CHAPTER Eleventh.
BAPTISM OF THE SICK WIFE AND HER CHILDREN.
In having all things, and not Thee, what have I?
Not having Thee, what have my labors got?
Let me enjoy but Thee, what further crave I?
And having Thee alone, what have I not?
I wish nor sea, nor land; nor would I be Possessed of heaven, heaven unpossessed of Thee.
QUARLES.--"_Emblems._" He whom God chooseth, out of doubt doth well.
What they that choose their God do, who can tell?
LORD BROOKE (London, 1633).--"_Mustapha._" A lady with whom we spent a summer at a watering-place, and who was then an invalid, and with whom we had formed an intimate acquaintance, was now very sick, with cancerous affections, which threatened to end her life at no distant period.
She had become established in the Christian faith, during her illness, and, being a woman of great intelligence and cultivation, it was instructive to be in her company.

Many a lesson had I learned from her, in the freshness and ardor of her new discoveries as a Christian, the old themes of religious experience being translated by her renewed heart, and discriminating mind, into forms that made them almost new, because they were so vivid.

She was fast ripening for heaven; she had looked in, and her face shone as she turned to speak with us.
A lady, a friend of hers from a distance, was visiting us, and, knowing that she was sick, requested me to call with her upon the invalid.
Hearing that I was in the parlor, she sent for me to come up and sit with her and my friend, after they had seen each other a little while.
She was in her easy-chair, able to converse, and was calm and happy.
The door opened suddenly, as we were talking, and in rushed a little boy of about six years, his cap in his hand, a pretty green cloth sack buttoned close about him, his boots pulled over his pants to his knees, and his face glowing with health and from the cold air.
"O, mother!" said he, before he quite saw us,--and then he checked himself; but, being encouraged to proceed, after making his salutations, he said, in a more subdued tone, holding up a great red apple, "See what the man, where we buy our things, sent you, mother.

He called me to him, and said, 'Give that to your mother, and tell her it will be first-rate roasted.'" As the mother smelt of it, and praised it, with her thanks, the boy hung round her chair, and wished to say something.
"Well, what is it, my son ?" He spoke loud enough for us to hear, with his eyes glancing occasionally at us, to be sure that we were not too intently looking at him, and, with his arm resting in his mother's lap, he said: "Do, please, let me go with my sled on the pond.

It is real thick, mother.