and delicate support alone is left. Inroads upon a once ample fortune had been made, the beautiful home had fallen into stranger hands, disease had dimmed the sight once gratified by the outward, and impoverished age was grateful to receive a shelter, though humble, and counted herself peculiarly fortunate in being permitted to rest among the long-tried friends of her youth. These were her outward changes, but of the inward, the spiritual, she has only casually spoken in the touching conversations that I have eagerly held with her in my oft repeated visits since my first introduction to her cot. Of these I must speak, as by them was unfolded the grace that is the beauty of old age. A child of fortune, with few unanswered wishes, pettishness and extreme sensitiveness were the only returns she gave for the beneficence around her. She was graceful in her exterior when in society, warm and ardent in her affections, yet one harsh word or look of reproof would send the warm gush from her heart, and one slight disappointment could damp the pleasures of the brightest scenes. Though few perceived it, an habitual unquiet was at her heart; and while secretly murmuring for the resources of enjoyment beyond her reach, she neglected the gift within her, and checked the current of young thoughts that in after-life come like the memory of sweet dreams. Her husband was the most tender and devoted, who had been won by her affectionate manners, and yet, though she loved him, her new connection was another source of disquiet. She regarded him of the highest order of minds, and deemed that he would despise her when he should discover her want of the same refinement and strength of intellect, and while cares and duties were multiplying around her, she added to them by ineffectual attempts to amend the early defects in her education; she could not resist the calls of duty and home, and for years she felt her mind chained, and secretly repined that she was so little enabled to become worthy of him. Sickness came to her home-months of pain and weariness were allotted her, and love sat by her couch relinquishing all the outward sources of ambition and pleasure, and the soft, loving arms of childhood were around her neck, and warm, true lips were pressed to hers. It was then she felt she had those that truly loved her, and she gained the first enjoyments of peace. She arose from the bed of sickness with an attenuated frame, and but shadowy the forms of her dear ones came before her dimmed eyes; but her heart had gained strength, and the light of the eye seemed to have fled to give intensity to her affections. Changes, trials, and separations, came, but she 'gave her soul to peace,' and felt that all came from Him who woundeth but to heal. Alice, the pure and gentle Alice, was spared to her, and how often did the thanksgiving of her soul arise to God for her presence! And she is a blessed presence! Day by day she toils diligently for subsistence, but that soft voice and intelligent face are not doomed to always waste their sweetness.' Waste, did I say? No, naught of her goodness is wasted; it is felt by her grandmother and is confessed by many. She has become an especial favorite at the good parson's, for his daughters became interested in her, attracted by the peculiar sweetness of her modest look when she handed in at the Dorcas meeting ' good Hannah's' gift, and they have since found the way to the humble cottage. And I have lately discovered that the parson's noble son treads the path thereto oftener than they, always with a book or two. He has a benevolent heart, and fears, no doubt, that she is deprived of many advantages for improvement. I hope sweet Alice will profit by his aids, and I have no doubt she will compensate him one day for his attentions. The daughter of peace must make a good wife. CHAPTER V. Long-suffering. 'It will teach thee that grief hath her needful part READER! do the words of the motto bring to your imagination a form bowed with care and age, and with the lines of sorrow deeply furrowed on the brow? Perchance, you have gained lessons of wisdom and humiliation from the lips of experience, and felt the truth that the patient bearing of injuries, the struggling through temptations and trials, and the soft, mild answer in return for reviling and abuse, were the fruit of a holy spirit within and adorned with the heavenly grace of long-suffering. But do not turn doubtingly from my sketch, if I bring to you the youthful form of Elenor Carlton, along whose path the blossoms of but nineteen summers have scarcely cast their fragrance. The lovely face, with its serene, moonlight expression, reflected from the glorious and heavenly light she has gained from the volume that lies open before her as she sits in contemplation at the open casement, may draw your interest, and let it go with you back to her childhood when the last kiss of her widowed mother was imprinted on her brow. Do you doubt that the young have their lot of trials to bear? Ah! if so, you should have entered with your deepest feelings into that young heart when the last cold clod was thrown on her parent's remains by the unsympathizing sexton, and she sobbingly turned from them and took the hand of her baby-brother to follow her uncle to the almost stranger home. The few kind neighbors that had followed the beloved and beautiful widow to her grave, looked sadly on her little orphans and whispered low, soothing words to them as they stooped to kiss their moistened cheeks; and the groups of children that had collected around the enclosure from idle curiosity, stopped in their gambols, hushed the merry laugh, and looked sorrowfully into each others faces; and one little boy even ventured to approach the mourners and attempted to speak, but, bursting into tears, could only walk silently by their side to express his sympathy. The home which they entered was a kind one for the little orphans as far as their outward wants were concerned; but their uncle was immersed in business and could seldom see them, and their aunt, though she welcomed them with as much tenderness as her cold nature would allow, knew not the many little secret windings |