work more and more here.
His own house.
I shall be glad when he is in a house of his own,—a man isn’t half a man till he is.
FINIS.