t of the iconoclastic touch of
reason and the adverse decree of womanly pride; for natures such as
hers will always grovel in the dust, hugging the mutilated fragments
of their idol, rather than bow at some new, fretted shrine, where
other images hold sway, commanding worship. Looking up almost
wolfishly at that tranquil, shining countenance, she said to her
sullen, mourning heart,--

"There are no more like him, and, if we lose him, there is nothing
left in life, and all hope is at an end, and _finis_ shall be printed
on the first page of the book of our existence; and ruin, like a
pitiless pall, shall cover what might have been a happy, possibly a
grand and good, human career. We did not intend to love him,--no, no;
we tried hard to hate him who stood between us and affluence and
indolent ease, but he conquered us by his matchless magnanimity, and
shamed our ignoble aims and base selfishness, and put us under his
royal feet; and now we would rather be trampled by Ulpian, our king,
than crowned by any other man. Let us plead with Christ to spare the
only pilot who can save us from eternal shipwreck."

Lying there so helpless yet defiant in her desolation, some subtle
thread of association, guided, perhaps, by the invisible fingers of
her guardian angel, led her mind to a favorite couplet often quoted by
Dr. Grey,--

"I heard faith's low, sweet singing, in the night,
And, groping through the darkness, touched God's hand."

If the painted lips in the aureola on the wall had parted and audibly
uttered these words, they would scarcely have impressed her more
powerfully as a message from the absent; and, rising instantly, the
orphan prayed in chastened, humbled tones for strength to be patient,
for ability to trust God's wisdom and mercy.

How often, when binding our idolized Isaacs upon the altar, and,
meekly submissive to what appears God's inexorable mandates, we
unmurmuringly offer our heart's dearest treasure, the sacrificial
knife is stayed, and our loathed and horrible Moriahs, that erst smelt
of blood and echoed woe, become hallowed Jehovah-jirehs, all aglow,
not with devouring flames, but the blessed radiance of God's benignant
smile, and musical with thanksgiving strains. But Abraham's burden
preceded Abraham's boon, and the souls who cannot patiently endure the
first are utterly unworthy of the rapture of the last.

As the girl's mind grew calmer under the breath of prayer--which
stills the billows of