are strangers. But you must excuse me,
though my heart does sometimes run over."

"Oh, do not suppose," said Mary, making an effort to conquer her
feelings, "that we are so heartless as to refuse to take a part in the
afflictions of others; surely none can be so selfish; and might I be
allowed to come often--very often--" She stopped and blushed; for she
felt that her feelings were carrying her farther than she was warranted
to go.

Mrs. Lennox kindly pressed her hand. "Ah! God hath, indeed, sent some
into the world, whose province it is to refresh the afflicted, and
lighten the eyes of the disconsolate. Such, I am sure, you would be to
me; for I feel my heart revive at the sound of your voice; it reminds me
of my heart's darling, my Louisa! and the remembrance of her, though
sad, is still sweet. Come to me, then, when you will, and God's
blessing, and the blessing of the blind and desolate, will reward you."

Lady Emily turned away, and it was not till they had been some time
in the carriage that Mary was able to express the interest this visit
had excited, and her anxious desire to be permitted to renew it.

"It is really an extraordinary kind of delight, Mary, that you take in
being made miserable," said her cousin, wiping her eyes; "for my part,
it makes me quite wretched to witness suffering that I can't relieve;
and how can you or I possibly do poor Mrs. Lennox any good? We can't
bring back her sons."

"No; but we can bestow our sympathy, and that, I have been taught, is
always a consolation to the afflicted."

"I don't quite understand the nature of that mysterious feeling called
sympathy. When I go to visit Mrs. Lennox, she always sets me a-crying,
and I try to set her a-laughing. Is that what you call sympathy?"

Mary smiled, and shook her head.

"Then I suppose it is sympathy to blow one's nose--and--and read the
Bible. Is that it? or what is it?"

Mary declared she could not define it; and Lady Emily insisted she could
not comprehend it.

"You will some day or other," said Mary; "for none, I believe, have ever
passed through life without feeling, or at least requiring its support;
and it is well, perhaps, that we should know betimes how to receive as
well as how to bestow it."

"I don't see the necessity at all. I know I should hate mortally to be
what you call sympathised with; indeed, it appears to me the height of
selfishness in anybody to like it. If I am wretched, it would be no
comfort to