me can hardly be called a
pleasant one--or the associations connected with it such as either of us
might wish to recall."

"Our control over events is so slight," I made answer as I resumed my
seat, "that we should separate unpleasant feelings as far as possible
from any memories connected with them."

A faint, sad smile just lightened up her placid face as she said, in
reply to the remark.

"Ah, Doctor, that may not be. Lives are too intimately blended here for
any one to suffer or do wrong without leaving a burden of sadness on
other memories."

"True; but the burden will be light or heavy according to our strength."

She looked at me without replying, for the remark was so palpable, that
it seemed to involve nothing beyond a literal fact.

"Or rather," I said, "the burden will be heavy or light according to our
state or quality."

There was a sign of awakening interest in her countenance as if my
remark had touched some hidden spring of thought.

"If we are right with ourselves," I went on, "the disturbance produced
by others' misconduct will not reach very far down. The pressure of
sadness may lie upon us for a season; but cannot long remain; for the
pure heart will lift itself into serene atmospheres."

"But, who is right with himself?" she said. "Whose heart is pure enough
to dwell in these serene atmospheres? Not mine, alas!"

I looked into the suddenly illuminated face as she put these questions,
in surprise at the quick change which had passed over it. But the
tone in which she uttered the closing sentence was touched with tender
sadness.

"Rather let me say," I made answer, "_in the degree_ that we are right
with ourselves. None attain unto perfection here."

"Yet," said the lady, with a sweet calmness of manner that made her
look beautiful, "is it not pleasant to imagine a state of perfection--or
rather a state in which evil is quiescent, and the heart active with all
good and loving impulses? How full of inspiration is such an ideal of
life! But the way by which we must go, if we would rise into this state,
is one of difficulty and perpetual warfare. The enemies of our peace are
numbered by myriads; and they seek with deadly hatred to do us harm."

"And yet are powerless," said I, "if we keep the outworks of our lives
in order."

"Yes," she answered, "it is the very ultimate or last things of our
lives where the power of repulsion resides. We can, in temptation, be it
ever so strong, refuse