it is considered neither orthodox nor modest
to furnish left-hand with a trumpet for sounding the praises of
almsgiving right-hand, still I must be allowed to assert that I
appropriate an ample share of my fortune for charitable purposes.
Perhaps you will tell me that I do not give in a proper spirit of
loving sympathy,--that I hurl my donations at my conscience, as 'a sop
to Cerberus.' I have never injured any one, and if I have no tender
love in my heart to expend on others, it is the fault of that world
which taught me how hollow and deceitful it is. God knows I have never
intentionally wounded any living thing; and if negatively good, at
least my career has no stain of positive evil upon it. I am one of
those concerning whom Richter said, 'There are souls for whom life has
no summer. These should enjoy the advantages of the inhabitants of
Spitzbergen, where, through the winter's day, the stars shine clear as
through the winter's night.' I have neither summer nor polar stars,
but I wait for that long night wherein I shall sleep peacefully."

"Mrs. Gerome, defiant pride bars your heart from the white-handed
peace that even now seeks entrance. Some great sorrow or sin has
darkened your past, and, instead of ejecting its memory, you hug it to
your soul; you make it a mental Juggernaut, crushing the hopes and
aims that might otherwise brighten the path along which you drag this
murderous idol. Cast it away forever, and let Peace and Hope clasp
hands over its empty throne."

From that peculiar far-off expression of the human eye that generally
indicates abstraction of mind, he feared that she had not heard his
earnest appeal; but after some seconds, she smiled drearily, and
repeated with singular and touching pathos, lines which proved that
his words were not lost upon her,--

"'Ah, could the memory cast her spots, as do
The snake's brood theirs in spring! and be once more
Wholly renewed, to dwell in the time that's new,--
With no reiterance of those pangs of yore.
Peace, peace! Ah, forgotten things
Stumble back strangely! and the ghost of June
Stands by December's fire, cold, cold! and puts
The last spark out.'"

The mournful sweetness and calmness of her low voice made Dr. Grey's
heart throb fiercely, and he leaned a little farther forward to study
her countenance. She had rested her elbow on the carved side of the
sofa, and now her cheek nestled for support in one hand, while the
other toyed unc