me fashion to the end of her days.
But after this she used to look out of the window; and she sat a great
deal in the conservatory, when it was not too warm there, behind some
tall callas. The servants found her usually standing in the
dining-room; for she listened for footsteps, and was half-ashamed to
have them notice that she had changed in the least. We are all given
to foolish behaviour of this kind once in a while. We are often
restrained: because, we feel bound to conform to people's idea of us.
We must be such persons as we imagine our friends think us to be. They
believe that we have made up our minds about them, and are apt to show
us only that behaviour which they think we expect. They are afraid of
us sometimes. They think we cannot sympathize with them. Our friend
felt almost as if she were yielding to some sin in this strange
interest in the passers-by. She had lived so monotonous a life, that
any change could not have failed to be somewhat alarming. She told
Bessie Thorne afterward, that one day she came upon that verse of
Keble's Hymn for St. Matthew's Day. Do you remember it?--

"There are, in this loud, stunning tide
Of human care and crime,
With whom the melodies abide
Of the everlasting chime;
Who carry music in their heart
Through dusky lane and wrangling mart,
Plying their daily task with busier feet
Because their secret souls a holy strain repeat."

It seemed as if it were a message to herself, and she could not help
going to the window a few minutes afterward. The faces were mostly
tired-looking and dissatisfied. Some people looked very eager and
hurried, but none very contented. It was the literal daily bread they
thought of; and, when two fashionably-dressed ladies chanced to go by
the window, their faces were strangely like their poorer neighbours in
expression. Miss Sydney wondered what the love for one's neighbour
could be; if she could ever feel it herself. She did not even like
these people whom she watched, and yet every day, for years and years,
she had acknowledged them her brothers and sisters when she said, "Our
Father who art in heaven."

It seemed as if Miss Sydney, of all people, might have been independent
and unfettered. It is so much harder for us who belong to a family,
for we are hindered by the thought of people's noticing our attempts at
reform. It is like surrendering some opinion ignominiously which we
have fought for. It i