ontinually increasing evils; and if you expect repose,
it cannot be here, where envy and detraction are rising against you.
We cannot sway the prejudices of society, Theresa; and in some
respects even the most gifted must submit to their decrees. And now,"
she said, as she rose to take leave, "I must bid you farewell. I have
followed an impulse of kindness in undertaking the dangerous task to
warn and counsel. If you will listen to one fatally versed in the
world's ways, you will cease to defy public opinion, and amid the more
tranquil scenes of your home, you will acquire a truer repose than
ever fame bestowed. In all probability we shall meet no more, yet I
would fain carry with me the consolation of having rescued from
confirmed bitterness of spirit, the child of a faithful friend, and
pointed a yearning heart to its only rest." And before Theresa could
reply, the door had closed, and the visiter was gone.

THERESA'S LETTER.

"My friend! the credulity is ended, the illusion is
over, and I shall return to you again. There are
reasons I need not mention now, which would render a
residence with my sister painful, and with my old
waywardness I would come to you, the kind sharer of my
young impulses, and to your home, the quiet scene of
my happiest days. I am listless and sick at heart; and
the hopes that once made my future radiant, appear
false and idle to my gaze. Success has bestowed but
momentary satisfaction, while failure has produced
permanent pain; and I would fain cease my restless
strivings, and be tranquil once more. This is no hasty
resolve; several weeks have elapsed since I was
prompted to it first; and I believe it is wiser to
submit than to struggle--to learn endurance, than to
strive for reward. In a few days more I shall be with
you, saddened and disheartened, and changed in all
things but in love and gratitude."

She had, indeed, changed since I saw her last, nearly three years
before. The world had wrought its work, hope had been crushed by
reality. Her health was evidently fatally affected, and her voice,
once so gay and joyous, was low and subdued. It was mournful to my
loving eyes to mark the contrast between the sisters now; Amy, in the
noiseless routine of domestic duties, found all her wishes satisfied;
she was rendered happy by trifles, and her nature demanded nothing
they could not offer. Without