joy she had long been a stranger to. She felt
that her life would no longer be useless, if she could live for
Alice, and lift up to God her heart. How beautiful in its freshness,
is the early day when the light of a good resolve breaks like a halo
over the soul, and by its power, seeks to win it from its selfish
idols! Earnest and strong is the hopefulness that bids us labour
trustingly to become all we yearn to be--all we may be. How
tremblingly Mary Clinton leaned upon her Saviour! experience had
taught her the weakness of her fluttering heart; sorrow was
familiar, yet she prayed not to shrink from it. How clear and
vigorous was the mind of Alice--how shadowless was her unerring path
to be--how all weakness departed before the sudden thought that rose
up in her soul! How rich was the light that beamed from her steady
eye--how calm and trusting the slight smile that parted her lips!
How meek and confiding she was, and yet how full of strength! She
was a young seeker after truth, and she realized not yet, that that
same truth was the power to which she must bow every rebellious
thing within her. Months rolled on, and the quiet gladness in her
heart made it a delight to her to do anything and everything it
seemed her duty to do. The unexplored world within opened to her
gaze, and threw a glory upon creation. Infinitely priceless in her
eyes, were the thousand hearts around her, in which the Lord had
kindled the undying lamp of life.

One evening, at rather a late hour, Alice Clinton sought the chamber
of her aunt and seated herself quietly beside her, saying in a
subdued voice as she took her hand, "I am inexpressibly sad
to-night, Aunt Mary. There is no very particular reason why I should
feel so; no one can soothe me but you. Put your arms around me, Aunt
Mary, and talk to me--give me some strength to go forward in the way
I have chosen. I almost despair--I have no good influence, no moral
courage. Perhaps, after all, my efforts have been in vain to become
better, and I shall sink back into my former state. If all who are
my friends were like you, it would be an easy thing to glide on with
the stream. But I am in the midst of peril--I never knew until
to-night that it was hard to speak with a cold rigour to our friends
when they merit it. If I were despised, or neglected, I could more
easily fix my thoughts on heaven. I dread so to hurt the feelings of
any one."

"What do you refer to, dear?" inquired Aunt Mary, ten