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 - IV U.
 
 EDITH'S MINISTRY 
 
 BY 
 
 HARRIET B. McKEEVER, 
 
 AUTHOR 0* " SUNSHINE," " WOODCLIFF," " THE WOODCLIFF CHILDREN," STO. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 J. P. SKEI.LY & CO., 
 
 No. 21 SOUTH SEVENTH STREET, 
 
 (SECOND FLOOR.) 
 1869.
 
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1859, by 
 
 HARRIET B. McKEEVER, 
 
 In the Office of the Clerk of the District Court for the Eastern District 
 of Pennsylvania. 
 
 SlKBEOTTPED AND PRINTED BT ALFRED MARTIEX.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. PAGE 
 THE CLIFFORD FAMILY 7 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 THE GOVERNESS 17 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 THE STRONG-MINDED WOMAN 28 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 RALPH CAMERON 36 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 ROSY DEEAMS 46 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 CITY COUSINS 54 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 THE Two PASTORS 62 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 AUNT PRISCILLA. 74 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 A PICTURE ON THE BALCONY 86 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 THE FAMILY CHAIN BROKEN 97 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 BEYOND THE SEA Ill 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 PRINCIPLES TRIED 125 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 AMONG THE MOUNTAINS 139 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 SCENES NEVER TO BE FORGOTTEN ... 147 
 
 2047323
 
 VI CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. PAGE 
 ANGELS' VISITS 161 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 THE BAPTISM OF GEIEF 175 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 BANISHED 193 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 DISAPPOINTED HOPES 210 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 MISGUIDED MADGE 228 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 COMING OUT 248 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 WOODBINE COTTAGE 286 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 Is IT MADGE? 284 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 A WRECK UPON A SUMMER STREAM 303 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 GREEN PASTURES AND STILL WATERS 321 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 AUTUMN LEAVES AND THE OLD ELM-TREE 341 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 THE SISTER'S RECOMPENSE 361 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 WINTER BLASTS ABOUND OAK HALL 379 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 EVENING.... ... 394
 
 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE CLIFFORD FAMILY. 
 
 HE wind whistled shrilly around a noble man- 
 sion, which stood proudly upon a high eminence 
 on the North River. It had been called Ravens- 
 wood, after the family name of Mrs. Clifford, 
 and had belonged for many years to the old 
 estate. 
 
 From the front piazza there was a commanding 
 view of the beautiful Hudson, and all around, 
 the scenery was highly picturesque and romantic ; rolling 
 hills and noble forests, dotted over with tasteful residences, 
 presented a picture of exceeding beauty. In summer, the 
 noble river was one of the most attractive features in the 
 landscape, but now, its ice-bound surface only spoke of the 
 presence of a grim jailer, shutting in a cheerless prison, its 
 dancing waters. 
 
 Our story opens in the winter, when the trees are stripped 
 of all their luxuriant foliage. 
 
 The keen wind swept around the lofty portico, which 
 stretched across the front and wings of the house, wailing 
 first in low sighs, then in prolonged blasts, cracking the dry 
 boughs, and howling a wintry dirge over the desolation 
 which it had itself created. 
 
 7
 
 8 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 Snow had fallen for several weeks, and the ground was 
 covered with a hard, frozen surface, cracking beneath the feet 
 of the traveller. 
 
 It was night ; the large bay-window of the south wing 
 was brilliantly lighted, and within was seated a lovely fa- 
 mily group, gathered in the library just after their evening 
 meal. The room was large and airy, the walls were fur- 
 nished with walnut book-cases; in the centre stood a large 
 study-table, lighted by a bright lamp with several branches. 
 Comfortable chairs of various kinds were scattered around ; 
 two couches with pillows, covered with crimson moreen, 
 stood, one in the large bay-window, and the other on the 
 side of the room. Fine pictures, and the busts of distin- 
 guished persons adorned the walls, and heavy crimson cur- 
 tains shaded the windows, and served to shut out the wintry 
 blasts. In a large parlor-grate blazed a fire of bituminous 
 coal, and the room exhibited an appearance of wealth and 
 comfort. 
 
 In a comfortable arm-chair, on one side of the fire, was 
 seated Mr. Clifford, a fine, noble-looking man, in the prime 
 of life ; by his side, on a lower chair, reposed the lovely 
 mother of the family. She was a small, delicate-looking 
 woman, so fair and ethereal in her appearance, as always to 
 remind one of the frailty of human life. Her soft blue eyes 
 and transparent complexion, with a profusion of light, 
 flaxen hair, would have indicated weakness of character; 
 unless a more observing glance had been directed to - the 
 arched nostrils, and beautifully curved mouth, where sweet- 
 ness, mingled with firmness, sat enthroned. Her figure, 
 though small, was graceful ; but there was a languor in her 
 movements, a sad sweetness in her smile, and a faltering in 
 her step, that spoke of failing strength, and a feeble hold 
 on life. 
 
 At the table sat Frank, the only son, a boy of sixteen, a 
 handsome youth, with a profusion of curling dark hair, and 
 flashing eyes, brimful of the spirit of mischief. 
 
 Margaret, or Madge, as we shall call her, a girl of fourteen,
 
 THE CLIFFORD FAMILY. 9 
 
 sat in a corner, in a little chair, near the fire, with a large 
 book on her lap, which she seemed to be almost devouring. 
 She was small, thin, and awkward ; her complexion swarthy, 
 her features out of proportion, especially her nose, which 
 was aquiline, and very large; her mouth was expressive, 
 but not beautiful, but her eyes, (when you could get a glimpse 
 of them,) were so remarkable, that once seen, they could 
 never be forgotten ; they were so brilliant and variable in 
 their expression, and at times so luminous, that they seemed 
 almost to emit light ; but so very eccentric and shy was this 
 little girl, that she seldom raised her eyes long enough for 
 you to see their beauty, so generally veiled under the long, 
 dark eye-lashes. 
 
 Books were her constant delight ; so much was she devoted 
 to them, that frequently they were hidden from her to compel 
 her to take the exercise which her health demanded. Child- 
 ish ones did not satisfy her ; the great poets fascinated her 
 completely, and, young as she was, even Shakespeare was 
 understood and appreciated. 
 
 The eldest daughter, Edith, a girl of seventeen, was seated 
 on a couch in the bay-window, with her arm encircling the 
 waist of her governess, whom she dearly loved ; and well 
 she deserved her affection, for Miss Arnold was DO common 
 person. She was about thirty years old, commanding in 
 her appearance, and possessed of rare qualifications as a 
 teacher. 
 
 Edith Clifford was a lovely girl, tall and graceful, with a 
 face beaming with feeling and intelligence ; her complexion 
 was a pale, clear brunette, and a wealth of glossy raven hair 
 hung around her face and shoulders in waving ringlets. Her 
 beauty was chiefly in the lofty and bright expression of her 
 face ; not in the mere skin or in the moulding of her features. 
 She had naturally a proud spirit, but a warm and generous 
 heart, and talents of a high order. 
 
 The third daughter, Blanche, was beautiful as a poet's 
 dream ; the fourth, Adele, a twin, an arch, mischievous little 
 sprite, full of fun and frolic ; the next, Lilly, a timid, sensi-
 
 10 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 tive little creature ; and the pet of the family, Emily, a babe, 
 not yet out of her mother's arms. This family group was 
 gathered, as was their custom, in the library, early in the 
 evening, for papa delighted to have his whole family together 
 at that hour. 
 
 The party at the table was busily employed in a game ; 
 Emily sat on her papa's lap, playing with his hair, patting 
 his cheek, and caressing him tenderly. 
 
 Edith, sitting near the window, called Miss Arnold's atten- 
 tion to the beauty of the winter sky, saying, " How grand 
 the constellations are to-night! Orion is brilliant as a band 
 of diamonds, and the Great Bear, how splendid he appears ! 
 What are those, Miss Arnold, in the shape of an A?" " That 
 is the constellation of the Pleiades; how much more beautiful 
 they are in the winter !" 
 
 As they were conversing, they observed two figures moving 
 rapidly up the avenue that led to the house ; they were male 
 and female, and as they drew nearer, the lad darted out of 
 the path, and ran across the grounds to the window, where, 
 knocking sportively, Edith recognized Gerald Fortescue, 
 and his sister Josephine. In a minute more they entered 
 the room, and were warmly greeted by the party in the 
 library. 
 
 They were near neighbors, who resided at Oak Hall. 
 Josephine, the elder, was a fine-looking girl, with rather a 
 brusque, independent bearing, that was almost masculine. 
 Gerald, aged about nineteen, was a pale, intelligent-looking 
 youth, with waving brown hair, shading a lofty forehead ; 
 and eyes with a thoughtful, dreamy expression. He seemed 
 to look up to his sister with great admiration and reverence. 
 
 They had not been long seated, when the bell rang for 
 evening worship, and Mrs. Clifford arose and led the way to 
 her own sitting-room, followed by all but her husband. He 
 was a man of the world, and, though tenderly attached to his 
 lovely wife, thought her notions too strict and puritanical, 
 therefore, he took no interest in these services. 
 
 Mrs. Clifford was a devoted Christian, and true to her views
 
 THE CLIFFORD FAMILY. 11 
 
 of duty, walked straight forward in her humble path of piety 
 and devotedness to God. It was a trial, in the presence of 
 her servants and children^ thus silently to reprove her hus- 
 band ; but her duty to God demanded it, and she was obe- 
 dient. 
 
 In her room stood a parlor organ. Miss Arnold played 
 delightfully on the instrument, and Mrs. Clifford,- who had 
 a sweet voice, led the singing. Solemnly she read a portion 
 of the Scriptures, and then implored, in earnest, heartfelt 
 prayer, the blessing of God upon her household, not for- 
 getting the guests who were present with them on that occa- 
 sion. 
 
 Gerald was touched by the sweet tones of intercession ; 
 but Josephine remained seated, with rather a contemptuous 
 expression upon her face. She prided herself much upon 
 her noble intellect, forgetting who had bestowed the gift, and 
 instead of using her talents in the service of God, and bowing 
 her will to his, she had struck out a path for herself, and was 
 walking in the light of her own understanding, independent 
 of God's revealed will. In her college life (for she had 
 graduated at a female institution), she had unfortunately 
 carne in contact with strong-minded women, and finding their 
 foolish boasts of independence consonant with her notions of 
 woman's rights, she had thrown aside the gentle charms of 
 womanhood, and had fully imbibed the irreligious spirit of 
 those misguided women. Consequently, this sweet evening 
 service she regarded as fanatical and pharisaical, and sat 
 during the exercises, while others knelt, to show her want of 
 respect for their observances. After the services, they all 
 returned to the library, save little Emily, who was dismissed, 
 with a mother's sweet kiss, to her nightly slumbers. 
 
 Gerald seated himself near Edith, and entertained her with 
 a book of beautiful engravings, which he had brought over; 
 she seemed delighted with the book, and frequently called 
 Miss Arnold to admire the lovely pictures. 
 
 Frank amused himself with teasing his sister Madge (a 
 remarkably sensitive child), who exhibited much impatience
 
 12 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 under the infliction. Blanche, Adele, and Lilly were deeply 
 interested in cutting out some Avinter garments for their dolls. 
 Before separating, all, excepting Madge, joined in several 
 merry games of real sport, but none could persuade the way- 
 ward child to join them. 
 
 " Let her alone," said Frank, thoughtlessly, " she is a poor 
 little mope, always pouting and grum." Madge raised her 
 eyes for a minute, and they flashed fire at her thoughtless 
 brother, as she said : " I don't think I should ever like to 
 play with you, Frank, for you do nothing but pull my nose, 
 and twitch my hair ; you never do so with Blanche and 
 Adele." 
 
 " Go off to your books, Madge, it is all that you are good 
 for," and the poor little thing turned her head away to hide 
 the tear that she was too proud to show. 
 
 She stole softly around to her mother, and whispered, 
 " Mamma, may I go to bed ? I do not feel very well." 
 
 " Go, my child ; and don't forget to pray," was the affec- 
 tionate reply. 
 
 When she retired, she soliloquized thus in the silence of 
 her room. " I wonder if anybody will ever love me ? they 
 all love Blanche and Adele, but they are beautiful, and I am 
 ugly ; I shall never be pretty, and I can't be good, even if I 
 try ; I find my bad temper leading me off, even when I feel 
 my heart bursting for the want of somebody to love me ; I 
 try to hide it, and say cross and wicked things, when I don't 
 feel all that I say. Oh ! dear ! oh, dear ! what shall I do ? 
 mamma tells me to pray ; but do I pray ? or do I only repeat 
 words ? I am afraid that is all ; and yet I can't go to bed 
 without repeating my prayers." Ere retiring, from the force 
 of habit, Madge knelt by her bedside, and repeated her form 
 of prayer, but it gave no relief, for the heart was not in the 
 service. She lay awake for a long time, and at last cried 
 herself to sleep, determined that she would not be any better, 
 and that no one should know what she suffered. 
 
 About nine o'clock, the party in the library separated ; the 
 winter moon was shining over the landscape, and as the
 
 THE CLIFFORD FAMILY. 13 
 
 young people stood on the piazza, Gerald turned to Edith, 
 and said : " I am going to college, soon ; how I shall miss 
 you ; will you ever think of your brother Gerald ?" 
 
 "Yes, indeed, Gerald; in our pleasant walks and rides, 
 in our excursions on the river, everywhere we shall miss 
 you." 
 
 " Edith, I must have a lock of your hair ; will you give it 
 to me before I go ?" 
 
 " You shall have it, Gerald ; and what shall I have of 
 yours ?" 
 
 " You shall have my dog, Bruno. I think that you will 
 take good care of him for my sake, won't you, Edith ?" 
 " Gladly, Gerald ; that will be delightful." 
 " I am going out to ride to-morrow, Edith, before break- 
 fast ; will you accompany me ? or would you think it too 
 cold?" 
 
 " No, indeed, Gerald, I am used to the wind of our bleak 
 hills ; and if mamma will permit me, I will be ready." 
 " Good-night, Edith ; I shall call for you." 
 This conversation took place ere they parted, and Edith 
 turned back into the house, saddened by the thought of soon 
 losing the society of Gerald Fortescue, for they had passed 
 most of their lives in the closest bonds of childish intimacy. 
 
 Frank was a dear affectionate brother, but such a tease, 
 that it was with peculiar feelings of relief, that Edith could 
 always look to Gerald for protection, when her brother was 
 in his mischievous moods. 
 
 Gerald was a peculiarly interesting character, remarkably 
 warm-hearted and generous ; his nature was cast in one of 
 the finest moulds of promising boyhood. Not so strong as 
 Edith, he looked to her often for advice and sympathy, when 
 few others understood him. The attachment which sprang up 
 between these young persons was remarkably pure and tender, 
 and the thought of parting was very painful to each young 
 heart. 
 
 Gerald's education had hitherto been conducted at home, 
 under the care of a tutor, with Frank for his companion,
 
 14 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 after he had passed from the care of a governess, but it was 
 now deemed expedient to send him to college, and his sensi- 
 tive nature shrank from the trial of leaving those he loved. 
 
 When Edith spoke of the ride to her mamma, her consent 
 was freely given, and Edith was up long before the breakfast 
 hour, ready for her ride. Her favorite pony, Lady Jane, 
 was standing at the front door, impatiently champing her 
 bit, in the hands of a groom, and Edith, in her dark riding 
 dress, was seated on the piazza, looking eagerly down the 
 avenue for her companion. In a few minutes, Gerald, 
 mounted on a fine horse, attended by his dog, Bruno, made 
 his appearance ; as soon as he saw the young girl, he lifted his 
 cap, and she welcomed his approach by a graceful wave of 
 her little riding whip. 
 
 Edith had been so long in the country, and been so accus- 
 tomed to exercise out of doors, that she was not afraid of a 
 winter ride ; and warmly clad, she mounted her pony in great 
 glee, and off they scampered, Bruno barking and capering 
 around them in gambols of delight. 
 
 " Edith, what shall I do without you, when I go to college ? 
 we have passed all our lives together, and when I get among 
 a parcel of rough boys, I shall miss my gentle sister." 
 
 "You must be careful, Gerald, of your associates, have 
 nothing to do with dissipated or idle companions ; you have 
 never been away from home, and I suppose that you have no 
 idea what you may have to meet with in college life." 
 
 " You will often see my sister, Edith ; I hope that you will 
 love her for my sake." 
 
 " I cannot be deceitful, Gerald, but indeed thus far I am 
 afraid of Josephine, she has such a way of commanding 
 every one, and has such strange notions about women ; and 
 then she says such dreadful things about ministers, that 
 really, Gerald, I cannot help feeling more of fear than love 
 for her." 
 
 " That is all true, Edith, but still she is my sister, and cer- 
 tainly has great talents." 
 
 " I know it, Gerald, but the other evening when she wa.s
 
 THE CLIFFORD FAMILY. 15 
 
 speaking against our dear good pastor, I could scarcely refrain 
 from speaking, I felt so indignant." 
 
 " I was wounded also, Edith, for how can I ever forget 
 dear kind Mr. Berkely, he has been such a faithful friend to 
 me ; he has given me a letter to the Rev. Mr. Perkins, who 
 is one of the faculty of our college." 
 
 " You will seek his friendship, dear Gerald, and go to him 
 when you need Christian counsel." 
 
 Thus they continued to beguile the time, and at the end 
 of an hour returned, much exhilarated by their morning ride. 
 
 Edith entered the breakfast-room glowing with health, and 
 running up to her mother, kissed her affectionately, and 
 exchanged the morning salutations with each of the family ; 
 after morning prayer, the party separated, and prepared for 
 their daily routine of duty. 
 
 Gerald spent as much of his time as he could spare with 
 his friends. At length the time arrived for his departure. 
 Ere leaving, he visited all his favorite haunts, gave charges 
 to old Uncle Ben, a family servant, concerning all his pets, 
 his pigeons, his rabbits, and his pony, Lion, were all re- 
 membered. 
 
 On the night before his departure, he brought over his 
 dog, Bruno, and said to him : " Now, Bruno, here is your new 
 mistress, you must be a good dog to Miss Edith ; and now, 
 Edith, where is the precious curl?" 
 
 True to her promise, she had cut a beautiful lock from her 
 head, tied it with a ribbon, folded in a piece of paper, and 
 handed it to Gerald. 
 
 "Edith, will you answer my letter, if I write to you?" 
 
 "I will, with mamma's permission." 
 
 " I shall often need your kind sympathy, and shall see your 
 dark eyes bent on me with all your old sisterly affection ; how 
 often I shall long for their approving glance ! Good-bye, 
 Edith." 
 
 " Farewell, Gerald ; be industrious, faithful, studious ; the 
 time will pass away rapidly, if you keep busy; and you will 
 soon be with us aguin."
 
 16 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 As he turned away, Edith saw a tear glistening in his eye, 
 and she prayed for God to bless her youthful companion. 
 
 Edith was very lonely for some time, but with the hope- 
 fulness of youth, she began to count the days which would 
 intervene before Gerald would return ; and though she 
 missed him from all her accustomed haunts, she was too 
 busy with her studies to allow the time to hang heavily. 
 Bruno was her constant companion; in all her rides and 
 walks his presence was indispensable, and nothing could ex- 
 ceed his joy, when he heard his young mistress calling him to 
 her side. 
 
 She heard constantly from Gerald, he made her the confi- 
 dant of all his perplexities, the partaker of all his success, 
 and the sympathizer in all his troubles. His letters were 
 always shown to her mother, who saw nothing in them but 
 kind, brotherly love on his part, and on Edith's the s\veet 
 return of a sister's pure affection. Sometimes, Mrs. Clifford 
 added a postscript, for she pitied the sensitive boy, so early 
 deprived of a mother's love, and finding nothing congenial 
 or womanly in his strong-minded, masculine sister, Josephine. 
 
 At the close of the winter, Edith received the following : 
 
 " DEAR EDITH : As there will be a short vacation of two 
 weeks at Easter, I hope to run up for that period to Oak 
 Hall, when I shall again see my dear old friends. I am 
 making good progress in my studies. I have endeavored to 
 take your advice with regard to associates, for I have but one 
 intimate friend, who is very studious, and an uncommonly 
 smart fellow ; he has carried off several prizes ; he is a re- 
 ligious youth, and takes no part in any of the diversions 
 common to young men. I think that you will like Ralph 
 Cameron ; he is coming home with me. How are old Bruno, 
 and all my pets ? With love to the home circle at Ravens- 
 wood, I remain, as ever, your affectionate 
 
 ' Gerald."
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE GOVERNESS. 
 
 S. CLIFFORD had been for years in a 
 delicate state of health, and had, therefore, 
 been unable to endure the toils of educating her 
 children ; she could not bear, however, to remove 
 them from under a mother's influence, and had 
 been fortunate in having secured the services 
 of a governess remarkably gifted as a discip- 
 linarian, and instructress. She had been a resident in their 
 family ever since Frank was seven years old, and Edith 
 eight ; nine years of constant and affectionate intercourse had 
 greatly endeared the mother and the governess; and the 
 friendship existing between them was disinterested, elevating, 
 enduring ; no single incident had ever marred its happiness, 
 for here were two Christian females united by perfectly sym- 
 pathizing views in the great business of education. Miss 
 Arnold had some peculiar ideas, very different from old 
 established usage, but having made them known to the parents 
 when she first undertook the charge of the children, they had 
 agreed to all her plans, furnished her abundantly with the 
 means of carrying out her views, and after having been con- 
 vinced that she was pious, sensible, judicious, and highly 
 intellectual, both parents resigned the government of their 
 interesting family entirely into her hands, and were richly 
 repaid by the fruits of her labors. When she first came 
 
 17
 
 18 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 among them, the children were small, and she told Mr. Clif- 
 ford that she differed much from many, in her opinions of 
 the best means of training the infant intellect. She would 
 not use books for some time, but would at first endeavor to 
 supply their thirsty minds with a stock of clear and simple 
 ideas; therefore she would wish a room where she could 
 have a cabinet filled with specimens from the animal, vege- 
 table, and mineral world, birds, plants, minerals, shells, 
 diagrams, pictures of animals, specimens of everything 
 which could appeal to the senses, numerical frames, a piano, 
 materials for drawing, &c. Mr. Clifford, judging wisely, that 
 money laid out in education was well invested, spared no 
 pains or expense. 
 
 Accordingly, a large room, light, airy, cheerful was fur- 
 nished, as Miss Arnold directed, for a school-room. It was 
 neatly carpeted, provided with pretty desks and chairs, where 
 attention was paid to their fitness for promoting comfort and 
 physical development. The walls were hung with pictures 
 of animals, plants, flowers, costumes of nations, in fine, 
 everything which could give useful and entertaining information. 
 On one side, were cabinets filled with objects properly classified, 
 birds, butterflies, and insects; another filled with minerals, 
 shells, &c. ; another with specimens of all kinds of common 
 objects, such as a tuft of wool, a pod of cotton, a bunch of 
 flax, a cocoon of silk, some stalks of wheat, rye, corn, &c. 
 Pictures descriptive of real islands, mountains, hills, lakes, 
 rivers, valleys, cities, towns, &c., where the object represented 
 as it really exists, gives clear ideas of the terms used in 
 geography. Such a room is like a charming museum, where 
 young pupils would acquire a love of knowledge, such as no 
 thrumming over worn out books could ever supply. 
 
 We will pay a visit for a moment to some of the institu- 
 tions for the education of the young. The school-room is 
 small, confined, and gloomy ; the children are seated on low 
 benches, without any support for their backs ; some with 
 slates in their hands, scrawling figures without ideas, and 
 letters without meaning. The teacher sits at a desk, with a
 
 THE GOVERNESS. 19 
 
 dull, lifeless aspect. A poor little child is standing by her 
 side, with a worn-out primer in its hand. 
 
 " What letter is that?" Answer, "B." 
 
 "No, it is D. What is that?" Answer, "A." 
 
 " No, it is O. Now mind, that is 0." 
 
 The child begins to yawn, and gaze about the room. 
 
 " Look on your book ; you'll never learn anything. What 
 letter is that ?" Answer, " J." 
 
 " No, that is G. Now what does that spell ? D-o-g 
 D-o-g." " I don't know." 
 
 " That spells dog. Now, say dog." 
 
 By this time the child is very tired, for its interest is not 
 excited. While this tiresome lesson is going on at the desk, 
 the other little ones, becoming weary of their slates, are be- 
 ginning to tease each other. 
 
 " Teacher, Sarah is pulling my hair !" 
 
 " Teacher, Harry is rubbing out my figures !" 
 
 " Teacher, may I go down-stairs ?" 
 
 And the poor lady is annoyed for three hours in succession, 
 by similar trials of her patience. 
 
 We will turn to another picture, and enter Miss Arnold's 
 inviting room. It is a bright spring morning. Seated at 
 her table, we behold the pleasant teacher, neatly dressed, 
 with a cheerful, smiling aspect. We will describe a day 
 when they were all quite young. Edith, Frank, Madge, 
 Blanche, and Adele, are seated around the table, while Miss 
 Arnold is opening school with little Lilly seated on her lap. 
 Happy children ! surrounded by the singing of sweet spring 
 birds around the school-room windows. There is as much 
 of harmony within ; the harmony of loving hearts, of neat 
 attire, of intellectual food, properly administered. Happy 
 children, to be thus early blessed ! 
 
 On the particular occasion to which we have already 
 referred, all, who are able to read, have Bibles in their hands. 
 Each reads a verse from the Sermon on the Mount. Frank 
 reads, " Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the king- 
 dom of heaven." Miss Arnold questions them as follows :
 
 20 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 " Frank, what is meant by poor in spirit ?" 
 " I suppose that it means humble, meek, lowly." 
 " I'll tell you, dear. I saw a boy, the other day, walking 
 out in the avenue. A country boy, much younger, came 
 along, and said something insulting. The large boy flew at 
 him in a passion, and struck the little boy in the face, giving 
 him a black eye. What kind of a spirit had he?" 
 
 Frank's face colored, as he answered, " He had a hasty, 
 passionate temper, I suppose." 
 
 " Imagine that he had gone up to the little boy, and said, 
 gently, ' I am sorry that you made that speech. I feel very 
 kindly towards you, and will show you that I do, if you will 
 come with me to the house.' What kind of a spirit would 
 the boy show ?" 
 
 " He would show a meek and lowly spirit." 
 " Yes ; that is what is meant by being poor in spirit." 
 " But, Miss Arnold," replied Frank, " the boys would call 
 that mean-spirited." 
 
 " Was the blessed Saviour mean-spirited, when it is said of 
 him, that, when dreadfully abused and persecuted, and even 
 struck by cruel men, that ' He opened not his mouth ?' Just 
 imagine the holy sufferer, so calm, so quiet, so dignified. 
 Could you call that undaunted, heavenly countenance mean- 
 spirited ? And we are told to follow his example." 
 
 And thus she continued to remark, for a few minutes, upon 
 these words of Jesus, while the children listened in rapt at- 
 tention ; then going to the piano, she played a sweet hymn, 
 in which they all joined, and then offered a simple, fervent 
 prayer, for guidance, and for blessing. 
 
 " Now, children, we are ready for the lessons of the day." 
 Frank, Edith, and Madge, being old enough, are preparing 
 their recitations ; but Blanche, Adele, and Lilly, are taught 
 by another method. Going to a cabinet, Miss Arnold takes 
 out a tuft of wool, and brings it to the table. 
 " What is this, Blanche ?" 
 " It is wool ?" 
 " Where does it come from ?"
 
 THE GOVERNESS. 21 
 
 " From the back of a sheep." 
 
 " What is it used for?" 
 
 "Clothing, blankets, carpets, &c." 
 
 " Is it hard or soft? Bring me something hard." 
 
 Blanche runs and brings a piece of wood. 
 
 " Adele, bring me a picture of a sheep." 
 
 She runs and brings one. 
 
 " What kind of an animal is a sheep?" 
 
 " It is gentle, timid, useful." 
 
 " Name some of the uses." 
 
 Each child eagerly names something. 
 
 " Who are compared to lambs in the Bible ?" 
 
 " Young Christians." 
 
 After all these questions, and many more, are asked, the 
 black-hoard is resorted to, and the words sheep, lamb, wool, 
 hard, &c., are written with chalk on the board, and the chil- 
 dren taught to spell and pronounce each carefully. Thus, 
 with each word, ideas are connected. 
 
 " Now to what kingdom does the sheep belong ?" 
 
 " To the animal kingdom," replies Adele. 
 
 " How many different kingdoms are in this room ?" 
 
 " Three." 
 
 " What are they ?" 
 
 "The animal, the vegetable, and the mineral kingdoms." 
 
 " Name an animal, Lilly." 
 
 She eagerly calls out, " A peacock." 
 
 " Name a vegetable." 
 
 Another calls out, " Wheat, rye, corn." 
 
 " Name a mineral." 
 
 Another eagerly exclaims, "Slate, crystal, iron, gold." 
 
 The blackboard is called for again. Peacock, wheat, rye, 
 corn, slate, crystal, iron are spelled. 
 
 " Now which of you can give me an account of what you 
 have learned to-day?" 
 
 Blanche threw up her little hand again. 
 
 " Well, let me hear," said Miss Arnold. 
 
 " We have learned that wool grows on the back of sheep ;
 
 22 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 that the sheep is very timid, gentle, useful ; that wool is useful 
 for clothing, blankets, carpets. We have learned that all 
 things are divided into three kingdoms, the animal, the 
 vegetable, and mineral. This room is full of such things." 
 
 " Now, children, get your slates, and copy the words from 
 the black-board ; that is your writing and spelling lesson." 
 
 Any intelligent person witnessing the interest manifested 
 in such a lesson, would be at once convinced by the animated 
 looks and gestures of these highly favored children, that here 
 the intellect is really improved, and the pupils deeply inter- 
 ested. When the copy is completed, and the words correctly 
 spelled, their kind teacher, with a pleasant smile, says : 
 " Now, children, run out a little while, and see which of you 
 can bring me specimens from all the kingdoms which I have 
 named to-day." While they are gone, she proceeds to hear 
 Frank and the two girls their lesson in General History ; 
 every difficult word is explained, and they are not only 
 required to recite perfectly, but to make their own remarks 
 upon characters, incidents, &c., as they proceed ; after this 
 lesson has been fully mastered, they are required to write an 
 abstract in a book prepared for the purpose, ready for next 
 day. No mere parrot teaching is inflicted upon these chil- 
 dren ; books are made interesting, and knowledge delightful. 
 Their school-room is one of the happiest spots in the house, 
 and not a place for stupefying the puzzled brains of unfor- 
 tunate children. In about half an hour, Blanche has brought 
 in a pigeon, Adele a bunch of flowers, and Lilly a rusty old 
 nail. 
 
 " Name this, children," said Miss Arnold, as she caught 
 the pigeon. 
 
 " Mine is an animal," said Blanche. " And mine a vege- 
 table," said Adele. "And mine a mineral," said little 
 Lilly. 
 
 After a sprightly lesson in geography, and an animating 
 game of mental arithmetic, Miss Arnold bade the children 
 prepare for their walk, and quickly attired in suitable 
 clothing, they started off on their daily excursion. On this
 
 THE GOVERNESS. 23 
 
 morning, she directed their course down the avenue, and out 
 into the road, which led them down a steep hill, until they 
 reached a shady lane. 
 
 " I am going to take you this morning, children, down to 
 old Aunt Becky's ; she is very sick, and perhaps she wants 
 something." 
 
 They all ran cheerfully along, except Madge, who was a 
 wilful child, and never willing to take out-door exercise. 
 Miss Arnold saw that a perverse fit was on her ; she did not 
 chide her, but turning to her, pleasantly, said : 
 
 " Come, Madge, I want you for my little companion ; 
 Blanche and Adele have run away from me." 
 
 " My shoe pinches me, Miss Arnold, and I would rather go 
 back home." 
 
 " Come here, Madge, and I will make it comfortable," and 
 taking off her shoe, she perceived that there was a crease in 
 her stocking, which she soon smoothed, and the child could 
 then walk comfortably. Blanche and Adele were in high 
 glee, and ran races all the way, and when they reached Aunt 
 Becky's cottage, their glowing faces brightened the old 
 woman's lowly dwelling. They found her suffering very much 
 with the " rheumatiz," as she styled it. 
 
 " Bless your dear hearts, young ladies, I'm right glad to 
 see you, for I'm so lonesome like when my old man goes away 
 to work, that I feel, sometimes, as if I must get right out of 
 bed, and go too, but I'm so lame, that I can hardly move, 
 any how." 
 
 " Can we do anything for you, aunty ?" said Miss Arnold. 
 
 " Well, honey, if you could send me a little nice tea, and 
 some warm flannel for my old limbs, I would be a thousand 
 times obleeged to ye." 
 
 " You shall have what you want, aunty ; shall I read a 
 few verses to you from the blessed book ?" 
 
 " Yes, and thank'ee, too, dear." 
 
 Miss Arnold, telling the children to be seated, read a few 
 verses from her little pocket Testament, which she always 
 carried with her. Aunt Becky thanked her warmly, and
 
 24 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 then they bade the old woman good-bye, promising to send 
 the comforts she needed. Frank and Edith engaged to 
 bring them in the afternoon, and thus they had learned 
 another lesson, on the duty and blessedness of deeds of 
 benevolence. These were the practical lessons daily learned 
 from their excellent governess ; the intellect, the heart, the 
 character were daily strengthened and purified, under her 
 blessed influence. 
 
 When they returned, the three elder children resumed 
 their studies, which occupied their time, until within half an 
 hour of dinner. Miss Arnold was a fine classical scholar ; 
 she conducted these branches with the elder children, and 
 was preparing Frank for college. Contrary to her usual 
 course, she permitted Madge at twelve to commence these 
 studies, for the child's understanding was so remarkable, 
 that she had really mastered all the elementary branches of 
 an English education ; music and drawing also had a proper 
 place in her instruction. Having deep insight into character, 
 she wielded the sceptre of authority with a skilful hand, and 
 while she had secured general obedience, the mode by which 
 she governed, could scarcely have been described by her 
 young charge. 
 
 Frank's impetuous character had caused her much 
 anxiety. Madge's perverse, unconquerable will sadly per- 
 plexed, and sometimes baffled even her powers of govern- 
 ment; Adele's love of fun, and talent for repartee caused 
 her great uneasiness ; and Blanche's weakness of purpose, 
 and yielding disposition, often alarmed her watchful friend. 
 With Madge she endeavored to avoid a contest, but if the 
 gauntlet was thrown down by the obstinate child, Miss 
 Arnold never yielded one inch of requirements once laid 
 down. Adele was constantly offending, and promising to do 
 better. Edith was a source of great comfort ; having a mind 
 of a high order ; to instruct her, was a work of unmingled 
 pleasure. High and lofty principles of action, were daily 
 striking their roots down deeply into her character, and 
 though pride was still her failing, Miss Arnold hoped that
 
 THE GOVERNESS. 25 
 
 years, and the grace which she desired for her beloved pupil, 
 would finally exterminate the poisoned weed. 
 
 She often looked with trembling anxiety at the pallid 
 countenance, and feeble step of her dear friend, the mother 
 of this family, and prayed earnestly that God would spare 
 the Christian mother to her flock. Mrs. Clifford's physician, 
 sometimes sp^oke of a residence in the south of France, as 
 probably the only means which could restore her health, 
 and Mr. Clifford was seriously weighing the whole matter 
 in his mind. He had written to friends residing there, ask- 
 ing what accommodations could be obtained for so large a 
 family ; what would be the best mode of reaching there, and 
 all other information necessary, ere taking a step which 
 might prove so important; this he intended, however, should 
 be a last resort, as he had heard much of Magnolia, a place 
 in Florida, celebrated for invalids. With the advice of his 
 physician, he had concluded that in the following autumn, 
 he would take his beloved wife to this institution, ere the 
 cold season should commence ; and if no benefit was derived 
 from this, a removal to the continent would be the next step. 
 Madge became increasingly perverse and troublesome; it 
 required all Miss Arnold's wisdom to know how to manage 
 her. 
 
 One morning when the bell for school rang, the little girl 
 was nowhere to be found ; after a long search, one of the 
 servants discovered her secreted in an old garret, with her 
 favorite volume of Shakespeare in her hand. 
 
 "Miss Madge, Miss Arnold has sent me to call you down 
 to school." 
 
 " I won't go, and you may tell her so if you please. I am 
 reading one of my favorite plays, and I won't go until I have 
 done." 
 
 "Shall I tell her what you say?" 
 
 " To be sure you may, I'm not afraid of anybody." 
 
 In a few minutes, Madge heard Miss Arnold's foot upon 
 the stair-case ; too proud to hide, she boldly met Miss Arnold's 
 look of astonishment, with one of angry defiance. 
 3
 
 26 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 " Madge, come down with me, you are setting a dreadful 
 example to your little sisters." 
 
 Madge was sullen and silent. 
 
 "Will you not come?" 
 
 " No, I will not ; I am tired of being led about like a poor, 
 tame little slave." 
 
 "Who told you that you are a poor, little slave?" 
 
 " Never mind, Miss Arnold, I have one friend who thinks 
 something of me." 
 
 " Do you mean Josephine Fortescue ? if you do, she is a 
 bad adviser ; if you persevere, Madge, in your disobedience, 
 you Avill break your mother's heart." 
 
 Madge was softened for a minute, but at last she said, 
 
 " My mother does not care for me, she loves her beautiful 
 children better, what need I care for her ?" 
 
 " Oh ! Madge, beware how you indulge in such wicked re- 
 bellion. Will you come, or will you not ?" 
 
 " I will not." 
 
 " Then listen to what I have to say. You remain here in 
 confinement, where your meals will be sent, until you are in 
 a more obedient state of mind ;" and with these words, Miss 
 Arnold turned sorrowfully away, locked the door, and put 
 the key in her pocket. 
 
 Much as it grieved her, she was obliged to tell Mrs. Clif- 
 ford of the state of affairs, in accounting for Madge's ab- 
 sence from the family circle. The mother fully justified Miss 
 Arnold in her course. Her meals were sent up regularly, by 
 the maid in charge of the nursery, and at bed-time, she 
 entered the next room, where she staid all night, for fear that 
 Madge should be frightened in the dark. 
 
 But the child remained inexorable ; for one week she re- 
 fused obedience, until at last, Mrs. Clifford was taken up 
 stairs, and with faltering step and tearful eyes, she entered 
 the room of this misguided, rebellious child. Madge really 
 loved her mother, and the sight of her pale, suffering face, 
 overcame her, and throwing her arms around her, in an agony 
 of grief, she begged forgiveness,
 
 THE GOVERNESS. 27 
 
 When Madge appeared again in the school-room, the chil- 
 dren were all delighted, for they could not bear to feel that 
 any one of their number was in a state of punishment. She 
 recited her lessons, performed her tasks, but after that was 
 done, she shrank again into her gloomy shell of sullenness 
 and reserve, and poring over her favorite books, was all the 
 pleasure which she really enjoyed. 
 
 Frank sometimes made an attempt to draw her out, but 
 she always repulsed him with scorn ; even Edith had no in- 
 fluence; she was angry with Blanche, because she was so 
 beautiful, and with Adele, because she was so merry and 
 witty. One day, moping in her corner, Adele came running 
 up to her, and saying, in a sportive manner, 
 
 It is very well seen, 
 
 That Madge is a queen, 
 For her walk is so lofty and grand; 
 
 She holds up her head, 
 
 It is frequently said, 
 Far above all the great in the land, 
 
 Madge did not fancy the mocking reverence with which 
 Adele went backing out of the room, as though in the pre- 
 sence of majesty. 
 
 Mrs. Clifford and Miss Arnold had many consultations 
 about the misguided, unhappy child ; and both concluded 
 that obedience must be enforced at all times ; and although 
 they could not change the proud and wayward heart, they 
 could take her case to the Great Physician, who only could 
 expel the evil spirit. When alone, she still brooded sullenly 
 over what she called her wrongs ; ever complaining that no 
 one loved her, constantly forgetting that love begets love, 
 and attributing to others, faults most glaring in herself. 
 But resolutely she kept her feelings to herself; and as usual, 
 avoided all society but that which she found in books. And 
 yet there was in that little heart a capacity for loving, yea, 
 and that to idolatry ; but the question who should awaken 
 that better spirit, had not yet beei answered.
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 
 THE STRONG-MINDED WOMAN. 
 
 HE nearest neighbors to the Cliffords, were the 
 Fortescue family, the wealthy occupants of 
 Oak Hall. Both parents had died when the 
 children were very young, consequently, they had 
 been placed under the care of an estimable, but 
 not very energetic lady, Miss Mary Preston, a sis- 
 ter of Mrs. Fortescue. 
 
 Gerald, the younger, had always been an amiable, 
 gentle boy, very imaginative, and passionately fond of the 
 beautiful, whether in nature or art ; his talent for painting 
 was very remarkable, and had early developed itself in the 
 youth. With these refined and delicate tastes, were corres- 
 ponding traits of character; although possessed of warm 
 affections, a lack of firmness was his great defect; on this 
 account Aunt Mary and Mrs. Clifford dreaded the period 
 when he should come into contact with the world around him, 
 and be called upon to act on the great theatre of human 
 life. 
 
 Josephine, on the contrary, who was the elder, early ex- 
 hibited great talents and strong traits of character; an 
 indomitable will, and great pride of opinion made her, even 
 in her childhood, quite beyond the control of good Aunt 
 Mary, who was advised to send her early away from home. 
 A celebrated institution in New England was chosen as the 
 28
 
 THE STRONG-MINDED WOMAN. 29 
 
 place where Josephine Fortescue was to be fitted for woman's 
 holy calling. It was a college of great note, and as she had 
 exhibited uncommon gifts, a school was selected that presented 
 the very highest advantages. It had not been told innocent 
 Aunt Mary that the whole tendency of education there was 
 masculine, and would foster all those peculiarities which she 
 wished most carefully corrected. 
 
 When she heard of Spartan strength mingled with Attic 
 refinement, she thought that it was some great achievement 
 in the field of education, and that these were names of some 
 great men, who had named their systems after themselves, 
 and there she rested satisfied. 
 
 Josephine's reports from year to year were most flattering; 
 she obtained many prizes, and although in her visits home 
 during seasons of vacation, her good aunt saw that her views 
 became still more independent, and her manners more rude 
 and dogmatical, she thought that it was impossible to check 
 these strong tendencies, and was therefore contented to let 
 matters take their own course. 
 
 Occasionally, papers were sent home giving accounts of 
 the pupils' performances in public, and frequently the name 
 of Josephine Fortescue was pointed out, as the one excelling 
 in composition and oratory. Articles were often sent from 
 her pen, that displayed great vigor of intellect in one so 
 young ; but the subjects she discussed, were those belonging 
 especially to the province of man. Political economy, 
 slavery, woman's rights, moral reform, the age of progress, 
 the downfall of priestcraft and superstition, were the sub- 
 jects chiefly engrossing her attention ; and Aunt Mary, 
 though sometimes alarmed at some of her bold expressions, 
 did not see the tendency of all this unwomanly pride of 
 intellect. 
 
 When Josephine graduated, it was with high honors ; and 
 her misguided female friends predicted for her, most un- 
 wisely, a brilliant course in the world of letters. Upon her 
 return home, she brought with her one of the great advo- 
 cates of her new theories, Miss Penelope Grimshaw, a tall,
 
 30 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 commanding, masculine woman, a great contrast to the femi- 
 nine appearance of her young friend, for Josephine was pos- 
 sessed of a very agreeable figure, and handsome, though 
 strikingly marked countenance. 
 
 Miss Grimshaw seemed to possess unbounded influence 
 over Josephine, and they proceeded at once to improve some 
 of good Aunt Mary's old-fashioned notions of housekeeping 
 and feminine propriety. 
 
 Miss Grimshaw had brought her own horse, and two dogs, 
 which she attended to herself. Josephine, of course, must 
 have the same, on the plea that out-door sports were indis- 
 pensable to health ; and that a woman had as good a right 
 to take charge of the stable and kennel as a man, if it suited 
 her notions and her views of health. 
 
 Much to Aunt Mary's surprise and dislike, in a few days 
 Josephine and Miss Grimshaw, at an early hour in the 
 morning, made their appearance in their stable dress, high 
 boots, very short dresses, and a coarse, dark smock, with 
 hair turned entirely back, under a man's cap. Thus 
 arrayed, they proceeded to the stable, where they curried 
 their horses, fed their dogs, then returned to breakfast, and 
 immediately after, dressed in a very masculine habit, and 
 accompanied by their dogs, they started for a ride on horse- 
 back. They were accomplished riders, and thought nothing 
 of leaping a five-barred fence, fording creeks, and dashing 
 ahead over all obstacles. They soon became subjects of re- 
 mark among the old-fashioned farmers. 
 
 Their morning hours were devoted to their studies, which 
 were very severe. 
 
 Miss Grimshaw was a noted character, and publicly main- 
 tained the doctrine, that women, possessed of talents, had 
 as good a right to be a physician, a lawyer, a statesman, or 
 a preacher, as man, provided she possessed the ability. She 
 was filling Josephine's mind with an overwhelming conceit 
 of her superiority, and urging her to obey the call which 
 she affirmed had already been given to the young girl, say- 
 ing, that gifts such as her's must be exercised for the public
 
 THE STRONG-MINDED WOMAN. 31 
 
 good. They both manifested much contempt for the proprie- 
 ties of female attire, and would conform to no fashion if they 
 esteemed it at all inconvenient or troublesome. 
 
 In avoiding long dresses, which trammelled their move- 
 ments, they wore theirs immodestly short, very high in the 
 neck, and plain linen collars, on the ground that any atten- 
 tion paid to their attire was a waste of time, forgetting that 
 should all females follow the course which they had adopted, 
 hundreds, yea, thousands, would be deprived of a means of 
 support, which the use of articles of taste constantly fur- 
 nishes. They paid no particular attention to female accom- 
 plishments generally, as they contended that they were only 
 of use to the common class of females, and unworthy of 
 their notice. Miss Grimshaw had attempted sculpture, and 
 Josephine displayed considerable talent for painting; but all 
 her subjects were chosen from among models suitable for a 
 masculine taste. Aunt Mary was much grieved on witness- 
 ing these developments in her niece. She endeavored to 
 direct her talents in another channel, but Josephine only 
 pitied her narrow mind, and turned a deaf ear to her kind, 
 womanly advice. Mrs. Clifford and Miss Arnold were pecu- 
 liarly shocked, and feared the unsettling of all that was 
 lovely and of good report in woman. 
 
 During Miss Grimshaw's stay at Oak Hall, a notice ap- 
 peared in a New York paper of a lecture on " woman's 
 rights," to be delivered by that lady at one of the public 
 halls. She presented tickets to the Clifford family; but none 
 attended, as their . ideas of female modesty and decorum, 
 utterly prevented their acceptance. Josephine accompanied 
 Miss Grimshaw, and much offended her aunt by sitting on 
 the platform with her and other persons of kindred senti- 
 ments. She delivered her lecture in a masterly manner, and 
 betrayed not the slightest embarrassment at the sight of so 
 large an audience. Occasional hisses did not daunt her 
 in the least, when uttering some sentiments which were too 
 bold and unblushing, even for an audience composed chiefly 
 of those who sympathised with her in her views.
 
 32 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 On the next day, Josephine paid a visit to the Cliffords, 
 and meeting Miss Arnold, she said, "I am sorry that you 
 were not with us last evening ; you missed a great treat." 
 
 " I would not sanction by my presence, what I do heartily 
 disapprove of, Josephine," replied Miss Arnold. 
 
 "And pray why? Are you also a slave to the vulgar 
 prejudice of hiding a woman's talents under a bushel?" 
 asked the young lady. 
 
 " By no means, my young friend. I wish woman to obey 
 the divine precept of our Lord, when he says, ' Let your 
 light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, 
 and glorify your father which is in heaven.' I apprehend 
 that the hand which penned the little word so, would veil 
 the uncovered heads of those strong-minded ladies, and point 
 them away from the forum, the pulpit, and the hall of public 
 debate, to the sweet retirement of the private fireside ; or, if 
 her spirit burned to scatter light by her pen, it would kindly 
 open the door of her study, whence she might with true 
 womanly modesty, pour out a stream of gentle, holy influence, 
 refreshing as the silent dew, and leave to man the stormy 
 arena of fierce debate." 
 
 "And would you condemn those female apostles, who, 
 possessed of mental power, seek to influence public opinion, 
 and to correct moral abuses ?" asked Josephine. 
 
 " Your question is answered in the word of God, Josephine; 
 where, in the blessed sanctuary of home, as a mother, wife, 
 sister, friend, teacher, or a sympathizer with human griefs, 
 woman is directed to exert her influence." 
 
 " And what would you have a woman do with her talents, 
 when they are of an uncommon order ?" asked Josephine. 
 
 " In the beautiful sphere where God has placed her, to use 
 them for His glory," replied Miss Arnold. 
 
 " And pray tell me, is the quiet privacy of home a theatre, 
 where a gifted woman can display her talents? "Will you 
 not allow that many women are possessed of masculine 
 minds? ' 
 
 " I do ; but I dc not think that they are so much to be
 
 THE STRONG-MINDED WOMAN. 33 
 
 admired or beloved, as those who are more feminine," an- 
 swered Miss Arnold. 
 
 " When thus endowed, will you pretend to say, Miss Ar- 
 nold, that they ought not to aspire to men's positions, on ac- 
 count of the mere difference in sex?" asked Josephine. 
 
 " Listen, my young friend, while I quote the language of 
 inspiration ; this covers the whole ground of woman's holy 
 duties and blessed privileges. 
 
 " ' Let the woman learn in silence with all subjection ; but 
 I suffer not a woman to teach, nor to usurp authority over the 
 man, but to be in silence.' And again : ' Let your women 
 keep silence in the churches, for it is not permitted unto them 
 to speak : but they are commanded to be under obedience, as 
 also saith the law.' 'And if they will learn anything, let 
 them ask their husbands at home ; for it is a shame for women 
 to speak in the church.' This is the language of the apostle 
 Paul ; and furthermore, laying aside the negative, let me 
 direct your attention to positive obligations. ' That they may 
 teach the young women to be sober, to love their husbands, to 
 love their children, to be discreet, keepers at home, obedient 
 to their own husbands.' And again : ' Wives, submit yourselves 
 unto your own husbands, as unto the Lord, for the husband is 
 the head of the wife.' ' For after this manner in the old time 
 the holy women also, who trusted in God, adorned themselves, 
 being in subjection unto their own husbands, even as Sarah 
 obeyed Abraham, calling him Lord.' " 
 
 " I answer to all this," proudly replied Josephine, " that 
 if the apostle had lived in these days of progress, he would 
 have known woman's place much better." 
 
 " Do you pretend to say, my child, that the apostle was not 
 inspired?" asked Miss Arnold, much pained. 
 
 " It is a matter of much dispute among deep thinkers," 
 answered the young girl. " It appears to me that he took 
 very narrow and contracted views, as regards woman's rights." 
 
 " What do you mean by that popular phrase, Josephine ?" 
 
 " 1 mean that she is entitled to perfect equality with man, 
 when God has endowed her with superior abilities."
 
 34 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 " If you wish to place woman where she can exercise won- 
 drous power, it is by the domestic fireside. Ask the history 
 of our great men, and observe how many can trace their 
 goodness, and their greatness also, back to the period when 
 a holy mother planted the first germs of divine truth in the 
 young heart." 
 
 " And yet, Miss Arnold, the language held by the apostle 
 Paul seems to imply a degree of servitude that no intellectual 
 woman could possibly render, especially to one who is greatly 
 her inferior," answered Josephine. 
 
 " Let her see that she chooses for her companion one whom 
 she can and ought to respect and love," replied Miss Arnold, 
 " and then Scriptural obedience will be a pleasant yoke ; but, 
 Josephine, I am really amused sometimes, when I hear silly 
 women complaining of oppression in a land like ours. I 
 presume nowhere in the world has she so many rights as 
 here. If she is a good and holy woman, in her household 
 she is a queen, and generally leads her spouse by silken 
 reins, even when he imagines that he is governing ; as a sister, 
 her brothers pay the greatest deference to her opinions ; as a 
 daughter, a word is sufficient ; as a woman, alone, or in public 
 and in private, she receives universal respect ; in public 
 vehicles, and at places of amusement, the best seat ; at the 
 table, the first and best served ; and everywhere in America 
 she enjoys her full share of privileges ; there may be some 
 exceptions to all general rules, but the tendency of our nation 
 is to elevate woman." 
 
 Josephine, with her usual obstinacy, maintained her opin- 
 ions, but as Miss Arnold knew that she had a heart, from the 
 love which she manifested for her brother, she hoped that 
 her errors might yet be corrected, although she saw much 
 trouble and disappointment in her path. She avoided female 
 companions, because she esteemed so few her equals; she 
 had seen but few of the other sex, and would be slow to ac- 
 knowledge them her superiors. She really loved her brother 
 Gerald, but she deeply regretted what she regarded his want of 
 manliness, and v -as constantly lecturing him on his deficiencies.
 
 THE STRONG-MINDED WOMAN. 35 
 
 He often wrote to her of his friend Ralph, and from his 
 description, Josephine felt much anxiety to know his friend, 
 as she gathered from her brother's letters that he was not a 
 common character, and she hoped that he would imbue her 
 gentle, imaginative brother with some of his mental and 
 moral power. She regarded her brother's reverence for sacred 
 things as another mark of weakness, and in order to show her 
 own freedom from priestcraft and superstition, grieved her 
 good pastor by her neglect of the house, and her desecration 
 of the day of God. 
 
 On the holy Sabbath, frequently in the company of Miss 
 Grimshaw, she either spent her time in reading secular books, 
 or else in riding on horseback. Miss Arnold remonstrated, 
 and Mrs. Clifford added her gentle voice of warning, but 
 Josephine was first in pursuing her path of rebellion against 
 the authority of God, and sneered at those who bent the 
 neck to the Saviour's gentle yoke. Her good pastor, the 
 Rev. Mr. Berkely, sometimes ventured a remonstrance, 
 but she pleaded superior light, and turned a deaf ear to his 
 warnings. 
 
 Her example to her servants was all on the side of un- 
 godliness, and Aunt Mary grieved too late, that she had un- 
 consciously placed her among evil influences ; but she was 
 surrounded by an atmosphere of prayer ; Mr. Berkely, good 
 Aunt Mary, Mrs. Clifford, and Miss Arnold, bore her case 
 daily to a throne of grace, and looked in faith for an answer 
 of peace.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 RALPH CAMERON. 
 
 IME sped on eagles' wings. Frank was rapidly 
 preparing for college ; and Edith was daily im- 
 proving under the training of her beloved teacher 
 in all that was good. Winter faded gradually, un- 
 til it died in the lap of spring; and the young girl 
 began to look forward with bright anticipations to 
 Gerald's return. She counted the weeks, then the 
 days, then the hours, as he was expected on the day 
 before Easter. Edith, seated on the piazza, was watching for 
 the first glimpse of his approaching figure. The veil of even- 
 ing descended, and she was almost despairing, when she saw 
 Bruno scampering and barking up the avenue, as if in great 
 glee ; and in the next minute, his young master came flying up 
 the old familiar path, with cap in hand, accompanied by a youth 
 somewhat older than himself. In another moment, a warm 
 grasp of the hand, and glowing smiles, testified to the joy of 
 the young friend. Gerald then turned, and introduced his 
 friend, Ralph Cameron. For a youth of twenty, his figure was 
 commanding, his step firm, and his whole appearance striking. 
 He had the eye of an eagle, but which could sometimes melt, 
 under the influence of the gentler emotions of the heart. The 
 expression of his mouth indicated an undaunted will ; generally 
 his look was stern, but when he smiled, the rich glow lit up his 
 whole countenance. 
 36
 
 EALPII CAMERON. 37 
 
 "And this is Sister Edith," said Ralph. "You know not 
 what a talisman there was in your letters, and how often they 
 impelled Gerald to fresh exertions." 
 
 Edith blushed as she replied, "It made me very happy to 
 write them." 
 
 By this time they had entered the house, and Gerald, warmly 
 greeted by all, introduced his friend Ralph to the family group. 
 Blanche and Adele were full of open expressions of joy. 
 
 " Oh ! Gerald, won't we have some nice rows in the boat ? 
 It is so delightful to sail about now on the river, and we have 
 wanted you so much to help Frank row." 
 
 Madge was pleased to see Gerald, but she kept her eyes reso- 
 lutely on the ground, for fear that he would see them flash the 
 joy which she really felt. 
 
 " Madge, come here, I have something for you," said Gerald, 
 and as she approached, he presented her with a beautiful copy 
 of Longfellow's Poems. As she raised her eyes for once, Ralph 
 was struck with their exceeding beauty ; but more with the ex- 
 pression of tearful gratitude which they expressed. Forgetting 
 herself for one minute, she seized Gerald's hand, kissing it 
 warmly ; in a minute, she was so frightened at what she had 
 done, that she hastily retreated with her treasure, to a corner 
 of the room. Ralph was attracted by the singular manner of 
 the child, and more so, as he observed with what eagerness she 
 devoured the volume, and wondered whether one so young could 
 appreciate all its beauties. 
 
 When he found a suitable opportunity, he seated himself by 
 Madge, and said to her, 
 
 " What are you reading, my little friend?" 
 
 She scarcely raised her eyes, as she replied, timidly, 
 
 " Evangeline." 
 
 " Do you like such poetry ?" 
 
 " I love it better than anything else ;" and for fear of any 
 more remarks, she arose hastily, and left the room. 
 
 After tea, the family assembled in the drawing-room, where 
 a great deal of sportive conversation, and a number of merry 
 games occupied the evening. All but Madge partook of the
 
 38 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 sport ; and when Ralph came forward and begged her to join 
 them, she replied rather sullenly, "They don't want ine, I'm 
 nobody here." 
 
 " Do you ever try them, or are you not in the habit of shun- 
 ning your brothers and sisters? They seem to be bright happy 
 little things !" 
 
 She turned an angry look upon Ralph, as she replied, "What 
 right have you to question me? I would rather be let alone." 
 
 " I'm not often baffled," replied Ralph, " and I have made 
 up my mind that you shall play to-night. I know that you 
 want to, and I mean to have you for my companion in the 
 sport." 
 
 She looked at Ralph, and seeing a determined look upon 
 his face, she rather liked the expression, and putting aside her 
 book, went along with him. 
 
 Believing that the little girl was not so disagreeable as she 
 tried to appear, he resolved to thaw the icy surface. All 
 looked surprised when they saw Madge at first going unwil- 
 lingly and at last close by the side of Ralph Cameron, really 
 enjoying the fun. 
 
 " Edith, just look at Madge," said Gerald. " The enchanter 
 has waved his wand over her, and she is entirely obedient to 
 his will ; this is the way Ralph rules everybody." 
 
 "I am truly glad, Gerald," replied Edith, "for really the 
 child's moodiness is sometimes insufferable, and very trying to 
 dear mamma." 
 
 After the sports were all over, Madge kept close to Ralph, 
 who tried to draw her into conversation, and found that the 
 child possessed a remarkable mind, such as is seldom seen in 
 childhood. She talked freely about her studies, and Madge 
 seemed to be far advanced for one so young ; she was quite a 
 good Latin scholar and mathematician, excellent in history, 
 but her passion for poetry was astonishing ; she could repeat 
 whole pages of Shakespeare, but displayed a correct taste in 
 her selections. Madge had never so completely unlocked her 
 heart to any one as to Ralph Cameron ; she felt happy, because 
 she saw that for once she was appreciated ; and she looked up
 
 RALPH CAMERON. 39 
 
 gratefully to the young man who had passed by her lovely 
 sisters, Edith and Blanche, and her witty sparkling Adele, and 
 had devoted himself for a whole morning to ugly little Madge. 
 He soon understood her character, and felt a strong desire to 
 prune its wild shoots, and cultivate the flowers, for he con- 
 tended that there was much that was redeeming in her strong 
 nature. While he remained at Oak Hall, Gerald and he were 
 daily visitors; in all their excursions they accompanied the 
 young people, and their presence added greatly to their enjoy- 
 ment. 
 
 Madge was powerfully drawn to Ralph, for she admired his 
 genius, respected his character, and was grateful for his kind- 
 ness ; moreover, she was a little afraid of him, and though so 
 perverse with others, she allowed Ralph to lead her where he 
 would. 
 
 On the Sunday after their return, Gerald and Ralph called 
 to go to church with the Cliffords. Madge came forward evi- 
 dently in her dishabille. Ralph, looking surprised, said: 
 
 " You are not ready for church." 
 
 " No ; I am not going to-day." 
 
 " And why not ?" said Ralph. 
 
 " Because I don't want to ; I am not very well." 
 
 " That means very lazy ; does it not, Madge ?" 
 
 She hung her head and made no reply. 
 
 " Does your mother wish you to go ?" 
 
 " She does." 
 
 " Then, Madge, run and get dressed ; I am not going without 
 you," said Ralph. 
 
 She stole a look at his face, and saw just what he meant. 
 She did not like to be so conquered all the time, and yet she 
 had not the courage to refuse. So she quietly walked into the 
 house, and came back very soon, and while waiting for the 
 carriage, the following conversation took place. 
 
 " Madge, I am sorry to see that you allow yourself to be so 
 whimsical ; you know your duty, why do you take so much 
 pleasure in acting contrary to it?" 
 
 " I don't know, Ralph, but there does seem to be such a spirit
 
 40 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 of ei.niradiction in me, that even when I know it to be wrong, 
 I am led on headlong." 
 
 " .Madge, you are a little girl, but you have a strange char- 
 acter ; if this powerful will is directed aright, and bent while 
 you are young into the proper course, you may make a firm 
 Christian woman; but if you allow it to draw you headlong 
 into the path of disobedience, who knows where it may 
 stop ?" 
 
 Madge raised her eyes, Avhich were now swimming in tears, 
 to Ralph's face, and he could scarcely withstand their touching 
 appeal, as she said to him, what she had never said to mortal 
 man before : 
 
 " Forgive me, Ralph. I know you are my friend, you tell me 
 so kindly of my faults, and you make me do what is right ; 
 when you are near me, I feel impelled to do my duty but what 
 shall 1 do when you are gone ?" 
 
 "Do not forget, Madge, that there is a strong and gracious 
 Being ever near you ; He only can aid you to conquer that 
 strong will ; He only can subdue your proud heart, and make 
 you meek and lowly." 
 
 Ralph Cameron was a young man of sterling Christian 
 character ; he had seen much in the dark, awkward little girl 
 to interest him; he soon perceived that she had uncommon 
 talents, but a most perverse and stubborn will ; but he had 
 also discovered that there were warm affections in that young 
 heart, and though so carefully hidden in its deep recesses, he 
 had succeeded in awakening them, and bringing them into 
 life. 
 
 Still, with others, the same disposition exhibited itself; the 
 same impatience of restraint, the same determined sullenness, 
 the same jealousy of her sister's merits ; while these remained, 
 Ralph's hopes were frequently dashed to the ground. And yet 
 he could not but love the child, for she really appeared to re- 
 gard him with a species of idolatry ; and his influence over her 
 continued unbounded. 
 
 Her tyrannical temper was often exercised over her younger 
 sisters, and Miss Arnold sought in vain to control her wayward
 
 RALPH CAMERON. 41 
 
 pupil. Lilly was a remarkably sweet and gentle child, timid 
 and retiring, and had from her infancy been very delicate. 
 She was now about six years old, and was very tenderly 
 beloved by all save Madge, who was constantly finding fault 
 with the poor little girl, and making her life very unhappy. 
 
 One day, Madge and Lilly had been sent to take a basket of 
 little comforts to Aunt Becky, and some other poor persons in 
 the neighborhood. 
 
 Madge was directed, of course, to carry the basket. She 
 was not in a very good humor when she started, and when 
 about half way, she made Lilly take the basket, and carry 
 it for some distance. It was a heavy load for such a little 
 girl ; she soon became very tired, and unable to proceed any 
 farther. 
 
 " Oh, sister, I am so tired," said Lilly, as she sank down by 
 the roadside. 
 
 " You are a lazy little thing !" said Madge ; " you only want 
 to make me carry the basket all the way." 
 
 " Indeed, I am very tired, sister, but I'll try again." And 
 the poor child, with streaming eyes, picked up the heavy load,, 
 and started off again. She had not gone far, when she sank 
 down again on a stone step, by the side of a small stream. 
 
 " Give me the basket," said Madge, as she pushed little 
 Lilly aside ; and the child, being very weak, fell over into the 
 stream. Fortunately, it was very shallow, and Madge suc- 
 ceeded in getting her out of the water, but she was wet to the 
 skin, and how to get her home was now the question. She 
 could not walk ; she was in danger of taking cold in her wet 
 clothes. Madge saw some men approaching with a wagon, 
 and running up to them, told her story, and begged the men 
 to take them home. They kindly consented. Poor little 
 Lilly was completely overcome. Madge was terribly alarmed, 
 for she saw that the child was very sick. 
 
 When they reached home, Madge, who was really truthful, 
 told the story just as it was. 
 
 Miss Arnold carried the fainting child up to her bed. 
 Violent chills succeeded, and then burning fever raged
 
 42 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 furiously. The chi!!d soon became delirious, and all her cry 
 was, "Oh, sister, I am not lazy! I am so tired; don't make 
 me curry the heavy basket. I am so sick! Oh, sister, help 
 me ! help me !" 
 
 It may be well imagined with what feelings of agony Madge 
 listened to these heart-rending cries. Her anxiety was so ex- 
 treme, that she could scarcely keep away from the child's 
 chamber-door; but these dreadful cries would send her to the 
 gloomy garret, when, with bitter reproaches, she mourned over 
 the alarming illness of her sweet little sister. 
 
 For days, her life hung upon a thread. At last the crisis 
 arrived. As she lay so unconscious, and almost as silent as 
 death, Madge watched in an agony of remorse. The pulse 
 was scarcely perceptible. " Oh, for one moment of conscious- 
 ness, that she might whisper forgiveness ere she dies." This 
 was the agonizing cry of the self-accusing spirit. " If she 
 should die, where should I hide my head ?" 
 
 None reproached her, for all around her saw what bitter 
 anguish she was suffering. Ralph was greatly distressed. 
 He tried in vain to see her, but since the day of the fatal 
 occurrence, she had carefully avoided his presence. One 
 morning, crossing the hall, he perceived the wretched girl, 
 with her head bowed down, and dejected step, walking down 
 the avenue. Ralph started, with quickened pace, to join her; 
 but as soon as Madge perceived him, she ran off, as if to avoid 
 him. 
 
 " Madge ! Madge ! do not run away from me ! Stop ! stop ! 
 I must speak to you !" 
 
 She paused for one moment, and seeing Ralph's expression 
 of distress, waited for him, with a downcast countenance. 
 
 " I am not going to reproach you, Madge. I know what 
 you must suffer," said Ralph. 
 
 " Don't speak kindly to me, Ralph ; I don't deserve it," said 
 Madge. " I am the murderer of my little sister ; everybody 
 ought to hate me." 
 
 " She may not die, Madge. I have prayed for her life, and 
 I trust that the symptoms to-day are more favorable."
 
 RALPH CAMERON. 43 
 
 "Even should she live, Ralph, I am the same wicked, 
 imperious child ; my temper will be my ruin yet," answered 
 Madge. 
 
 " Do you try to overcome it? Have you ever gone to Jesus, 
 and laid your heart down at his blessed feet, and asked him to 
 make it clean ?" 
 
 " No, Ralph, I do not think that I have, for I fear that it 
 would be hypocritical in me to attempt to pray after such 
 cruelty." 
 
 " Are you not very sorry, Madge ?" said Ralph. 
 
 "Yes, I think that I am ; but then I have been just as sorry 
 before, and have fallen again into dreadful sin. I think if 
 Lilly should die, I shall never wish to see any one again." 
 
 Taking the little girl by the hand, and walking up and 
 down the avenue, they continued to converse for some time, and 
 Madge had lost much .of her despairing expression before she 
 entered the house. 
 
 Great was the anxiety manifested by the whole family in 
 little Lilly's long slumber, it having been said by the physi- 
 cian that she would either insensibly pass away, or awake to 
 life and health once more. Her deathlike sleep continued 
 for many hours. Late in the evening, she unclosed her eyes, 
 and recognizing her mother, stretched out her hand and 
 whispered, "Dear mamma, come kiss me." These were the 
 first rational words she had uttered since her illness. 
 
 Ralph and Madge were in an adjoining room, waiting 
 anxiously for the result ; and when the tidings reached them 
 of her returning consciousness, the overwrought feelings of the 
 remorseful child sought relief in violent convulsive weeping. 
 With all the kindness of a brother, Ralph endeavored to soothe 
 the little girl. He sympathized with her joy, and said, " Do 
 not let us forget to thank God for his goodness. I trust that it 
 is the beginning of better things for you, Madge." 
 
 Lilly continued to mend rapidly, and on asking for Madge, 
 she said, " I do not see you so plainly as I used to, sister, but I 
 suppose it is because I am weak ; but I know, Madge, how 
 sorry you have been for making me sick, and I want to tell
 
 44 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 you not to cry about it any more ;" and the sweet child drew 
 her sister down to her, and kissed her affectionately. 
 
 Madge wept now as much for joy, as she had formerly done 
 for grief; and Miss Arnold hoped that the dearly-bought 
 lesson would never be forgotten; but "can the Ethiopian 
 change his skin, or the leopard his spots?" has been asked by 
 inspiration of the deeply-rooted sins of unrenewed nature. The 
 answer can only be given in other equally impressive words of 
 inspiration : " The blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from all 
 sin," and that alone. No maternal counsel ; no judicious 
 teaching ; no faithful, watchful friend ; no power of a strong 
 will, could be found sufficient of themselves to work in Madge 
 Clifford the change which grace alone could effect. Much 
 anxiety was felt about the continued weakness of Lilly's eyes, 
 and when it was found that she could not distinguish pictures 
 which had once been so familiar, it was feared that her sight 
 was seriously affected. The dimness increased daily, until at 
 last it was declared by her physician, that Lilly was incurably 
 blind. It was fearful to behold the agony of Madge. Lilly's fal- 
 tering step and beautiful but sightless eyes, were a perpetual 
 reproach to the poor child. When little Lilly first realized 
 her misfortune her patient sorrow was touching in the extreme. 
 
 " Mamma, shall I never see the bright sun again, or the 
 beautiful flowers ? Shall I never see your dear face any 
 more ?" 
 
 "It is God's will, Lilly, and we must not complain." 
 
 " Won't I be a great deal of trouble to you all, mamma ? 
 I shall not be able to go about by myself, and then I cannot 
 learn any more like the others ; but I will try to be patient, 
 dear mamma, for your sake." 
 
 " Don't talk about trouble, my child ; we all love you so 
 much that we shall be glad to wait upon you, and there are 
 many things which you can be taught to do, Lilly. I will get 
 you some of the books made for the blind, and Miss Arnold 
 will do all that she can for you ; and when you are old enough 
 we will send you to an institution, where you can be taught 
 everything."
 
 RALPH CAMERON. 45 
 
 " Mamma, don't let Madge know how I feel about being 
 blind, it troubles her so much." 
 
 " I will not, my dear ; she has been punished enough for her 
 unkindness." 
 
 From this day Mrs. Clifford's love for her blind child in- 
 creased, and Lilly was almost her constant companion ; weak 
 as Mrs. Clifford was, she devoted all the strength which she 
 yet possessed, to interest and instruct the little afflicted one; 
 the love between the two was particularly strong and tender. 
 
 Madge was quite as much an object of pity as poor little 
 Lilly, and Miss Arnold and the mother both hoped much from 
 the state of mind which she manifested. Still, the governess 
 was not very sanguine, as there seemed to be no decidedly 
 religious feeling operating upon her heart. She appeared to 
 be yet almost as perverse with others as formerly, and there 
 was no particular reason to suppose that she was any more 
 prayerful in her habits. Many motives besides penitence 
 toward God might have produced her present state of feeling. 
 Sympathy with affliction which she had created, seemed now 
 to be the most powerful feeling. 
 
 She yet stood aloof from childish intercourse; her desire 
 for solitude became still greater, and none but Ralph Cameron 
 could succeed in drawing the wayward child from her gloomy 
 thoughts. Seeing how sad she was, and sometimes even sul- 
 len, Ralph sought by a variety of means to amuse the child, 
 and was busy inventing schemes of outdoor enjoyment. At 
 one time, an excursion into the woods, then a sail upon the 
 water, then a ride on horseback, served to vary the daily 
 amusements, and Madge began to dread the day when Ralph 
 and Gerald must return to their college duties.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 ROSY DREAMS. 
 
 DITH and Gerald were sad at the thought of 
 parting so soon, and ere the day arrived, it was 
 proposed that the young people, in company with 
 Miss Arnold, should form a party to a favorite' 
 place of resort, a neighboring country seat, about 
 five miles off, now in a state of ruin. They were 
 to go in boats, taking provision for the day, and 
 after a pic-nic in the old park, were to return late in 
 the afternoon. The party was composed of the Cliffords, the 
 Fortescues, and Ralph Cameron. 
 
 Gerald and Frank took charge of one boat, and old Uncle 
 Ben of the second. They were plentifully provided with ham } 
 cold chicken, tarts, etc., and set off about nine o'clock. 
 
 It was a beautiful May morning, the fresh vivid green of 
 early spring enlivened the landscape, and the bright sun 
 gleamed over the whole scene, illumining the romantic Hud- 
 son, which sparkled like diamonds in its brilliant rays. Had 
 it not been for poor blind little Lilly, who wiped away a 
 silent, tear when she heard the delighted exclamations of the 
 party, and which also called up a deep sigh from sorrowful 
 Madge, it would have been a day of unmixed pleasure. 
 Ralph, with his usual kindness, talked with Madge, and tried 
 to amuse her ; and she, nearly always gentle with him, found 
 his society a sufficient source of happiness. When they 
 46
 
 ROSY DREAMS. 47 
 
 arrived, Madge led little Lilly about, searched out the butter- 
 cups and violets for the child, and tried by many pleasant 
 means to beguile the tedious time. Gerald and Edith were 
 seldom apart, and in pleasant strolls and confidential chat, 
 the day passed too rapidly away. 
 
 After much enjoyment they returned home late in the after- 
 noon ; it was the last excursion previous to the young men's re- 
 turn. After tea, Edith walked out alone ; she felt sad, for it 
 was the last evening that Gerald would be with them, as he was 
 to return on the next day to college. She strolled down the 
 avenue until she reached the front gate ; standing there, under 
 her favorite elm, in a pensive mood, she Avatched the setting sun 
 as it gradually declined in all its glory, on the opposite side of 
 the Hudson, and lighting up the whole landscape with brilliant 
 tints of beauty. With her large flat thrown back, exposing all 
 her face, she seemed to be in a deep reverie ; there must have 
 been pleasant thoughts lighting up the beautiful face with such 
 radiant smiles of happiness : the eyes were generally fixed upon 
 the glowing landscape, but occasionally they would droop, when 
 a deep blush overspread her face at the remembrance of some 
 words whispered that day for the first time, by Gerald For- 
 tescue. The glowing clouds on which she gazed, chasing each 
 other over the landscape, were not more beautiful than the rosy 
 tints which illumined her lofty countenance ; but with this dif- 
 ference, the former were declining glories, the latter wore the 
 first enchanting tints of young affection's rising morn. As she 
 stood musing silently, for some time, she did not observe a figure 
 running rapidly down the avenue, until a quick familiar foot- 
 step announced Gerald's approach; she looked around, and 
 encountered, with a blushing face, the gaze of Gerald Fortescue. 
 
 " I am glad to find you here, Edith," said the young man. 
 " I go to-morrow, and must have a few words with you ere we 
 part. I used to think of you, dear Edith, with the same kind 
 of feelings which I feel for sister Josephine ; but that clay has 
 passed. I do not ask a sister's love, I ask more. Young aa 
 you are, Edith, you are all the world to me ; and when I ask 
 my heart if I can be satisfied with sisterly affection, it answers,
 
 48 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 no. May I hope for a nearer and a dearer place in your affec- 
 tions?" 
 
 " Gerald, I am scarcely more than a child ; and yet I know 
 that none can ever occupy the place in my heart which has 
 always been yours, and which no time can ever alter. You are 
 much more likely to change than I." 
 
 " Here, Edith, under this old elm tree, in sight of this glori- 
 ous scene, where the Creator seems smiling upon us, let us pro- 
 mise to love each other as long as life lasts; you shall be my 
 dearest, loveliest Edith my strong, yet gentle adviser ; and I 
 will be to you an unchanging and devoted friend." 
 
 " It needs no promise, Gerald, on my part," replied Edith ; 
 "for every walk and tree around Ravenswood speaks to me of 
 Gerald. But you must acquaint my parents with this conver- 
 sation, for we ought not to hold intercourse of this kind, with- 
 out their knowledge." 
 
 " When I am gone, Edith, will you visit this old elm tree, 
 and think of Gerald ?" 
 
 "I can certainly promise that," replied Edith ; "for I am not 
 one that can forget my friends." 
 
 They returned to the house slowly and thoughtfully. Their 
 relations were changed ; and Edith, young as she was, felt that 
 henceforth the name and happiness of Gerald Fortescue were 
 indissolubly blended with her own. They were both very 
 thoughtful ; and Gerald sought an opportunity that evening of 
 speaking to Mr. Clifford. He was not surprised, but, although 
 he highly esteemed the young man, and approved of the con- 
 nection, he would not consent to bind either by any engagement 
 while both were yet so young ; but placing no barrier in the 
 way of their affection, he tacitly sanctioned the present state 
 of affairs. 
 
 Mrs. Clifford, believing that a pure affection is a source of 
 great happiness, and, under proper restraints, not forbidden, 
 but, on the contrary, pronounced blessed in the Bible, was 
 pleased that two whom she loved so much, should so tenderly 
 love each other. 
 
 Edith retired to her room that night, feeling that she was
 
 ROSY DREAMS. 49 
 
 a different creature ; her thoughts were of Gerald and the 
 future. Henceforth, with a nature strong as Edith Clifford's, 
 there could be no change; her all of earthly happiness once 
 embarked in one human heart, solemn should be the guardian, 
 ship of such a secret trust. She meditated long, and prayed 
 fervently for God's blessing on herself and Gerald, and closed 
 her eyes dreaming of the happy future. At early dawn she 
 arose to hail the rising sun. It was one of the most brilliant 
 days of that lovely season. As she sat at the window, looking 
 on the beautiful landscape, the pictures of the lovely spring 
 morning without were not more enchanting than those within 
 the young heart ; and the smiles which lit up her sweet face 
 spoke of love, and trust, and hope. After her morning devo- 
 tions, she descended to the breakfast-room, the very picture of 
 radiant joy and youthful happiness. Soon after breakfast, the 
 young men come over' to bid farewell to their friends; and as 
 Frank was to accompany them to college, it added much to 
 the sorrow of their parting hour. Edith and Madge were es- 
 pecially sad ; for, after a stay much prolonged by little Lilly's 
 illness, they felt the blank which the absence of the young 
 men would bring more keenly. Josephine had come over to 
 Ravenswood with the young men to see the last of Gerald ; for, 
 masculine as she desired to appear, if there was any object on 
 earth whom she nearly idolized, it was her brother Gerald. 
 
 During the young men's stay at Oak Hall, Josephine had 
 been deeply engaged in a new study and that was the inter- 
 esting character of Ralph Cameron. She had seen but few of 
 the other sex ; her gentle, poetic brother, Gerald, and the spor- 
 tive, impetuous Frank, had been the only ones whom she had 
 known intimately; but here was a youth of an entirely different 
 stamp. His mind was of the highest order, and his education 
 thorough. Independent in all his actions, he seemed born to 
 command. Josephine, for once, acknowledged the presence of 
 a superior, and involuntarily yielded him her respect. One 
 thing, however, puzzled her: with all his strength, his piety 
 was a subject of the greatest wonder. She could not sec how it 
 was possible, that a mind like his should bow itself down at 
 4
 
 50 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 the shrine of what she deemed superstition. Fearless in the 
 expression of her ultra sentiments, in the presence of Ralph 
 she was abashed, and several times detected herself in endea- 
 voring to conceal her real thoughts from him, for fear of los- 
 ing his good opinion. When alone, she would take herself to 
 task for her weakness, and resolve that she would not be so 
 governed by so young a man but it was all in vain ; a glance 
 of his bright eye, the clear, decided tone of his voice, when 
 expressing with manly boldness his noble sentiments, were 
 enough to dissipate all her boasted courage and independence. 
 
 " Could it be possible," she would ask herself, " that she, the 
 proud, boastful Josephine Fortescue, was really afraid of 
 Ralph Cameron ?" Then again, when she saw his kind devo- 
 tion to little Madge Clifford, an unattractive child, she would 
 sometimes detect herself in wishing the child far away. She 
 saw her talents, but she could not imagine what Ralph saw in 
 her, to draw his attention constantly away from herself. She 
 had never seen any one with half the strength of Ralph's 
 character, and yet with all his power, his goodness led him to 
 devote himself to this little girl ; certainly with no other desire 
 than to do her good. 
 
 Could she only hope to be the friend of Ralph Cameron, she 
 felt as if he would improve her character, and yet the thought 
 was instantly hushed. These reveries had frequently disturbed 
 her ; what could it mean ? And now in the day of parting, 
 when Ralph was to leave them, " why should she feel so sad ':" 
 His whole attention was given to Madge ; and while she felt 
 that she would have sacrificed much to gain his friendship, she 
 realized that a homely, perverse little girl had supplanted her. 
 As thoughts like these passed through her mind, she was stand- 
 ing leaning near the window. Ralph approached her, and ex- 
 tending his hand in a friendly manner, said, " Farewell, Miss 
 Fortescue. You will remember what I have said to you con- 
 cerning the things of another world." 
 
 With more humility than she had ever felt before, she re- 
 plied, " I will endeavor to do so." 
 
 She turned away to hide her emotion, for she was too proud
 
 ROSY DREAMS. 51 
 
 to show to others that deep interest which she painfully realized ^ 
 she felt in Ralph Cameron. Though aiming to be in all re- 
 spects a strong-minded woman, Josephine Fortescue had dis- 
 covered that she possessed a woman's heart. The carriage 
 was standing at the door to convey them away. Gerald, with 
 a tearful countenance, wrung Edith's hand ; Ralph whispered 
 Borne kind parting words to Madge, and Frank, whose warm 
 heart was really full of grief, to hide his emotions, was giving 
 his parting injunctions with an air of lightness which he did 
 not feel. 
 
 " Farewell, Edith ! Good-by, Madge ! You'll be glad when 
 I am gone. Now don't say that you are sorry, for I cannot 
 believe you. You must all write me family letters." 
 
 The mother drew her only son down close to her, and while 
 
 n-hispered earnest, parting words, he could no longer hide 
 
 ^s which burst 'from his eyes, and streamed down his 
 
 ^'awing his cap down over his face, he hastily en- 
 
 - riage, and in another minute, the caps waving 
 
 > windows, until it passed out of the avenue, 
 
 orone. Mrs. Clifford sent for Edith to come 
 
 departure, and with a mother's warm 
 
 a. n soiled her sweet daughter with re- 
 
 gara 
 
 "I \Vv '' : ; u h, against building too much upon 
 
 earthly hit i Know more of life than you do. Do 
 
 not allow you vvell too much upon thoughts of Gerald, 
 
 or to expect too i i.ch from man ; yours is a strong, deep na- 
 ture ; he is different, he is more of the dreamy and imaginative, 
 and may not be capable of the strong enduring love which you 
 can bestow ; love God supremely, and all earthly objects in 
 entire subjection to His will." 
 
 " Thank you, dear mamma, for your kind advice. I am. 
 not a love-sick girl, but hope that I shall be just as anxious to 
 perform my duties and improve my mind as ever, for now I 
 have a new motive in my desire to prepare myself for future 
 relations in life; but, mamma, I cannot conceal from you or 
 myself, that should I be disappointed in iny estimate of Gerald
 
 52 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 Fortescue, for this life I should be shipwrecked ; for should I 
 for one moment see that his affection for me was on the decline, 
 I would instantly restore him his liberty, though my own peace 
 should be the sacrifice." Mrs. Cli fiord looked with admiration, 
 mingled with trembling, on the proud expression of Edith's 
 countenance, as she uttered these words, and they sank deep 
 into the mother's heart. After Gerald's departure, Edith re- 
 turned with her usual interest to her studies, for her character 
 was too well disciplined to allow her to waste her time on mere 
 reveries. 
 
 After the duties of the day, she frequently repaired to the 
 trysting tree, where she had promised to remember Gerald ; 
 there she frequently perused his letters, which came regularly, 
 filled with expressions of devotion, and often asking for her 
 advice upon subjects of interest. 
 
 Poor little Madge soon sank back again into her old habits 
 of silence and gloom ; deprived of Ralph Cameron, she repelled 
 all others, and simply performed her duties, and attended, to 
 her studies, because he had laid down a plan for her, which 
 she most faithfully adhered to. To little Lilly alone, she was 
 affectionate; regarding her as the victim of her unkindness, 
 she sought, by every means, to render her life less lonely and 
 sorrowful. Towards Blanche and Adele she was still morose 
 and envious ; they tried to make her believe that they could 
 love her, but all in vain. 
 
 Madge idolized the beautiful, and coveted its possession for 
 herself with such intense longing, that she still regarded the 
 exceeding loveliness of Blanche Clifford with bitter envy ; and 
 forgetting that she might be just as much beloved for moral 
 beauty, she pined after the unattainable, and neglected that 
 which was ever within her reach. 
 
 Adele's sportive, sparkling nature was equally an object of 
 envy, for Madge saw that everywhere she was welcome, and 
 that her silvery laugh and merry jokes were the life of every 
 circle where she moved. 
 
 Miss Arnold was sadly tried when she saw a return of the 
 old infirmities, but wisely she refrained from making them too
 
 ROSY DREAMS. 53 
 
 much the subject of remark ; she instructed faithfully, prayed 
 earnestly, and observed that whenever Madge received a letter 
 from Ralph, for days its effect was visible in the efforts which 
 she made to overcome her faults, and improve her character ; 
 but suddenly some temptation would arise, and Madge would 
 be again overcome, and for weeks the fit of sullen gloomy 
 despair would follow. 
 
 Edith's fine character and noble intellect daily strengthened ; 
 
 but still there was the one root of bitterness which often 
 
 strained her best performances ; there was yet lacking the one 
 
 thing needful that " ornament of a meek and quiet spirit," 
 
 without which all else is comparatively valueless. She was 
 
 ( ui^cientious, truthful, high-minded ; but the heart was not 
 
 wholly given to the Lord Jesus, to be his alone, and 
 
 ^d after his holy image. 
 
 13 gave promise of much sweetness and innocence of 
 
 nit her principles were feeble. She was easily in- 
 
 others. The present society was the mould of her 
 
 ' watchful friends feared that this vacillating, 
 
 ht prove a serious hindrance to all moral 
 
 'Ued Edith, and looked up to her with 
 
 as she felt for her mother. So great 
 
 "" -vbody, that her efforts frequently 
 
 brou t of falsehood ; and her watchful 
 
 governt. ^r, and endeavored to guard 
 
 this weak t charao ' -inche feared Miss Arnold, 
 
 because she , ttnatffr .ood her character. Not 
 
 so with Adele; rack .untness, her perfect trans- 
 
 parency was her c. at her giddiness often brought 
 
 her into difficulty. (So N -. as her mirthfulness, and so keen 
 her sense of the ludicx , that Miss Arnold feared that she 
 would make many enemies in her path through life, and en- 
 deavored to restrain and guide her merry, thoughtless little 
 pupil. There was one redeeming quality, and that was her 
 warm, affectionate heart; through that channel, which was 
 ever open to those she loved, there was always free access to 
 the conscience of Adele Clifford.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 CITY COUSINS. 
 
 N consequence of living in, the country, the 
 children had not many associates, nor did they 
 the need of society, for their own family circle 
 vas a happy one, and the means provided for their 
 recreation, as well as their instruction, was abundant. 
 There were a few neighboring families only, whose 
 acquaintance Mrs. Clifford cultivated. She had one 
 sister in New York, Mrs. Morris, who had two 
 daughters, the elder, Sophy; the younger, Eleanor. The 
 mother was a lady of high fashion, entirely devoted to the 
 vanities of the world. Her children, of course, were educated 
 in an artificial manner, and were taught that fashionable edu- 
 cation, fashionable society, and fashionable dress, were the only 
 things worth attending to. She did not often visit Mrs. 
 Clifford, for they had no sympathies in common ; but as she 
 had heard sad accounts of her sister's declining health, she 
 wrote that she and her daughters would pay a visit to Ravens- 
 wood. 
 
 Mrs. Clifford answered the letters, stating that she would be 
 glad to see her, and that the carriage would be in readiness to 
 meet them at the landing, at the time appointed ; but she 
 dreaded the power of their example upon Blanche and Adele. 
 Edith she believed far above their influence. 
 
 On the following evening, as the guests were expected, the 
 54
 
 CITY COUSINS. 55 
 
 children were all arrayed in simple dresses, with neat silk 
 aprons, to meet their fashionable cousins, one fourteen; the 
 other twelve years old. When the carriage drove up, Mrs. 
 Morris, dressed in the very highest fashion, descended with 
 some difficulty, for her enormous hoops and heavy flounces 
 filled up the seat of the carriage. The two children were 
 equally loaded with dress ; and when they entered the drawing- 
 room, with their mincing step, hands crossed in front, and 
 heads thrown back, Adele could scarcely restrain her disposi- 
 tion to laugh, they reminded her so much of caricatures 
 which she had seen in the print-windows of New York. 
 Blanche was rather more impressed by their self-important 
 manners. Edith was too polite ever to forget the courtesy of a 
 lady ; and Madge was too demonstrative to affect anything 
 more than she really felt. Mrs. Clifford received her sister 
 >ctionately, and they were all shown up to their rooms to 
 re for tea. 
 
 1 they had left the room, Adele sprang from her seat, 
 Panels, threw back her head, and commenced mimick- 
 Blanche could not help laughing, 
 see such frights ?" said Adele. 
 
 >r dresses are elegant," replied Blanche; 
 I post a great deal of money ; and their 
 i. 
 
 they could run to save their lives. I 
 
 should i fence, with their high-heeled 
 
 boots, the oops," said Adele. "I am 
 
 going to hav -\\, in^id I tell you." 
 
 "Take care, . ; "mamma will be dis- 
 
 pleased if you ma ,-ins." 
 
 "Oh, I won't do ,ust a little fun," answered 
 
 Adele. , v . 
 
 Madge, who overheard f ue talk, said, "I do not think that 
 they are worth anybody's notice; they are a pair of affected 
 simpletons, and I am not going to put myself out for them." 
 
 When the tea-bell rang, the guests swept into the room in 
 full dress, and the young ladies now appeared in thin muslin,
 
 56 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 with low neck and short sleeves, and a profusion of elegant 
 jewelry. 
 
 By the side of Mrs. Clifford's group of natural children, so 
 simply educated, and arrayed in such a plain and childish 
 nuinner, they presented a strong* contrast, and evidently looked 
 down upon their country cousins with much contempt. The 
 children brought out a variety of games, and endeavored to 
 amuse them ; but they seemed to have no taste for any such. 
 In historical games they betrayed profound ignorance, and 
 others were too childish. When asked to favor her cousins 
 with some music, Miss Sophy, with an affected manner, pro- 
 ceeded to the piano, and moving the stool far away, seated 
 herself at a distance, stooping over from her waist, in a most 
 ridiculous position, while, raising her hands with a sudden 
 jump to a great height, and then, running her fingers over the 
 keys in a dashing, furious manner, she thought that she was 
 making a great impression; but when she commenced singing 
 from an Italian opera, throwing up her eyes, shrugging her 
 shoulders, and lisping out in one minute soft, languishing tones, 
 and then screaming at the top of her voice most unmusical 
 notes, and finally dying away in long untimed trills and shakes, 
 Adelc could scarcely restrain loud laughter; if her sisters 
 glanced towards her for an instant, her languishing looks, and 
 absurd faces, the quick imitation of Sophy'-; attitude, when 
 none observed her but her sisters, were irresistibly comic, and 
 every moment they feared a loud explosion. Madge looked 
 on contemptuously. Blanche was somewhat overawed, as she 
 supposed that this was singing of the highest order. After 
 this grand performance, there was another pause, and the chil- 
 dren could not imagine what to do next. The young ladies 
 began to yawn, as if tired of their companions. 
 
 "How do you amuse yourselves in New York?" asked 
 Blanche. 
 
 " When we have company, we always invite some boys, and 
 then we dance all the evening. I cannot imagine how you 
 amuse yourselves without dancing." 
 
 " Don't you ever waltz with little girls ?" said Adele.
 
 CITY COUSINS. 57 
 
 "Yes; but we don't care for such dancing, there is no fun 
 in that." 
 
 " If you will play for us, we will show you how we waltz," 
 said Sophy. 
 
 Blanche sat down to the piano, and while she played the 
 girls fluttered and swam about the room in the latest approved 
 style, thinking that they were astonishing their country cousins. 
 Adele was almost convulsed with laughter, and longed to show 
 off the performance of the evening. 
 
 After they retired, Adele threw up her hands, and, laughing 
 immoderately, said : 
 
 " And these are the fine ladies of New York ! I hope I'll 
 never be a lady." 
 
 Next morning, in compliment to their guests, Miss Arnold 
 
 ^rave a holiday; and soon after breakfast, the girls invited 
 
 ir guests to take a walk. Attired in elegant, expensive 
 
 with delicate, high-heeled boots, and fancy bonnets, 
 
 - girls met their cousins, arrayed in suitable style for 
 
 l he country. Adele, in high glee, led them first 
 
 mien, and then across the fields to a neighbor- 
 
 \ they reached the field, there were a number 
 
 nd the city belles were dreadfully fright- 
 
 c 'he animals look towards them. Sophy 
 
 slux ^m, and ran as fast as her long dress 
 
 woulu T icn she perceived that a cow was 
 
 pursuing vith terror, and ran towards the 
 
 fence. 
 
 " How sha. 
 
 " I'll show yo ith one foot on the rails, in 
 
 her short dress, , . a over on the other side, 
 
 where she stood lauj, , s embarrassment. 
 
 " I never climbed a . my life, and I shall ruin my 
 
 dress if I attempt it," s;. ,-ophy. 
 
 " You had better try, Sophy, the cow is coming fast," an- 
 swered thoughtless Adele. 
 
 After many awkward efforts, she succeeded in rolling over 
 the fence; but her flounces were ripped off, and her delicate
 
 58 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 boot was torn. Adele could not keep from laughing, as she 
 saw the harmless old cow standing at the fence, looking on 
 demurely at the mischief she had done. 
 
 " Do let us go home," said Sophy, " I am sick of walking in 
 the country." 
 
 Adele, thinking that she had enjoyed enough fun for one 
 day, consented. 
 
 Miss Arnold reproved her for leading the young ladies 
 through the fields, for she strongly suspected that it was done 
 purposely for sport. It wag certainly very rude treatment of a 
 guest, but Adele thoughtlessly followed her inclinations. The 
 girls seemed offended, for they began to suspect Adele's agency. 
 When they returned, they retired to their own room, to repair 
 the mischief which had been done, and Blanche and Adele ran 
 up to the school-room. 
 
 " Come, Blanche, play me a waltz, I want to practice," said 
 Adele, and seizing little Lilly by the waist, she flew off into a 
 must ludicrous caricature of the waltz of the evening before. 
 With her head thrown on one side, her eyes bent affectedly 
 down on the floor, and her languishing attitudes, it was a 
 perfect imitation of what she had witnessed, only somewhat 
 exaggerated. Then she flew to the piano, and dragging out 
 the stool, seated herself in imitation of Miss Sophy; and 
 then throwing up her eyes, and imitating the fingering, or 
 rather the hammering, she commenced an Italian opera, 
 with sounds resembling words, lisping, screaming, and quiver- 
 ing in a perfect agony. Blanche could not restrain her 
 laughter ; even Madge was led to join the sport ; and Miss 
 Arnold, who had witnessed all the performance, could scarcely 
 command herself enough to reprove the child for her want of 
 hospitality. 
 
 " Adele, have you not forgotten that Sophy is your guest ?" 
 said Miss Arnold. 
 
 " No, I have not ; she does not see me, and it can do her no 
 harm," answered Adele, in self-defence. 
 
 " It is wrong, Adele, because it is a violation of that golden 
 rule, which should regulate all our actions; it is not doing as
 
 CITY COUSINS. 59 
 
 you would be done by; and then, Adele, her folly is not all 
 her fault : her mother is chiefly to blame, and I am inclined to 
 think that if she had proper influence exerted over her, she 
 might make a fine woman." 
 
 " I cannot help laughing, Miss Arnold, it looks so funny to 
 see such a young girl trying to act like a woman." 
 
 Blanche was much more impressed by a sense of their conse- 
 quence, and when alone with the girls, expressed her sorrow at 
 her unfashionable education. 
 
 " Mamma, has such strange notions, she seems to forget who 
 we are, and is just bringing us up as plainly as farmers' 
 daughters." 
 
 Blanche blushed as she said this, for she knew that all the 
 accomplishments and refinements of life were allowed, provided 
 they did not interfere with Mrs. Clifford's ideas of consistency. 
 Blanche was very fond of dress, and often felt discontented 
 with her simple attire, especially since she had seen her aunt's 
 mode of dressing her children. Sophy and Eleanor took great 
 pleasure in showing her all their finery and jewelry, and told 
 Blanche that they hoped their Aunt Clifford would let them 
 come and pay them a visit ; she should then see New York life. 
 
 Mrs. Morris frequently expostulated with Mrs. Clifford about 
 her modes of education. 
 
 "What do you intend your children for, Mary? Do you 
 forget that they are Ravenswoods ?" said Mrs. Morris. 
 
 " I do not, my sister ; nor do I forget that they are God's 
 children in one sense, given up to his service in Christian 
 baptism ; and endeavoring by God's help to keep my vow, I am 
 training them for usefulness here, and for heaven hereafter." 
 
 " What will you do with them when it is time to bring them 
 out?" asked Mrs. Morris. . 
 
 " Bring them out, where ? Into the gay world ? If that is 
 what you mean, Ellen, I shall never bring them out ; it is my 
 constant care to keep them aloof from the enchantments of a 
 worldly life," was Mrs. Clifford's consistent answer. 
 
 " Whom do you suppose that they will marry ?" asked her 
 sister.
 
 60 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 " That will be answered by a wise Providence, Ellen. I will 
 endeavor to do my duty, and bring them up for that station of 
 life in which God has placed them; if he designs them for 
 heads of families, he will provide companions ; and if not, they 
 can be useful and happy too, without an establishment, for that 
 seems to be the great idea now among fashionables of the 
 sacred institution of marriage." 
 
 After an intermission of a day or two from their studies, 
 Miss Arnold assembled her young charge again in their 
 school-room, and inviting Sophy and Eleanor to join them, 
 she saw by their lively interest in the instructions which 
 she gave that they were two fine girls, spoiled by a false edu- 
 cation. 
 
 " Mamma, I am really ashamed of my ignorance," said Sophy, 
 to her mother; "there are Madge and Blanche, and even Adele, 
 who have more knowledge of the world around them, than all 
 that I have ever heard in my whole life ; they talked to Miss 
 Arnold to-day about the old kings and their courts, as if they 
 had really visited their ancient kingdoms. She was reviewing 
 their lessons to-day, and their knowledge of their own country 
 is enough to shame half of the girls in Mad. La Gree's academy ; 
 they write beautiful letters, speak French, and draw exquis- 
 itely, and I shall never have such a high opinion again of a 
 French boarding-school, since I have seen Miss Arnold's school- 
 room." 
 
 Mrs. Morris was struck by Sophy's remarks, but still she 
 mentally resolved that her children should be educated in a 
 manner worthy of the old Ravenswoods, and though she saw 
 that in all that was solid and excellent her sister's modes were 
 fur superior, yet she was willing to sacrifice all to the shrine of 
 fashionable worldliness. 
 
 After spending a few weeks with Mrs. Clifford, Mrs. Morris 
 prepared to return to New York, in order to make ready for a 
 jaunt to Saratoga, where she usually spent part of her summer. 
 The girls had become attached to their cousins, and were really 
 sorry to leave the pleasant home of Ravenswood, for the busy, 
 bustling life of New York, even in the Fifth Avenue. Blanche
 
 CITY COUSINS. 61 
 
 and Addle had rattled on about Frank, and Gerald, and Ralph, 
 until the girls were curious to see those wonderful young men, 
 and were sorry that they had not delayed their visit until 
 vacation. 
 
 The sisters parted sadly, Mrs. Clifford mourning over the 
 worldliness of her sister, and Mrs. Morris impressed with a 
 conviction that her sister Mary was hastening rapidly to that 
 " bourne from whence no traveller returns."
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE TWO PASTORS. 
 
 i^ EVERAL miles from Ravenswood lay the plea- 
 
 *k sant village of N , where several churches 
 
 of different denominations were located, and 
 where persons living in the country generally 
 attended. Mrs. Clifford was an Episcopalian, and 
 from her youth had been a communicant in that 
 church ; her family, consequently, had been reared 
 in their mother's faith. 
 In its early history, the rectors of St. John's had been good, 
 useful men, who loved their own church, valued its services, 
 but who preached Jesus Christ and him crucified, as the sinner's 
 only hope. But after the publication of the "Tracts for the 
 Times," in America, novelties appeared in many of the churches 
 in the State of New York; and the rector of St. John's, the 
 Rev. Mr. Singleton, became deeply affected with the new 
 doctrines, claiming for them great antiquity. He was a dan- 
 gerous teacher of error, for he was a man of talent and elo- 
 quence, with popular manners, and very devoted and exemplary 
 in his daily life. He had always been upon terms of close in- 
 timacy with the Clifford family, and esteemed the mother of 
 the household, as one of the most lovely and pious members of 
 St. John's. 
 
 Gradually the change in his sentiments appeared. His 
 preaching, formerly of a plain, practical character, though 
 62
 
 THE TWO PASTORS. 63 
 
 never very decided in its tone, now taught a mystical theology: 
 baptismal regeneration; sacramental union with Christ; a rigid 
 adherence to forms and ceremonies ; the keeping of saints' 
 days ; quoting more from the fathers than from the word of 
 God : all these were sadly significant of what must follow. 
 The study of ancient ecclesiology; the fashion of ancient vest- 
 ment, and long-exploded practices ; the burning of candles ; 
 the decorations of flowers, and the introduction of ancient 
 symbols among the ornaments of the church, were allowed to 
 occupy too much of the time and attention of one in charge of 
 immortal souls. 
 
 With a heart beguiled from the simplicity that there is in 
 the gospel, he began to urge the vestry to remodel the church; 
 greatly to enlarge the' chancel ; to build an altar after the 
 ancient model ; talked of chanting the service ; performed sin- 
 gular genuflections during public worship, much of which he 
 conducted with his back to the people ; and on communion 
 days elevated the paten containing the bread, then bowing 
 lowly before it, placed it on what he now called the altar, but 
 which our fathers, for hundreds of years, had known always 
 as the simple communion table. 
 
 As introductory to the new order of things, he preached 
 much about the ancient usages of the Church ; undertook to 
 explain the spiritual meaning of all the trifles which he wished 
 to introduce into the solemn worship of Almighty God. This 
 pained the pious heart of Mrs. Clifford : for since she had 
 known the preciousness that she had found in her Redeemer, 
 she could never be satisfied with husks of man's devising ; she 
 thirsted for the bread of life, and sometimes wondered where 
 she could find the green pastures and the still waters of salva- 
 tion. Many like herself were sadly disquieted, and were earn- 
 estly praying for direction, in this state of affairs. 
 
 About this time, a notice was given of an approaching con- 
 firmation, and Mr. Singleton urged attendance, upon the rite of 
 all who had reached the age of fourteen, without any explana- 
 tion of spiritual qualifications: and seemed to regard the 
 service as binding upon all who had literally, not spiritually,
 
 64 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 complied with the conditions of the Prayer Book ; urging its 
 participation upon all who could say the Creed, the Lord's 
 Prayer, and the Ten Commandments, without laying any 
 stress upon that passage, which adds most significantly, "and 
 are sufficiently instructed in the others parts of the Church 
 Catechism, set forth for that purpose." 
 
 Miss Barton, a young lady entirely under the influence of 
 Mr. Singleton, was the Sunday-school teacher of Edith Clifford, 
 who was at that time about fourteen. Believing that through 
 the channels of the Church only and infallibly, salvation could 
 visit the heart, she urged upon the members of her class, and 
 Edith among the rest, to come forward to the solemn rite. 
 The young girl had many serious thoughts ; she wished to be 
 a true child of God, but although not spiritually renewed, she 
 had enough light to fear that she was not a proper subject for 
 the rite: but when urged by Miss Barton, and also by Mr. 
 Singleton, she thought that she must conform to the regula- 
 tions of the Church, and at last visited Mr. Singleton, with 
 reference to the matter. 
 
 She went to his study, with many misgivings, expecting to be 
 questioned very closely as to the state of her heart before God; 
 but when he simply asked her if she knew the Creed, the Lord's 
 Prayer, and the Ten Commandments, she came away infi" 
 nitely more sad than when she first went, wondering whether 
 something more was not implied in the ratification of the bap- 
 tismal vow ; but urged by her pastor and her Sunday-school 
 teacher, she gave in her name as a candidate. Her mother 
 and Miss Arnold, looking upon Edith as exceedingly con- 
 scientious, thought that she would not take upon herself 
 solemn vows without striving to keep them, and therefore 
 offered no opposition. Edith's perplexity increased ; the more 
 that she studied the engagements assumed, the ore she feared 
 her unfitness; she prayed for guidance, but she was still com- 
 paratively unenlightened. The time rolled around, until at 
 last the eventful day arrived. Early in the morning she arose, 
 and taking her Prayer Book, read the vows once more. They 
 pressed upon her conscience with the weight of a mountain.
 
 THE TWO PASTORS. 65 
 
 She felt, as she examined them, that none but a true Christian 
 could keep such solemn vows. 
 
 Was she, then, a real heart-changed Christian ? Had she 
 truly repented of all her heart-sins, as well as those of her life? 
 Was she really trusting in the Lord Jesus Christ? Had she 
 renounced the vain pomps and vanities of this wicked world ? 
 Her heart trembled as she pondered over these solemn questions j 
 she feared to take these vows upon her soul. Her agitation 
 was so great, that, sick and faint, she was unable to dress, and 
 went back to her bed. Several times she arose, and was wholly 
 unable to prepare in time for church. When the period had 
 passed, she recovered her usual feelings, and ever after was 
 thankful to her Heavenly Father for what she always regarded 
 as his interference, in preventing her from assuming a false vow. 
 
 A large number was confirmed on that day, but Edith Clif- 
 ford was not among them ; many, urged by injudicious friends, 
 had taken vows which they never meant to keep. The Church 
 was mutiplied, but not edified, by such additions. When Mr. 
 Singleton called upon Mrs. Clifford, she expressed her views 
 candidly and affectionately, and was extremely grieved at his 
 open expressions of what she esteemed as fundamental error. 
 He called her views, when applied to doctrine, Methodistical ; 
 and to practice, Puritanical. She was deeply pained that the 
 Church which she loved so intensely, should have such an ex- 
 positor of its blessed doctrines and services; and sometimes 
 wondered how the martyrs of ancient days would esteem these 
 modern sons. 
 
 The ministrations in the sanctuary became at last so offen- 
 sive, that a number considered that it would be an improper 
 exercise of charity to continue any longer in such a barren 
 vineyard; they remembered that while the charity of the Gos- 
 pel is long-suffering and kind, at the same time it " rejoiceth 
 not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth." 
 
 Deliberately, prayerfully, and in the fear of God, they with- 
 drew from old St. John's, the chui'ch which they had loved so 
 long, and formed a new organization of their own, calling it, 
 St. Paul's. 
 5
 
 66 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 About thirty families joined the new congregation, and 
 called a pastor, whom several had heard preach frequently in 
 New York, and in their own village, the Rev. Mr. Berkely. 
 He was person eminently qualified for the station which he 
 filled, for while he was an uncompromising preacher of the 
 simple truth as it is in Jesus, his character was so lovely and 
 Christ-like, that he was the very one fitted to bear the storms 
 of opposition. 
 
 Having no church to worship in when he first came among 
 them, they met in a public ball ; and though not surrounded 
 by the impressiveness of a sanctuary dedicated to the worship 
 of God, and used for that alone, when he first appeared .in the 
 desk, there was such an air of deep solemnity about the pale, 
 intellectual-looking man, who stood before them as their 
 pastor, that all eyes were fixed upon him, and all hearts im- 
 pressed by his appearance alone. But when he raised his 
 clear voice, and said, in thrilling tones, " The Lord is in his 
 holy temple, let all the earth keep silence before him," there 
 was a solemn stillness in that audience, that might better be 
 felt than described. 
 
 He was a man of about forty, with a pale, gray eye, high, 
 broad forehead, and large mouth, about which, at times, there 
 played an expression of peculiar sweetness ; his thin, gray hair 
 lay in long locks about his head ; his figure was slight in the 
 extreme, and his step, as he quietly moved about, indicated 
 delicate health. When he addressed his new charge, laying 
 aside all the ceremony of recent acquaintance, he appealed to 
 them, as members of the Redeemer's flock, whom he loved for 
 Jesus' sake, and when he announced the principles by which 
 he hoped to be governed, he begged their co-operation and their 
 prayers. Making no allusion whatever to the church which 
 they had left, in his prayer he remembered all who named the 
 name of Christ, and prayed that all might be guided into 
 truth. 
 
 Having suffered the evils of spiritual starvation so long, the 
 people were so thankful for the indications of God's favor, that 
 they took hold of the new enterprise with great energy and
 
 THE TWO PASTORS. 67 
 
 simplicity of heart, and in a few months had the pleasure of 
 taking possession of a new and beautiful church, where every 
 accommodation was provided for a useful evangelical congre- 
 gation. 
 
 Mr. Berkely proved to be a pastor after the model of the 
 New Testament, not only in the pulpit, but from house to 
 house, and everywhere " teaching the things concerning the 
 kingdom of God ;" his labors were greatly blessed, and quickly 
 he gathered around him an interesting flock, devoted to good 
 works, and daily adorning the doctrine of God their Saviour. 
 
 While he loved his own Church, he loved Christ, which it 
 set forth, still better ; while he revered its forms, he could 
 worship his Creator at suitable times, without them ; while he 
 loved especially the brethren of his own household, his large, 
 warm heart throbbed strongly towards all others who bore the 
 image of his Redeemer. Justification by faith in a crucified 
 Saviour, sanctification by the Holy Spirit, the need of a holy 
 life, the use of means of grace for the renewed soul, and sub- 
 jects of practical piety, formed the burden of his preaching. 
 He soon became warmly attached to the Clifford family, and 
 none were more welcome at the hospitable mansion than the 
 good Mr. Berkely. 
 
 When he first took charge of the parish, and heard the 
 story of Edith's delayed confirmation, he was greatly inter- 
 ested, and his warmest Christian sympathies enlisted in her 
 behalf, for he saw in her conscientiousness indications of the 
 teachings of the blessed Spirit, which he doubted not would 
 bring forth fruit unto everlasting life. What he aimed at was 
 not simply to bring his young people forward to confirmation, 
 but to prepare them for that solemn rite, by endeavoring to 
 lead them to Jesus as their Saviour first, and then to the 
 Church as their sheltering home afterwards. He loved the 
 lambs of his flock, and when the young Cliffords saw his little 
 carriage driving up the avenue at Ravenswood, many a time a 
 joyous group might be seen running down the path to meet 
 the good pastor, calling out, " Mamma, mamma, here comes 
 dear Mr. Berkely."
 
 68 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 No sooner would he drive up, than all clustered around him 
 to receive his kind salutations and his pleasant smiles. One 
 would seize his hat, another his whip, a third a bundle of books, 
 perhaps ; and little blind Lilly always contrived to get pos- 
 session of the pastor's hand, who would gently lead her into 
 the house. Seated in the library, on the good man's knee, 
 while he patted her affectionately on the cheek, Lilly was a 
 happy little girl; putting his hand in his pocket, he would 
 draw out some nice fruit, or a bon-bon for the blind child ; 
 and a few tracts or children's papers would make the rest 
 equally happy. Even Madge loved good Mr. Berkely, for 
 nothing but kind words ever passed his lips when speaking to 
 her. 
 
 Since the congregation had separated from Mr. Singleton, it 
 had been more than two years, and brings us now to the period 
 when Edith is more than seventeen. During these two years, 
 Mr. Berkely had faithfully instructed and prayed for Edith ; 
 he had watched with great interest the development of her 
 character, and hoped that divine grace was operating on her 
 young heart. He saw her failing, which was excessive pride, 
 not of rank, or station, or beauty, or talent, for she possessed 
 them all but pride of character; this, he well knew, must be 
 brought into subjection, ere she could really become a true 
 disciple of the meek and lowly Saviour. He watched over her 
 with a father's tender care, instructed, guided, prayed for her 
 and with her, and was daily cheered by the evidences which 
 she gave of tenderness of conscience, increasing humility, peni- 
 tence for sin, and simple faith in Jesus. 
 
 One Sunday morning a notice was given that in six weeks 
 the Bishop of the Diocese would hold a confirmation in the 
 Parish of St. Paul's. All who had any interest in the subject 
 of personal religion were invited to meet their pastor for pri- 
 vate counsel and prayer. Edith listened with a deeply solemn- 
 ized spirit. It was her most earnest desire to dedicate herself 
 openly to the service of God. She acknowledged the claims 
 of her Saviour, and felt now, though with deep humility, that 
 she could assume these solemn obligations, and by God's help
 
 THE TWO PASTORS. 69 
 
 she trusted that she could endeavor to perform her vows. She 
 inwardly resolved to seek Mr. Berkely. On Monday morning, 
 having obtained the approbation of Miss Arnold, and the 
 blessing of her dear mother, as she pressed her to her heart 
 
 with a warm kiss, she rode over to N , a distance of a 
 
 few miles. 
 
 On entering the study, Mr. Berkely arose, and taking her 
 hand, led her to a seat, saying, kindly, " I have been expecting 
 you, Edith, though I have purposely avoided speaking to you, 
 especially on the subject which I hope has brought you." 
 
 " I have come with a trembling heart, Mr. Berkely, to ask 
 your opinion concerning the step which I wish to take. When 
 the Bishop's notice was read yesterday, I seemed to hear a voice 
 saying to me, ' The Master is come and calleth for thee,' and I 
 can no longer delay. I believe that I am called to follow Jesus. 
 If I know my own heart, I have repented truly of my sins past, 
 and trust only in Jesus for salvation." 
 
 " How long have you been thinking of this step, Edith ?" 
 asked the pastor. 
 
 " For a long time ; indeed, ever since I was urged by Miss 
 Barton to take the step. I am truly grateful to my Heavenly 
 Father that I was prevented then, for I believe that I was 
 wholly unprepared." 
 
 " Do you feel prepared to renounce the world and its vani- 
 ties, and to bear the cross after your Redeemer ?" 
 
 "By God's help, I trust that I am willing," answered Edith. 
 
 " What evidences have you of having passed from death 
 unto life, Edith ?" 
 
 " I love the things which I once hated, and hate what once 
 I loved. I love my Bible, prayer, God's day, God's people. 
 I prefer God's will to mine, arid am anxious to bring all my 
 powers into entire subjection to his holy laws," answered 
 Edith. 
 
 " What are your feelings towards the Lord Jesus Christ?" 
 
 "I trust in him wholly for salvation. I love his holy, 
 heavenly character. I desire to be like him, and to live with 
 him forever."
 
 70 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 " I trust that T can bid you welcome, my dear child, as a 
 sincere fol lower of the blessed Saviour. None but the Holy 
 Spirit could have produced these feelings ; and having com- 
 menced the work of grace in your heart, I trust that he will 
 bring you home in safety to his everlasting kingdom. Come 
 to me, at all times, my child, in all your hours of weakness 
 and temptation, and I will endeavor to show you the path of 
 duty and of peace." Then kneeling down, he fervently com- 
 mended the case of the young Christian to the Good Shepherd, 
 and placing in her hand a copy of the " Pastor's Testimony," 
 he saw r her kindly in the carriage which conveyed her home. 
 
 That evening she wrote to Gerald, acquainting him with her 
 decision, and in a few days received an answer full of affection, 
 encouraging her in her new life, and cheering her with the in- 
 telligence, that for months he had been meditating the same 
 step, and hoped to obtain leave of absence at that time, that he 
 might, with her, ratify his Christian vows. 
 
 On the day before Easter, Gerald arrived ; and after tea 
 the young people repaired to the old elm tree, where they had 
 so often held sweet communion ; and now their conversation 
 was of high and holy things. Gerald confided to Edith all his 
 feelings and desires, all his fears and hopes ; and she, with a 
 full heart, listened to the recital, for it established a new bond 
 of sympathy between them, which they hoped would be eternal. 
 As they walked arm-in-arm, slowly up the avenue, though the 
 thoughts which filled their young hearts were elevating and 
 purifying, and though their hopes were full of immortality, 
 they had lost some of the rosy tints which illumined their first 
 dream of earthly love, and which were mellowed, and some- 
 what shaded, by the anticipation of the warfare upon which 
 they felt they were about to enter. They could not read of the, 
 Christian's armor, without feeling that there must be a Chris- 
 tian conflict ; nor of the promises held out to tried and suffer- 
 ing pilgrims, under the chastenings of their Father, without 
 looking for life's vicissitudes. 
 
 Though their journey thus far, had led them through green 
 and shady paths, illumined by the bright sunshine, they saw
 
 THE TWO PASTORS. 71 
 
 the distant shadows, subduing the brilliant hues of life's early 
 morning; but over all, was arched the bow of Christian hope ; 
 directing all, was seen the strong wise hand of their Heavenly 
 Fatl":r; beyond all, faith pointed to the river of life, and the 
 everlasting union of saints with their Redeemer, and each 
 other, in the temple of the New Jerusalem above. In the 
 depths of Edith's strong heart, the old things of light and 
 thoughtless youth were passing away, and the more profound 
 emotions of love to God, and resolutions to live for his glory, 
 were preparing her for the trials which lay before her. She 
 loved God truly for Jesus' sake, but Gerald loved him most for 
 Edith's. 
 
 The next morning was Easter Sunday. It was indeed a 
 resurrection morn : all nature smiled with the promise of re- 
 turning spring; and the young Christians met alone, before 
 they went to church, and mingled their prayers together. 
 A large congregation had gathered ; the Bishop was seated in 
 the chancel, and the good pastor conducted the services Avith 
 unusual solemnity. When the time for the confirmation ar- 
 rived, the hymn, 
 
 " happy day, that stays my choice, 
 On tliee, niy Saviour, and my God." 
 
 was given out, and while singing the first verse, the candidates 
 approached the chancel. Gerald and Edith knelt side by 
 side, and while the Bishop laid his hands on their heads, 
 uttering the affecting prayer, " Defend, O Lord, these thy 
 servants, with thy heavenly grace, that they may continue 
 thine forever," they felt as if God's blessing rested upon them 
 in a peculiar manner, and their hearts were comforted by the 
 thought, that henceforth they would tread the pilgrim's path 
 together, until they reached "the everlasting kingdom." After 
 the service they partook of the emblems of a Saviour's love, 
 and with high and holy resolutions to live for God, they re- 
 turned to their pews. The organ played sweet and solemn 
 music as they left the church ; their thoughts were of Christ 
 and heaven ; and clad with the panoply of the gospel, they 
 went forth to the conflict. Josephine had consented to witness
 
 72 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 the services on that Easter-day, and though still averse to 
 religion, she was impressed by the affecting scene more than 
 she was willing to confess, and could say but little when Gerald 
 returned home ; added to this feeling, the thought that Ralph 
 Cameron was also a professing Christian, sealed her lips, and 
 she forbore remarks which she might otherwise have made. 
 On the following day, Gerald returned to college, and Edith to 
 the faithful discharge of her new relations. 
 
 Desiring to be useful, she took charge of a class of small 
 children in the Sunday-school, and soon became deeply in- 
 terested in her work. Mrs. Clifford's health still continued 
 delicate, often very threatening ; on this account she seldom 
 attended the house of God, but most generally remained at 
 home with little Lilly. These Sabbath days were very happy 
 seasons to the poor child, as then she was entirely alone with 
 dear mamma, and enjoyed the sweet instruction that she 
 gave. Bible stories, sweet hymns, and fervent prayer, occu- 
 pied part of the morning; and then always supplied with 
 some interesting story of youthful piety, she made the child 
 very happy. She had been for some time employed in writing 
 simple tales for her blind child, and these were always pre- 
 ferred by little Lilly, after the teaching was over. 
 
 " Now, dear mamma, one of your own beautiful stories. I 
 do not like anything else half so well." 
 
 Not being able to go to church twice a day, Miss Arnold 
 and Edith gathered a class of poor children from the neighbor- 
 hood in the afternoon, and instructed them. They esteemed it 
 a great privilege to be taught by the ladies of Ravenswood, 
 and much of the good seed of the kingdom was thus scattered. 
 Mr. Berkely encouraged Edith in her efforts, and when he 
 could spare time, rode over to visit them, and pray for a blessing 
 upon their labors of love. He was very fond of sacred music, 
 and would generally stop in Mrs. Clifford's room, where Miss 
 Arnold would favor him with some of her beautiful perform- 
 ances. He always had some kind word, or gracious promise to 
 leave with Mrs. Clifford, which was as a cordial to her drooping 
 spirit for days together.
 
 THE TWO PASTORS. 73 
 
 Who can estimate too highly the blessed influence of a good 
 pastor? While we are forbidden to give them the love which 
 belongs to God only, we are told to " esteem them very highly 
 in love for their work's sake ;" and truly we should ; for is not 
 their work a blessed employment? Co-workers with God in 
 man's salvation ; guiding the tempted, cheering the sorrowful, 
 comforting the dying, sanctifying the nuptial tie, blessing in- 
 fants in the Saviour's name, committing the dead to the silent 
 tomb. How varied ! how intense the labors of a faithful 
 minister ! How endless the demands upon his time and 
 strength ! Who needs so much of the forbearance of his 
 people, and their faithful prayers? Could those who take 
 pleasure in censuring their pastors only know of the demands 
 of one single day, instead of blaming, how often would their 
 unkind, unreasonable words be turned into prayer! 
 
 Even good Mr. Berkely knew something of these trials, and 
 sometimes when speaking of them to a judicious friend like 
 Mrs. Clifford, he felt that he might venture to show her a list 
 of the demands of one day, which he had preserved as a matter 
 of curiosity. Calls from his own parishioners, letters to write, 
 a lecture to prepare, a funeral to attend, a society to meet, and 
 visits to pay in distant parts of his parish ; perhaps in the 
 midst of all, suddenly called out of town, to visit a dying 
 person, all this repeated daily ; and yet there might be found 
 in the parish of even this laborious man, censorious spirits, who 
 could impugn his motives, undervalue his labors, and injure his 
 reputation by hidden insinuations, perhaps at the very minute, 
 when he might in his private study, be bearing before the 
 mercy-seat, the very name of the slanderer. O! that the 
 petition, " Brethren, pray for us," might sink into the heart 
 of all such, and turn their thoughtless censures into earnest 
 prayer.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 AUNT PRISCILLA. 
 
 COME here, Blanche ! What odd-looking gig 
 is that coming up the avenue?" said Adele, as, 
 running to the window, they observed a large 
 old-fashioned vehicle, perched up high in the air, 
 moving towards the house. As it drew nearer, 
 Adele espied a queer, antiquated-looking figure, 
 driving ; on a closer inspection, she said, " I do 
 believe that is old Aunt Priscilla that we have heard so much 
 about. What a bore she must be ! She'll be a grand quiz for 
 me, that's certain!" 
 
 By this time the gig had been driven up to the door, and a 
 most remarkable-looking personage dismounted, and fastening 
 the horse to a post, she proceeded into the house. She was tall 
 and thin, with a sallow complexion, and an aquiline nose. She 
 wore a pair of old-fashioned spectacles, through which peered 
 two small, piercing black eyes. She was clad in a dark cotton 
 dress, a large collar, and a black cloak that enveloped her 
 whole figure. Thinking hoops very wicked articles, which 
 would have been fined by the good old Puritans, she utterly 
 repudiated them, fearing their effect upon her religious charac- 
 ter almost as much as Sabbath-breaking and kindred sins, and 
 therefore presented a peculiarly long and lank appearance. 
 Her bonnet was large, with a deep face, something in the shape 
 of a coal-scuttle, of the peculiar fashion worn thirty years 
 74
 
 AUNT PRISCILLA. 75 
 
 before, and which, for conscience' sake, she had never altered. 
 Over this bonnet she wore an oil-cloth covering always, in 
 travelling ; and when walking, was never seen without a blue 
 cotton umbrella. She had large pockets in her dress, which 
 contained a curious medley of convenient articles. In one, 
 were her hair-brush and comb, her tooth-brush, snuff-box, 
 spectacle-case, large purse, and a pair of glasses for out-doors. 
 In the other, were a small pocket Testament, an old hymn 
 book, a large knitting-bag, another bag containing candies for 
 good children, a ball for her cat, a bundle of tracts, another of 
 patch-work, with needle-book, scissors, thimble, etc. 
 
 With an umbrella in her hand, she rang the bell ; and when 
 Uncle Peter made his appearance, she asked for Mrs. Clifford ; 
 and altogether, he was much amused at the sight of the queer 
 old lady. He showed her politely into the family-room, where 
 Mrs. Clifford was sitting, and ran off, as quickly as he could, 
 into the kitchen, for fear of laughing outright. 
 
 " Well, Mary, I've corned a long journey to see you, for I 
 heerd you was sick, and I have brought a lot of my physic, 
 which I know will do you a heap of good ; but let me look at 
 you. Well ! you do look a little pale and thin, and I don't 
 like the red spot on your cheek, nor the shiny look of your 
 eye." 
 
 " I am glad to see you, Aunt Priscilla ; you are very kind to 
 come so many miles to see me, and I will try to make you as 
 comfortable as I can." 
 
 With these words, Mrs. Clifford rang the bell for a servant, 
 which was answered by the same old servant. " Uncle Peter 
 have the horse and gig put up, belonging to this lady, and be 
 sure to attend to the horse well before he goes into the stable : 
 he has come a long journey." 
 
 " I will go out myself, Mary, for I have a heap of things 
 to bring in;" and away trotted Aunt Priscilla, after old 
 Peter. 
 
 First, her trunk was taken off the back of the carriage, 
 then two or three bandboxes, one large box of medicines, a 
 large basket, with the lid carefully tied down, a small one,
 
 76 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 secured also, then a cage containing a noisy parrot, then a large 
 jar of apple-butter, and a box of fine apples. When all were 
 carefully taken out, Aunt Priscilla, picking up the largest 
 basket herself, took it into Mrs. Clifford's room, and on un- 
 tying it, out sprang a King Charles spaniel, who frisked and 
 frolicked around his mistress as if delighted to regain his liberty. 
 " Go speak to the lady, Snip," said Aunt Priscilla ; and away 
 went Snip, on his hind legs, to salute Mrs. Clifford, who took 
 the little paw, and received in return a gracious kiss upon her 
 hand. On opening the second basket, a large cat made its 
 appearance. " This is Uncle Toby, Mary. You have no idea 
 what a smart thing it is. I could not leave the poor things at 
 home, they'd a grieved themselves to death away from me, so 
 wherever I goes, Snip and Toby always follow ; then Polly 
 must come too, so here are my three pets. I takes care of all 
 myself ; all I want is some cream for their breakfast, and some- 
 thing nice for their dinner. They sleep in my room, and I 
 won't let them trouble you." 
 
 At this moment Edith entered the room. 
 
 " Which one is this, Mary ?" 
 
 "This is my eldest daughter, Edith," replied Mrs. Clifford. 
 
 " What did you say, honey ? I can't hear you ; I'm very 
 deaf," said Aunt Priscilla ; and Mrs. Clifford had to repeat her 
 introduction ; then addressing Edith, she said, " This is your 
 father's aunt, my child ; many a day and night has she nursed 
 him when a baby, waited on him when a little fellow, and been 
 a kind friend to him all his life. You will be especially atten- 
 tive to Aunt Priscilla, if you wish to please your father." 
 
 Edith advanced with a pleasant manner, and allowed the 
 old lady to kiss her affectionately, although she was far from 
 attractive upon close contact, for she was an inveterate snuffer, 
 and was by no means particular in keeping her face free from 
 the offensive powder 
 
 "Well, surely, Mary, she's a nice-looking girl, the very 
 spit of her father. I shall love her, I know, for his sake." 
 
 " Edith, will you see Aunt Priscilla to her room ? She may 
 want to change her dress ; she must be tired."
 
 AUNT PRISCILLA. 77 
 
 And the young girl kindly led her to a pleasant chamber, 
 and saw all her treasures placed suitably away. She was some- 
 what amused on seeing the bed for Snip on one side of Aunt 
 Priscilla's, and one for Toby on the other. Poll was hung up 
 against the wall, and being rather tired, soon composed herself 
 to sleep. After providing her with every comfort, Edith re- 
 turned to her mother and heard her aunt's history. 
 
 She was the great-aunt of Mr. Clifford, and had lived with 
 his mother all her married life. Never having married, she 
 had attached herself strongly to her niece's family, and though 
 possessed of many peculiarities, had always been kindly treated 
 for her real worth. She had many singular notions, which she 
 maintained with great pertinacity, was a believer in signs and 
 oincns, and had a great antipathy to the other sex, believing 
 that all were fortune-hunters. Having lived all her days in 
 the country, she knew nothing of the manners of city life, and 
 esteemed everything wicked which did not accord with her own 
 views of propriety. She had a great passion for attendance 
 upon baptisms, weddings, and funerals, and esteemed herself 
 much slighted if not allowed to have some directions to give on 
 all such occasions among her neighbors. For many years, the 
 list had been made out of persons whom she wished to attend 
 her funeral, and where they were to walk. If one died, the 
 name was erased ; or if one offended her, the place was changed 
 with regard to precedence, or else cut off altogether ; moreover, 
 her grave-clothes were kept constantly by her, and every 
 spring were laid upon the grass to whiten. She had a great 
 habit of talking to her friends about their place of interment, 
 and ofter shocked the nerves of delicate persons by her rough 
 remarks. She lived on her own little farm, surrounded by 
 many comforts, and keeping one servant, old Sarah, who had 
 lived with her manv years. None knew exactly what Aunt 
 Priscilla was worth, but the neighbors generally thought 
 that she was possessed of more than she was willing to acknow- 
 ledge. 
 
 With all her peculiarities, she had really a very kind and 
 generous heart. Whenever a charitable object was on foot,
 
 78 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 a new church to be built, a school-house erected, or a charity 
 to be endowed, there were always some anonymous contribu- 
 tions, scrawled in a miserable manner, which many suspected 
 came from Aunt Priscilla. Having retained her love for her 
 nephew, George Clifford, she came to see him once in a great 
 while. So long had it been that Edith had forgotten her ap- 
 pearance. When she presented herself at the tea-table, Adele 
 could scarcely restrain her laughter. Dressed in a black 
 silk gown, high-heeled shoes, and a plaited high-cornered 
 mob-cap, and her thin lank figure, attended by Uncle Toby 
 and Snip, she presented a ludicrous appearence. 
 
 "Who is this?" said the old lady as she looked at Blanche. 
 
 " This is my daughter Blanche," replied Mrs. Clifford. 
 
 "And sure, is that her name? Well, this is a 'perty little 
 critter, anyhow ! And this one, Mary ?" as she looked at 
 Adele. 
 
 " This is my daughter Adele, a merry little girl." 
 
 " So I should think, Mary ; but she ought not to laugh at 
 us old people, as I have seen her do this evening." 
 
 Adele blushed and turned her head away, for she could not 
 deny the truth of what the old lady had detected. 
 
 " And this is my little Lilly, Aunt Priscilla. She is our dear 
 pet," said Mrs. Clifford, as she led her around to the old lady. 
 
 Aunt Priscilla wiped the tears away from her eyes, as she 
 kindly laid her aged hand on the head of the blind child, and 
 drawing her near her, kissed her soft cheek. 
 
 It required all Mrs. Clifford's forbearance to endure some of 
 the unpleasant habits of the old lady ; for she would take snuff 
 at the table in large pinches, and what she did not use, she 
 would blow away, and frequently it entered the eyes and 
 sprinkling the plates of her neighbors ; and then the odor of 
 her pocket-handkerchief was peculiarity offensive. 
 
 When the bell rang for worship, Aunt Priscilla joined fer- 
 vently in the exercises, and after it was over said : 
 
 " Mary, I am glad to see that you have grace to bear the 
 cross, and to own the Lord before your family ; but I'm afeerd 
 that George is sarving the evil one."
 
 AUNT PRISCILLA. 79 
 
 At bedtime Edith led the old lady to her room, helped her 
 to undress, and kissing her affectionately, bade her good-night. 
 
 Next day, she was up betimes, and with her white muslin 
 apron, ready for work, attended by Toby and Snip, made her 
 way to the kitchen. The servants were alarmed at the sight 
 of the old lady, as they did not relish the idea of so much in- 
 terference ; but, accustomed to a stirring life, she proposed to 
 make herself useful ; and for a commencement, mixed what 
 she called an armlet, but so tough with flour, that no one 
 could eat it. She pronounced the coffee too strong, and was 
 going to weaken it, when the cook interfered, and protested 
 against it being done. Uncle Toby and Snip were running 
 about, thrusting their noses in everything, and Uncle Peter 
 sat in the corner, rolling up the whites of his eyes, stuffing 
 his mouth with his handkerchief, to stifle the laughter which 
 shook his fat sides at the sight of the cook's indignation, her 
 face blazing with anger, knocking about the cups and plates, 
 and venting her spleen upon the pots and kettles. Finding 
 the kitchen becoming too warm, Aunt Priscilla hastily took 
 her departure, attended by her two pets, and did not soon 
 venture into those stormy domains. Watching her oppor- 
 tunity, as soon as she found herself alone, she commenced 
 her investigation of Mrs. Clifford's state of health. 
 
 " Are you troubled with a cough, Mary ?" asked the old 
 lady. 
 
 " I have been for a long time, but it does not seem to grow 
 any worse." 
 
 Aunt Priscilla leaned her elbow on her knee, placed her 
 thumb and finger under her nose, threw up her eyes, and said 
 in a very solemn manner, " Humph ! that's bad !" while she 
 kept jogging her foot. 
 
 Then, she added, " Do you have night-sweats, and fever in 
 the afternoon?" 
 
 " I used to have them more than now, but they still trouble 
 me." 
 
 Aunt Priscilla uttered a groan, and rocked herself quickly 
 in her chair.
 
 80 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 " My child, you must take some of my medicines. They are 
 all Ingin cures, and made out of yarbs; they have cured a 
 heap of people that were further gone in consumption than you 
 are." 
 
 "Thank you, Aunt Priscilla, but as I have a physician, I 
 think that I ought to obey his directions." 
 
 " Well, child, I don't think much of your reg'lar bred doc- 
 tors, specially in consumption. I think that they kill more 
 than they cure. Mary, where do you 'spect to be buried ? I 
 s'ppse here, at Ravenswood?" asked Aunt Priscilla. " All my 
 plans for my burying has been made for twenty years. I 
 think that it saves a heap of trouble for our friends," continued 
 Aunt Priscilla. 
 
 Mrs. Clifford was much annoyed, for she knew that no sub- 
 ject could be more painful in her family circle than the one just 
 broached. 
 
 In the course of the morning company called, and Aunt 
 Priscilla, whose curiosity was always active, made her way into 
 the drawing-room, where Mrs. Renshaw and her daughter were 
 in conversation with Mrs. Clifford. They were fashionable 
 ladies and looked rather surprised on seeing such a queer-look- 
 ing old woman in company with their hostess. Mrs. Clifford 
 introduced Aunt Priscilla, who came up close to her niece, and 
 screamed out, " Who did you say, Mary? Mrs. Reindeer?" 
 
 "No, aunt, Mrs. Renshawr," calmly answered Mrs. Clifford, 
 who saw that her guests, with all their politeness, were scarcely 
 able to restrain their laughter. 
 
 " Oh ! sure, Renshawr. I wonder if they be any kin to old 
 John Renshawr, that used to work in my potato patch ?" 
 
 By this time Mrs. Clifford began to feel very uneasy, and 
 fearing that her old friend might meet with some rebuff, said, 
 
 " Aunt Priscilla, I think that Edith wants you to show her 
 how to knit a tidy. She has some leisure now, and you'll find 
 her in the school-room." 
 
 Ever ready for employment and unsuspicious she arose 
 hastily, and hurried off to seek for Edith. Mr. Clifford was 
 very kind to the old lady for he remembered an event which
 
 AUNT PRISCILLA. 81 
 
 happened many years before, when, but for her timely aid, he 
 would have lost thousands of dollars; but, as Aunt Priscilla 
 was staying with him at the time, she discovered the cause of 
 his uuhappiness ; and early one morning, equipped in her dark 
 cotton travelling dress, her scooped-faced bonnet, with her old 
 blue umbrella, and mounted in her old-fashioned gig, she started 
 off for home. On being pressed to stay she refused, saying 
 that she would be back in a day or tw v o. At the end of the 
 second day, her old gig was seen slowly coming up the avenue, 
 and Aunt Priscilla had upon her countenance a peculiar ex- 
 pression of satisfaction as she dismounted. 
 
 After tea, Mr. Clifford entered his library. While ponder- 
 ing over his troubles, and seeing no way of escape, suddenly 
 his eye rested upon an old greasy pocket-book and a very large 
 note, in which was scrawled, near the top of the envelope, 
 " For my dear ncvey, George Clifford." When he opened it, 
 to his surprise, there was inclosed a check for the exact amount 
 which he needed, and all that was written within was, " Don't ask 
 any questions. I see you are in trouble. I can help you. You 
 are welcome to the money. I have nothing else to do with it 
 but to help my nabors, and specially my nevey George. This 
 comes from Aunt Priscilla." 
 
 He had never forgotten the generous deed, and could always 
 bear with her peculiarities (which were really sometimes very 
 annoying), when he thought upon her real worth. Madge was 
 rude, and often very saucy to the old lady, despised her cat and 
 dog, and wished poor Poll sunk in the Hudson. 
 
 " Aunt Silla, Aunt Silla, Poll wants her breakfast," was the 
 constant cry in the morning ; and all day long the parrot was 
 screaming and chattering at the very top of her voice. She 
 was frequently brought into the dining-room, and during the 
 dinner hour often deafened the ears of the family Avith her 
 noise, and in a very short time screaming out the names of the 
 household. Many were the mistakes made by Aunt Priscilia. 
 On the first day that she came to the dinner-table, she ob- 
 served the finger-bowls, and wondered that they should have 
 glass bowls to drink out of. Finding the bowl filled with
 
 82 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 water, she soon drank its contents, which Uncle Peter speedily 
 replenished. When Adele observed her emptying it the second 
 time, she was nearly convulsed with laughter. It was filled 
 again, and the old lady turned innocently to Uncle Peter, declar- 
 ing " that she could not drink any more." The old man got out 
 of the room as fast as he could, for fear of laughing out loud, 
 and Adele was shaking with suppressed merriment. When 
 Aunt Priscilla observed the family dipping their fingers into 
 the bowls after dinner, nothing could exceed her astonishment. 
 
 " Well, sure now, is this the fashion to wash the hands in 
 drinking-bowls ? I think it's about one of the most ungenteel 
 ways I ever seed." 
 
 Blanche was generally polite in the presence of the old lady, 
 for she desired the good opinion of everybody ; but she would 
 join Adele in her absence in ridiculing all her foibles, although 
 they had both heard the story of her kindness to their father. 
 
 Aunt Priscilla was very much afraid of ridicule, and soon 
 discovered that she was a subject of mirth to the thoughtless 
 children. For a long time, for their parents' sake, she did not 
 openly notice it ; but at last, one day she caught Adele dressed 
 in her bonnet, with her blue umbrella, and screaming in 
 Blanche's ears, "What did you say? Did you see Uncle 
 Toby? Where's my Snip?" Blanche was laughing im- 
 moderately, when in came Aunt Priscilla. 
 
 " This is fine sport for young ladies, to be sure, making fun 
 of an old body ; take care children : remember the bears that 
 devoured the children for making game of old Elisha. I'll re- 
 member this, mind I tell you ; you'll be sorry for making fun 
 of old Aunt Priscilla, some day :" and away she went, leaving 
 the children rather ashamed of their performance. 
 
 Edith was universally kind, and Aunt Priscilla fully ap- 
 preciated it. She loved the young girl, and esteemed nothing 
 too much trouble, if it gave her pleasure. It required a great 
 deal of patience to answer all her questions ; for, being so very 
 deaf, she was continually asking, " What did she say? Did 
 she .speak to me?" ard Edith, with real Christian patience, 
 bore with the tiresomt old lady, and tried to make her happy.
 
 AUNT PRISCILiA. 83 
 
 Having observed the interest which Edith manifested in her 
 81111 day -school, Aunt Priscilla furnished her with means to 
 purchase books, and often presented her with a five-dollar note, 
 for additions to her own private library. She kept her eyes 
 about her, and although apparently so ignorant, she had great 
 discernment of character, and was deeply interested in the 
 affairs of her nephew's family. During her stay at Ravens- 
 wood, Gerald Fortescue paid a visit home, and Aunt. Priscilla 
 soon perceived the attachment between the young people. 
 
 " Mary, I don't think Ger'ld ought to have our Edith ; he's 
 a weak youth, and I'm afeerd he'll not make her happy. 
 She's what I call a rale fine, strong-minded girl ; not wishy- 
 washy, like half the young girls, nor like Josephine Fortescue, 
 for she ought to put .on pantaloons right straight, and a 
 man's hat, and set up for a man at once ; but our Edith is a 
 rale woman, and ought to marry a man that she can look up 
 to ; and it always seems to me, that Ger'ld keeps looking up to 
 her. Now that arn't the Bible rule, and I'm afeerd it won't 
 work well." 
 
 " They are not engaged, Aunt Priscilla," answered Mrs. 
 Clifford. 
 
 " Well, they love each other, and that's the same thing with 
 Edith Clifford ; and, mind what I say, Mary, I'm an old body, 
 but I havn't forgotten the days of my youth : mark my words, 
 Edith will never love but once, and if she's disapp'inted it will 
 pretty nigh break her heart." 
 
 "I try to leave all these things with God, Aunt Priscilla. 
 He will direct us, if we trust in him." 
 
 " Mind I tell you, Mary, you must take good keer of Edith ; 
 she's jist for all the world like me ; she'll never take to moro 
 than one. Maybe I never told you about my young days, but 
 I'll tell you now. When I was a young gal, Jedediah Turn- 
 blestone came a courtin' me, and I thought a heap on him. 
 He was a fine, tall young man, straight and slim as a young 
 poplar, with eyes as blue as chany, and a skin as rosy as a 
 piny, they used to say his hair was too red, but howsomever, 
 I uever seed it ; I called it auburn, I b'lieve that's the word.
 
 84 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 He had a nice farm, which he owned clear of all heavy drags ; 
 but he had a mother who was mighty proud on him, and she 
 wanted him to marry a young woman that had jist come to 
 stay with 'em awhile. Sally Jones had a handsome property, 
 and I had nothin' then, so she coaxed and wheedled Jeddy. I 
 seed she was a stealin' him away from me, and I was too 
 spirited to say a word. I used sometimes to feel as if it would 
 break my heart right out, but my stiff sperit fetched me 
 through, so I made up my mind what to do. Now, Mary, I 
 was all ready to be married. I had a big chest full of bed- 
 quilts and sheets that I made myself. I had lots of piller 
 cases and towels, and my wedding dress was all cut out ; it 
 was a light drab silk, stiff enough to stand all alone ; but for 
 all that, one night Jeddy came to see me, and says I, ' Jeddy, 
 I 'spect that you like another gal more nor me. If you would 
 rather take Sally Jones, I'm not the gal to stand in your way. 
 I wouldn't have you, Jeddy, if your heart is with another.' 
 Mary, do you believe it ? he looked glad, and said, ' Thank'ee, 
 Priscilla. I think, somehow, I'd rather marry Sally Jones.' 
 My heart was in my mouth, and I was a'most choked, but he 
 didn't see it; he never know'd it, for I kept my head up, and 
 went to his wedclin', and to the house-warmin', to make out I 
 didn't keer. Now I've never taken to a man since, and this 
 is jist the way Edith '11 do, and I want to save her the trouble 
 of sperit which I had. 
 
 " Then I want to ask you another question. What do you 
 mean to do with that Madge, Mary? She's the greatest oddity 
 I ever seed in all my days. What will she ever be good for ? 
 She does nothing but pore over her books, and pout, and look 
 sullen all the time. I declare, that sometimes I feel as if I 
 could about knock her over." 
 
 " There are times, Aunt Priscilla, when Madge deeply re- 
 pents of her evil tempers ; and if we can only once convince 
 her that she can be beloved, I hope much for her yet. She 
 has the idea that every one hates her." 
 
 "Well, and there's that pretty Blanche; I'm afeerd that 
 face of hers will bring some trouble to this house. She's as
 
 AUNT PRISCILLA. 85 
 
 perty as any picter of an angel that I ever seed in my life ; 
 but I don't think that she'll ever die of a broken heart, becase 
 I see that she always thinks like them she's with; but she may 
 make others feel a deal more than she desarves." 
 
 " I try, dear aunt, to bring up my children in a Christian 
 manner. I pray much for them, and I believe that the Good 
 Shepherd will take care of them, and bring us all home to his 
 everlasting kingdom." 
 
 " That Adele puzzles me. She's always so brimful of fun 
 and mischief, that I've never found out, yet, whether she has 
 Ik any feeling. I don't think she can have much, when she can 
 f make fun of an old body like me ; but sometimes these people 
 that seem to be so merry, have a great deal in them that's rale 
 and genuine. But Mary, you have a treasure in your daugh- 
 ter Edith : she's the light of my old eyes, and the joy of my 
 old heart, and while I live she shall never want a friend, and 
 when I die, she shall always have reason to remember her 
 kindness to Aunt Priscilla."
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A PICTURE ON THE BALCONY. 
 
 URING the summer vacation Gerald returned 
 home ; Ralph was with him, and Frank also was 
 at home. He had grown considerably, for a few 
 months make a great difference in a boy. He 
 was much improved, but was still the same 
 sportive, teasing hoy; and after having been so 
 long restrained, was continually in a gale of 
 merriment among his sisters. Aunt Priscilla was a source of 
 great amusement; and he frequently played practical jokes 
 upon her, that displeased his parents exceedingly. 
 
 The young people were much together. Edith paid many 
 visits to the old elm tree, and in the sweet influence which she 
 exerted over Gerald, commenced that gentle, holy ministry 
 which hereafter blessed so many. Madge's icy manners and 
 wintry aspect thawed beneath the sunshine of noble Ralph 
 Cameron. Josephine Fortescue lost much of her arrogant, 
 imperious manners. In the presence of Ralph she was silent 
 and abstracted, and evidently acknowledged his superiority, 
 and sometimes trembled under his disapproving glance. 
 Gerald clung closely to Edith. Frank was the merry leader 
 of every mischievous prank ; but, although exhibiting so much 
 that was boyish and playful, Mrs. Clifford was pleased to hear 
 from Gerald and Ralph such encouraging accounts of his 
 standing at school, as a boy of fine talents. Blanche and 
 86 

 
 A PICTURE ON THE BALCONY. 87 
 
 Adele were in their element ; and even little Lilly partook of 
 the general joy, for when the boys were at home, everything 
 was bright and happy. 
 
 One tine afternoon in summer, all had assembled in the 
 garden at the back of the house. It was a charming spot, 
 laid out in terraces, in which was planted a great profusion of 
 iiowers, especially every variety of the rarest and most exquisite 
 roses. It was of great extent, with winding paths, bordered 
 with luxuriant shrubbery. In the more distant parts there 
 were very fine shade trees, with summer-houses, rustic-seats, 
 and statuary adorning the most retired portions. Near the 
 house lay the flower-garden. On either side of the mansion 
 stood noble trees, shading the wings, and imparting a rural 
 appearance to the spot. Gerald and Edith were seated in a 
 distant summer-house, enjoying a favorite book, which he was 
 reading to her. Kalph was playing a game of graces with 
 Madge ; and while she forgot herself in the exhilaration of the 
 sport, her motions were free and airy, and her beautiful eyes 
 danced with the delight she felt. Frank ran races with 
 Blanche and Adele. When tired of play, the girls gathered a 
 quantity of roses, which they made into graceful wreaths. 
 Blanche ran off' with hers up to the balcony, and in her 
 sportiveness, she looked there the very personification of girlish 
 beauty and grace. Running roses entwined the columns of 
 the balcony, and woven through the lattice-work, gave it the 
 appearance of a beautiful arbor of delicate flowers. In the 
 midst stood the fascinating figure. She was at this time a 
 graceful child of twelve years of age. Her deep blue eyes 
 were shaded by long, dark eyelashes ; her nose was Grecian ; 
 her rose-bud mouth expressed all the varying emotions of her 
 heart; around it lay countless dimples; and when she smiled, 
 her lips disclosed rows of pearly teeth. Her complexion was 
 of that peculiar hue which indicated delicacy of constitution, 
 yet the rosy blush which mantled her sweet face, imparted 
 fresh charms to her lovely appearance. Her hair was of a 
 golden brown, which hung over her snowy neck and shoulders 
 in rich profusion. Her figure was symmetrical, even at that
 
 83 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 early age. She was clad in a white dress, over which was 
 thrown the wreath of roses which she had gracefully woven ; 
 in her hands she held the basket which she had brought from 
 the garden. As she stood there, scattering her flowers upon 
 Madge and Adele, nothing could have been more bewitching 
 than the lovely picture. Gerald and Edith were advancing at 
 the moment towards the balcony. 
 
 "Look, Edith!" said Gerald, "was there ever anything 
 more charming?" 
 
 " She is charming, indeed, Gerald," answered Edith. 
 
 "Blanche, stand still for a few minutes," said Gerald* 
 "just as you are ;" and taking out his pencil and paper, he 
 rapidly sketched the enchanting vision that stood before him. 
 
 " Have you done, Gerald ?" and she kissed the lovely hand 
 as she said, "Thank you for the picture; I shall expect it 
 when it is done, for dear mamma." 
 
 " No, indeed, Blanche ; if I am successful, I shall keep it 
 for myself; for I shall think a great deal of my first attempt 
 at figures. You must come over to-morrow for your first 
 sitting. Wear the same dress. I am very anxious to get to 
 work." 
 
 Aunt Priscilla was intently looking upon the scene, when 
 Gerald stood sketching Blanche. She said to herself, " He'll 
 make her as vain as a peacock ; and Edith had better take 
 keer of her. When she's a little older, with her pretty face, 
 and winning ways, she'll steal away Gerid's heart mark ray 
 words. He's a weak brother, and Edith will find it out. 
 She'll have to go through my experience yet." 
 
 Edith chided her heart for the uncomfortable feelings that 
 disturbed her, by Gerald's admiration of her little sister 
 Blanche, and despised herself for the first feelings of jealousy 
 which she had ever experienced. 
 
 "What a miserable creature I must be?" said she, "to be 
 jealous of a little girl ;" and she resolved to strangle the 
 feeling in its very birth ; and by God's help she succeeded, 
 and cheerfully helped Blanche off next morning, to sit for her 
 picture.
 
 A PICTURE ON THE BALCONY. 89 
 
 Gerald succeeded beyond his expectation, at the first sitting; 
 but he would not let any one see the picture until it was com- 
 pleted. He was entirely engrossed by it, and for a time paid 
 very short visits to Ravenswood, and really did neglect Edith 
 for his new pursuit. Blanche was very anxious for the time 
 to come, and always came home much delighted, and most 
 generally with some little gift from Gerald. 
 
 Edith felt herself sadly aggrieved, but her besetting sin 
 would not allow her to let it be seen ; for, much as she suffered 
 by Gerald's neglect, she was resolved to hide the misery, and 
 to appear indifferent also. When he came over, after an ab- 
 sence of several days, Edith received him coolly, and asked 
 him, in an indifferent way, how the picture progressed. He 
 saw the change in her manner, and was hurt. He answered 
 in the same tone, "Very well," and no more passed between 
 them that evening. They were both very unhappy. Edith 
 was ashamed of her jealous feelings, and Gerald felt that 
 she was unjust to him ; and yet neither would make advances. 
 But Edith was too conscientious and Christian like to cherish 
 this state of feeling. When examining the state of her heart 
 before God, she perceived that the poison of jealousy had in- 
 fused itself into her secret feelings. She knew and mourned 
 over it as a sin against God, and under the guidance of the 
 blessed Spirit, she cast it all away. 
 
 The next day, when Gerald came over, she received him 
 with her usual warmth, and when she had an opportunity, said, 
 " Forgive me, Gerald ; I was unjust to you, but it has all 
 passed away." 
 
 " I have been to blame, also, Edith ; for I did not seek an 
 explanation, but allowed the sun to go down upon our wrath," 
 said Gerald. " What was the matter?" he continued. 
 
 "I was foolish enough, Gerald, to feel displeased at the 
 interest which you manifested in Blanche, and though I 
 am ashamed to tell you so, I do it to punish myself for the 
 folly." 
 
 "You'll never feel so again, Edith, will you? Let our love 
 for each other always be distinguished by its perfect trust,"
 
 90 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 said Gerald. "I don't think that I could feel jealous of your 
 affection for any one, for I do trust you so entirely." 
 
 From this time there were nc more disturbances about the 
 picture ; it went on rapidly, and Edith appeared as much inter- 
 ested as Gerald. After the lapse of a few weeks, it was com- 
 pleted, and Gerald invited Edith over to see his first attempt 
 at a portrait. It was pronounced by all a grand success. It 
 was Blanche Clifford, in all her fascinating loveliness of that 
 day : her smile was there, and her beautiful eyes seemed to 
 ask for love, from all who looked upon the charming picture. 
 The sunlight of a summer afternoon was exquisitely delineated, 
 and increased the brilliancy of the portrait, while the sweet 
 flowers which she seemed scattering around her, were strik- 
 ingly emblematical of the bright period of her young life. 
 
 " How lovely, and yet how perfect, is the likeness, Gerald !'' 
 exclaimed Edith ;" I think we may predict your future suc- 
 cess, if this sweet picture is any indication of your talent. I 
 wish you could visit the Continent, Gerald, it would improve 
 you so much ?" 
 
 " I hope for that pleasure some day, not very far distant ; 
 for I can think of being nothing else than an artist, and I 
 wish for the best advantages." 
 
 The interest which Gerald felt in Blanche, seemed to be 
 that of an affectionate brother, and she looked to him for 
 guidance and protection from teasing Frank ; for though he 
 loved his sisters dearly, he rarely missed an opportunity for a 
 joke. 
 
 Ralph was still an inmate of Oak Hall. He had discovered 
 that Josephine possessed a powerful mind, but with his correct 
 perception, he regarded her talents as all perverted, so long 
 as she aspired to masculine pursuits. He scrupled not, as op- 
 portunity offered, to express his views, and to point out to her 
 the more excellent ways of the Bible. She listened respect- 
 fully, not because she was convinced, but because she was 
 deeply interested in the being who uttered these sentiments, 
 and hoped at some future day to bring him round to her way 
 of thinking. Before she was aware of it, she found, much to
 
 A PICTURE ON THE BALCONY. 91 
 
 her shame and mortification, that she had allowed Ralph Cam- 
 eron to occupy a place in her affections, which she had never 
 intended for any man. She was not only pained at the dis- 
 covery, but angry with herself for yielding to such a weakness, 
 and with Spartan firmness, resolved to punish herself for such 
 folly. She kept aloof from Ralph, shut herself up in her own 
 room, treated him with coldness, sometimes with rudeness, and 
 often mortified Gerald, with the want of decorum with which 
 she met her brother's guest. She succeeded in completely 
 deceiving them both, for they felt that she utterly despised 
 Ralph Cameron. Not so with Aunt Priscilla or Miss Arnold, 
 who penetrated her disguises. 
 
 When Mrs. Clifford would regret her rudeness, Aunt Pris- 
 cilla would frequently say, " She's a sassy minx, but she don't 
 fool me. I have seen her turn her head away to brush off a 
 tear, which would come when she saw Ralph so taken up with 
 our Madge. She don't think how I watch her. I can see 
 through her." 
 
 To Madge, Ralph was still the same kind brother, checking 
 her waywardness, directing her talents, calling out her affec- 
 tions, and in every way endeavoring to exercise, a good influ- 
 ence over her. One summer afternoon he had traced her foot- 
 steps to a distant arbor, very far from the house, where, seated 
 at a little table, she was busily occupied in writing, not dream- 
 ing that any one was watching her. She had a large portfolio 
 before her, in which lay many loose leaves. She would write 
 a few lines, then read them out loud, stoop down, and with 
 Indian rubber, erase words, and write again. Then she would 
 sit silently, with her expressive eyes turned upward, as if in- 
 voking inspiration ; then with a smile, as though she had 
 caught a beautiful thought from the upper skies, she would 
 hastily transcribe it on her sheet, and then read it again aloud. 
 Ralph did not wish to appear as a listener, and yet his curiosity 
 was so much aroused, that he stood apart, and listening to the 
 singular child, he discovered that she was writing most beauti- 
 ful poetry ; and suddenly presenting himself at the door of the 
 arbor, she sprang to her feet, and covered her blushing face
 
 92 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 with both hands. When Kalph attempted to touch her port- 
 folio, she seized it violently, and exclaimed, "Oh, Kalph, don't 
 touch it. I am so ashamed that you should have heard me. 
 I can't bear you to look at all my foolishness !" 
 
 Ralph seated himself quietly by her side, and taking her 
 hand gently, he said, " Madge, am I not your friend your 
 brother? Won't you let me guide you in your studies?" 
 
 She burst into tears, and said, "But these are not my studies ; 
 you would not approve of them." 
 
 "Will you not let me see them, Madge? I will not chide 
 you ; I will tell you what I think of them, and perhaps I can 
 help you even here." 
 
 Turning her face to him, she placed the portfolio in his 
 hand, and said, " Ralph, you may take them all, but don't 
 look at them now ; I could not bear to sit near you if you 
 do." 
 
 " Perhaps, Madge, God has endowed you with many talents ; 
 if so, they must all be used for his glory ; for remember, that 
 for all we must render up a strict account. If you will let me 
 look into your heart, I may be able to direct you." Then 
 turning the subject, he conversed cheerfully with the young 
 girl for a few minutes, and rising, they walked for a long time 
 in their favorite path, which lay along the beautiful river, in 
 view of the most romantic scenery of the Hudson. Returning 
 about tea-time, Madge flew up to her room to muse and wonder 
 at the kindness of Ralph Cameron ; and he, with his portfolio, 
 retired to read over the loose leaves of the curious collection. 
 There were many papers which were abstracts of her studies, 
 exhibiting great clearness of thought, and intelligent remarks ; 
 others were sketches some of character, showing great dis- 
 cernment, and some fancy sketches, displaving a vivid imagi- 
 nation. There were also some beautiful fragments of poetry ; 
 but the most curious and interesting of all was her journal, 
 where her thoughts and feelings were freely expressed. Below, 
 we will give a few extracts : 
 
 "Saturday. This is a stormy day. The wind blows almost 
 a hurricane ; the river is dark and troubled ; the boats are
 
 A PICTURE ON THE BALCONY. 93 
 
 tossing about on the high waves, and the vessels are rocking to 
 and fro; the trees are cracking, and the branches are flying 
 wildly about ; the water-fowls are screaming in the air, and the 
 land animals are terrified by the war of the elements, running 
 to and fro for shelter; and yet I like it all, for sometimes I feel as 
 if there was just such a strife in me. Why am I so different 
 from my sisters ? they are all merriment and glee, and I am 
 always sad. I like stormy days, wild stories, and gloomy 
 pictures ; and then it seems so beautiful when the storm is over, 
 fc> watch the waves subsiding, the clouds rolling away, the sun 
 struggling amid the murky sky, until, at last, the storm at an. 
 end, there is perfect peace. Will it be so with me ? When 
 the strife in my bosom is over, will there be peace at last? I 
 cannot see that it will be so, for my heart is the seat of too 
 much disorder, to hope for rest while it is unchanged. 
 
 " Sunday. I have been to church to-day. I tried to wor- 
 ship God, but I could not. My heart was wandering all over 
 the earth. I felt no penitence. I have no faith, no love to 
 God, nor for my fellow-creatures, for they do not love me. 
 Only lialph loves me ; and though I am so ugly and unamia- 
 ble, he is always kind, and never turns away from poor Madge. 
 May God bless him for his goodness. 
 
 "Monday. What a dreadful day it has been ! I have been 
 perverse, passionate, disobedient. I determined that I would 
 try to be better ; but as soon as a temptation in the school-room 
 beset me, I yielded, and fell into great sin. There is no use in 
 my trying to be good. What can be the reason ? 
 
 "Tuesday. Miss Arnold was very gentle to-day. She never 
 loses her patience with me, and mamma is always kind, but 
 she does not love me as she does Edith, who is so very good, 
 and Blanche so beautiful, and Adele so bewitching; no wonder 
 she loves them better ; but God made me as I am, and I think 
 that they ought to remember that. I felt sullen and unhappy, 
 and stole away to my garret, with ray favorite, Shakespeare. 
 How much he knew of the feelings of the human heart. I 
 wonder what he would think of me ? I should not wish him to 
 draw my picture. I fear that it would have been a frowning,
 
 94 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 homely girl, always discontented and unhappy. If St. Paul 
 should show me my likeness, I wonder what he would write? 
 I know that I am a strange girl, and not at all like any other. 
 I don't know one that feels as I do. Nobody understands or 
 pities me but Ralph ; and yet he never flatters me, he always 
 tells me truth. A word from him or a look from his eagle eye, 
 tames my proud spirit at once. 
 
 " Wednesday. What a bright beautiful day ! All the land- 
 scape smiles, the sunbeams dance upon the beautiful Hudson, 
 and everything seems joyous ; even I feel happier to-day. Miss 
 Arnold commended me for my lessons. She laid her hand so 
 kindly on my head, and kissed me so affectionately as she said, 
 ' Madge, you have been a dear girl to-day,' that I felt the tears 
 come into my eyes, but I could not let her see them. Why ? 
 Am I too proud? In the evening Ralph asked me to walk on 
 the bank of the river. I went so cheerfully, and we had such a 
 pleasant walk. He seems to understand all about me, and 
 said, ' Madge, it has been a bright day, has it not ?' I knew 
 what he meant. He did not only refer to the sky above, but to 
 the world within. I smiled as I said, ' How do you know it, 
 Ralph ?' He answered, ' I have only to look at your face, 
 Madge, and I know all about it.' Then he told me how I might 
 always have peace within, if I was only a real child of God. 
 Oh ! Ralph, shall I ever be what you desire ? 
 
 " Thursday. I went into the school-room this morning with 
 good determinations. Blanche was provoking, Adele made fun 
 of me. I became angry, and said something very passionate. 
 Adele turned towards me, and said, 'Remember poor little 
 Lilly, Madge ; your temper has destroyed her happiness for 
 life.' Oh ! the cruel speech ! when I have so deeply repented 
 of that dreadful act. It is that which has cast such a deep 
 shadow over my whole life ; and when my own sister can be so 
 unjust, and unfeeling, what is the use of my trying to do right? 
 I receive no encouragement, and only excite dislike. I'll shut 
 my heart again. It shall open to none but Ralph. I cannot 
 pray, I feel so hardened. What is to become of me? 
 
 "Friday. We were all in the garden this afternoon. Every-
 
 A PICTURE ON THE BALCONY. 95 
 
 body seemed happy ; even I felt lively, for Ralph was so kind 
 as to play graces with me : the air was so delightful, the sun so 
 bright, and the flowers so beautiful. Blanche was full of mirth. 
 She ran up on the balcony in her sportiveness, and there she 
 stood in her pure white dress, decorated with a wreath of sweet 
 roses. How lovely she looked ! I thought of the bright angels 
 when I gazed at her. Gerald was so struck, that he made her 
 stand still, while he sketched the picture. Ralph was enrap- 
 tured, and I thought, with a sigh, what a charming gift beauty 
 is ; but Ralph turned around, and reading my thoughts, said, 
 with one of his kindest smiles, ' Blanche is beautiful to look at; 
 but it is better to be good and holy. All cannot be beautiful, 
 but all can love and serve God. Don't court beauty, Madge, 
 only seek for goodness.' What can be the matter? Edith did 
 not seem pleased with the picture on the balcony. I wonder if 
 she is jealous ? If she is tormented by this feeling, when she 
 is so good, I need not be discouraged. 
 
 " Saturday. The summer vacation is drawing to a close. 
 Ralph will soon go away. I wonder if Josephine dislikes him. 
 She keeps out of his way, she never speaks to him, but I think 
 she can't dislike him. I suppose that he has spoken the truth 
 to her, and she don't fancy that; but she must respect him. 
 What shall I do when Ralph is gone ? I'll try to do as he 
 wishes me to. He has given me a number of rules; they are 
 all for my good. I cannot disobey him, he is so firm and un- 
 yielding, and yet he is always so kind. What a blessing to 
 have such a friend ! and I only a little girl of fourteen. Shall I 
 ever love God as he wishes me to do ? Shall I ever overcome 
 my evil temper, and be meek and lowly? How strange it 
 would sound to hear it said that perverse, passionate Madge Clif- 
 ford, had become an humble follower of the blessed Saviour; 
 and yet I hope that I shall be just what he desires." 
 
 Ralph read this artless journal with feelings of deep interest. 
 It gave him increasing insight into the inner life of Madge 
 Clifford, and confirmed all his opinions of her character. He 
 saw a strong mind, with an equally strong will ; warm affec- 
 tions, and a conscience tenderly alive to sin, but yet uneu-
 
 9(j EDITH S MINISTRY. 
 
 lightened as to the means of deliverance. He also perceived 
 talents of such a brilliant character, that lie was assured, if 
 only directed into a proper channel, would make her a noble, 
 useful woman. 
 
 The next day he called her aside, and restored her portfolio. 
 " Madge, the contents are sacred. I see your struggles, my 
 child, but must remind you that in your own unassisted 
 strength, you will find your passions always the conqueror; 
 but if you meet them in the panoply of the Lord Jesus, you 
 will overcome them all, and come off more than victorious. I 
 leave you soon, my dear child, but let me beg of you, Madge, 
 to seek for strength where it can only be found, at the feet 
 of our blessed Saviour. In daily communion with him, you 
 will learn blessed lessons of humility and love, and will at last 
 find rest for your tempted spirit." 
 
 She raised her tearful eyes to the young man's face, and said, 
 "Thank you, Ralph, for all your goodness to me. I shall 
 never forget it, and will try to follow your advice." 
 
 In a few days, the young men had all returned to college 
 Life at Ravenswood went on as usual, with the exception that 
 Mrs. Clifford's state of health became more alarming, and her 
 physician ordered her in the autumn to Magnolia, to try the 
 effect of treatment and climate on her declining strength.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE FAMILY CHAIN BROKEN. 
 
 O A HOUSEHOLD united by such tender ties, the 
 sight of the preparations which now began to be 
 made for a first separation was peculiarly pain- 
 ful. Mr. and Mrs. Clifford, with Lilly, Emily, and 
 her nurse, were to set off in October, as the physi- 
 cian had declared that another winter at the North 
 would be perilous in the extreme. It was a great 
 trial to the affectionate mother; but regarding it 
 as a solemn duty to preserve her health for the sake of her 
 dear ones, and knowing that she could safely leave her older 
 children in the care of Miss Arnold, she made her arrange- 
 ments with a cheerful spirit, and perfect trust in her kind 
 Heavenly Father. 
 
 They were to take a steamer to Charleston, and thence pro- 
 ceed to Florida, where they were to spend the winter. All 
 their preparations being completed, on the night before their 
 departure, Mrs. Clifford gathered her family in her sitting-room, 
 and there commended them, in true Christian faith, to the 
 covenant-keeping care of her God and her Saviour. It seemed 
 as though an angel of peace was hovering over the family 
 circle, singing sweet hymns of cheerfulness. Be that as it may, 
 the sheltering arms of a gracious Father were beneath them, 
 and Mrs. Clifford felt their strong support. 
 
 Early in the morning, the carriage was at the door, ready 
 7 97
 
 98 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 to convey the travellers to New York. The tender mother 
 almost fainted beneath the pain of parting; for although 
 her faith was strong, her bodily strength was feeble, and the 
 sight of her weeping children and servants almost unnerved 
 her. 
 
 " Farewell, Edith !" said her mother, as folding her in her 
 arms, she tenderly embraced her ; " be a second mother to your 
 dear sisters. "We know not how soon you may be called to fill 
 my place." 
 
 " Dear mother, do not say so," answered Edith. 
 
 Kissing Madge affectionately, Mrs. Clifford bade her to be 
 obedient to Miss Arnold, and loving to her sisters. To Blanche 
 and Adele, she gave her parting charge, with a mother's fond 
 affection. 
 
 Aunt Priscilla stood aside, wiping her eyes, for she dearly 
 loved her nephew's gentle wife. " I shall go soon, Mary, for 
 I cannot bear to stay without you ; but do be careful of your- 
 Belf, and don't forget the bottle of black drops, when you are 
 nervous." 
 
 Uncle Peter came forward, and respectfully taking his mis- 
 tress's hand, kissed it reverently, and said in a devout manner, 
 " The Lord bless you, and keep you, my dear, good Missis, and 
 bring you safe and sound to us all again." 
 
 Mr. Clifford, not wishing to prolong the painful scene, took 
 an affectionate leave of all his children, and giving fresh 
 charges to Miss Arnold and Edith, he handed his wife into the 
 first carriage, who sank back exhausted upon the seat. With 
 another wave of his hand to those who stood watching on the 
 front piazza, the carriage, followed by another, containing 
 the children and their nurse, drove off, and were soon out of 
 sight. 
 
 The house appeared very desolate without the beloved 
 parents, and it required all Edith's self-control to return cheer- 
 fully to her duties. Mr. Clifford was a most devoted, affectionate 
 husband, preserving for his interesting wife all that warmth 
 of attachment which had characterized his youthful days. 
 Nor was it very wonderful ; for lovely as she was by nature,
 
 THE FAMILY CHAIN BROKEN. 99 
 
 she had taken great pains to make his home a blessed haven 
 of repose, by those nameless attentions to his comfort, and the 
 careful observation of all those little graceful proprieties which 
 impart so many charms to the young bride. She had wisely 
 judged, that what was esteemed so charming in the young girl, 
 was doubly necessary in the intimate relations of husband and 
 wife ; consequently, she was always neat, and ready to receive 
 her husband as a refined lady, and never annoyed him with 
 those domestic details, with which many wives entertain their 
 wearied husbands. 
 
 As he looked at her faded form and languid countenance, 
 his heart sank within him at the thought of perhaps soon 
 being compelled to resign this dearly cherished wife to the 
 cold and silent grave. Seating himself by her side, and 
 drawing heF fragile figure nearer to him, while she leaned her 
 head upon his shoulder, he pressed a kiss upon her pale lips, 
 and mentally resolved, that so long as life should beat in that 
 bosom, he would cherish and defend her from all evil, and 
 spare no pains or expense, if by any means a life so dear could 
 be prolonged. 
 
 " I feel great hopes for you, dear Mary, now that we really 
 have cut loose from family cares, and are about to seek such 
 a genial climate," said her husband. 
 
 " I am willing, George, that God should do just as he 
 pleases with me, though I own that Ravenswood has many 
 links to bind me to the earth, and if God should deem it best, 
 I should wish to live for my children's sake;" and as she 
 said this, she raised her soft blue eyes to her husband's face, 
 while they beamed upon him an expression of unutterable 
 love. 
 
 He stooped over the beloved wife, and throwing aside the 
 clustering ringlets, with a soft caress, he laid his hand upon the 
 fair forehead. 
 
 " You have been a dear, kind husband to me," she con- 
 tinued ; " well have you redeemed your marriage vow. There 
 is but one thing, dearest, that I could wish otherwise, and that 
 is, that I could see you living the life and enjoying the hopes
 
 100 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 of a real Christian. I cannot bear the thoughts of eternal 
 separation ; and you know, my husband, that you are as yet 
 living without God in this world." 
 
 " Do not distress yourself, Mary ; I hope to turn my attention 
 some day to religion. If anything could win me, I think it 
 would be your sweet example, wife." 
 
 Thus continued this communion of hearts, until they reached 
 New York, where they found their good pastor, the Rev. Mr. 
 Berkely, waiting for them. He had come down for the kind 
 purpose of seeing their embarkation, and while waiting at the 
 hotel for the hour of departure, he fervently commended the 
 party to the protecting care of their Heavenly Father. 
 
 They went on board the steamer in the afternoon. The 
 passage down the splendid bay of New York was glorious. It 
 was one of the most beautiful evenings of autumn. The re- 
 flection of the glowing sunset on the water was magnificent, 
 and the scenery all along the shore was interesting. The 
 whole landscape spoke of peace and hope. After a short and 
 pleasant voyage, they soon found themselves comfortably sit- 
 uated for the winter, at Magnolia. 
 
 Mrs. Clifford enjoyed the companionship of little Lilly, for 
 she was a sweet, thoughtful child, and being tenderly attached 
 to her mother, was a great comfort. She heard frequently 
 from home, and the accounts were such as lulled her anxieties 
 to rest. The mild climate, the peculiar treatment, and her 
 entire rest, acted favorably upon her disease, and she was 
 evidently better than she had been for many years. There 
 was even an increase of flesh, and the lily of her cheek gave 
 place to the more delicate tints of the rose. Her strength 
 evidently improved, and Mr. Clifford, upon consultation with 
 physicians at Magnolia, finally concluded on removing with his 
 family in the spring to Europe, to stay a couple of years, 
 spending their winters in the south of France. He wrote 
 home to that effect, saying that they would return early in 
 May, and bidding them make all necessary arrangements for 
 their departure to the Continent. 
 
 The winter had passed rapidly, for the family at Ravens-
 
 THE FAMILY CHAIN BROKEN. 101 
 
 wood had all been very busy, and although nothing could 
 compensate for the absence of their parents, still constant 
 occupation prevented them from suffering much of loneliness. 
 The young men spent their Christmas vacation with them, 
 which lasted about two weeks. Gerald still appeared devoted 
 to Edith, Ralph the kind friend of Madge, and Frank lively 
 as ever. 
 
 One bright December morning, Frank came running into 
 the breakfast-room, brimful of a party of pleasure which he 
 had in view. 
 
 " What say you, girls, to a sleigh-ride ? There has been a 
 splendid fall of snow, and it would be delightful to run down 
 as far as New York. Aunt Morris would be glad to see us ; 
 we could stay a couple of nights, see some of the sights of the 
 great city, and then return home." 
 
 Seeing that Miss Arnold looked disapproval, he turned to 
 her and said : 
 
 " Now, dear, good Miss Arnold, don't object. I have per- 
 mission from my father for just such an excursion. I wrote in 
 time, hoping for snow, and I think we had better take advant- 
 age of it." Running to get his letter, he brought it to her, 
 that she might read for herself. 
 
 Full of the projected sport, Frank brought out their own 
 and Gerald's sleighs, and warmly clad, with light and merry 
 hearts, they started for a ride of about fifteen miles. The 
 morning was bright and exhilarating. Bruno made one of the 
 party, and safely lodged at his master's feet, he enjoyed the 
 winter's ride as much as the rest. Their road lay through a 
 picturesque part of the country ; and although it was winter, 
 yet the bright sunny sky, the snow-roofed houses, and the 
 glittering icicles, pendent from the wintry-shrouded trees, all 
 had a beauty of their own. Even Madge was delighted, and 
 as she sat chatting with Ralph, really looked happy, and some- 
 times almost pretty. 
 
 When they reached the ferry, they sent the sleigh back 
 again, fearing that a sudden change might prevent their re- 
 turn in the same way. Taking carriages on the other side,
 
 102 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 they started for Mrs. Morris's splendid mansion. She re- 
 ceived them with delight, and almost insisted that they should 
 all stay at her house ; but Josephine, Gerald and Ralph per- 
 ferred a hotel, promising to return early in the evening. 
 
 Jn the meanwhile a party was arranged for the theatre. To 
 Edith's surprise, Frank announced his intention of going. 
 
 " Do you really mean to go to the theatre ?" asked Edith. 
 
 " Why not, sister ?" replied Frank. 
 
 "Because you know dear mamma's opinion about such 
 places of amusement." 
 
 " But, Edith, father thinks differently. He says that I will 
 never be a man, if I do not see something of the world, and 
 he has given me permission to go." 
 
 When they assembled after tea, Ralph, Gerald, and Edith 
 declined ; at which Mrs. Morris quietly sneered. Madge was 
 very anxious to see the personification of some of her favorite 
 characters, and as Hamlet was the play for the evening, she 
 wished especially to go. Blanche and Adele had heard such 
 glowing accounts, from 'their young cousins, about the charms 
 of the stage, that they were scarcely to be denied, as they 
 hung around Edith, begging for permission to partake of the 
 pleasure. When they were alone, Adele said : 
 
 " I tell you what it is, Blanche, I think it's a shame that 
 Edith is allowed to direct us ; she is not so much older. I 
 wish that we could go without her knowledge." 
 
 Blanche listened, desiring the same thing, but had not cour- 
 age enough to express it. 
 
 Josephine had observed Madge's anxiety to partake of the 
 amusement, and when she left the room, followed Madge, and 
 knocking at her door, said : 
 
 "Madge, let me in. I have something to say to you of 
 great importance." 
 
 She opened the door, and Josephhine, looking around, said, 
 in a whisper, 
 
 " Can any one hear ?" 
 
 " There is no danger," answered Madge, " speak on." 
 
 " Do you want to go with us to-night ?"
 
 THE FAMILY CHAIN BROKEN. 103 
 
 " I do," replied the young girl. 
 
 " Then you shall go. I don't see why an older sister should 
 be allowed to rule you so entirely." 
 
 Josephine had often looked on, and determined, if it was pos- 
 sible, to bring Madge out of what she called " the house of 
 bondage." She appreciated her talents, and wished to imbue 
 her with some of her own spirit. 
 
 " Would you go without Edith's knowledge ?" 
 
 " Yes, if I can." 
 
 " Well, then, listen to me," said Josephine. " The three 
 saints Ralph, Edith, and Gerald are going to-night to a 
 concert. They will want you to go. Pretend to be sick, and 
 I will manage all the rest. We will start before they do. I 
 will direct the waiter to bring you around to the north door, 
 and Frank will come there to meet you." 
 
 " I will do all but the pretending. I contend that I have a 
 right to guide my own actions. I will just say I don't want to 
 go, and the girls will stay at home to keep me company." 
 
 " We will outwit them this time, won't we, Madge? and you 
 shall have the treat ; besides, there is no great harm done. 
 Your father does not object, if your mother does ; and, accord- 
 ing to her own theory, he ia the master, and ought to be 
 obeyed." 
 
 Although Madge had resolved to go, her conscience could 
 not yield to this sophistry, when she remembered the pale face 
 of her absent mother, and felt the power of her mild reproving 
 eye. 
 
 After tea, Edith proposed the concert to the party. Madge 
 quietly declined; and Blanche and Adele, who were in the 
 secret, declared their intention of remaining at home with 
 Mudge. Edith was not surprised, as she so frequently declined 
 invitations with her sisters. 
 
 The party for the theatre started first, then the others to the 
 concert ; and in a few minutes, the thoughtless girls were ready 
 to accompany the servant, who was waiting for them in the 
 hall. A short and hurried walk brought them to the theatre, 
 where Frank was awaiting them.
 
 104 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 " Well, little sisters, this is grand fun ; you shall have one 
 merry night at least." 
 
 Madge began to feel uncomfortable, as she wondered what 
 Ralph would think of her conduct; but determined on gratify- 
 ing her desires, she silenced the voice of conscience. 
 
 When they entered the theatre, they were perfectly be- 
 wildered and dazzled : the glittering lights the brilliant 
 costumes the music all enchanted them ; but when the cur- 
 tain arose, they were spell-bound ; especially Frank and Madge, 
 who had never dreamed of half of the enchantment. In the 
 excitement of the evening, conscience was completely lulled to 
 sleep; but when all was over, they had been too long and faith- 
 fully taught not to feel the evil of their conduct, and to dread 
 a meeting with Edith. The pleasure of the evening, intoxi- 
 cating as it had been, was more than counter-balanced by the 
 reproaches of the monitor within, now awakening to accuse 
 them of their guilt. 
 
 Edith arrived before them. On inquiring for her sisters, 
 she was told that they had gone out ; and not being able to ob- 
 tain any satisfaction from the servants, she had to wait in anx- 
 ious suspense, not knowing what to think. Half past ten 
 o'clock arrived, and no tidings ; eleven came, and still no news. 
 
 The family had not yet arrived. When the bell rang, Edith 
 heard the door open, and thought that she distinguished Adele's 
 voice among the party. To her utter amazement, all entered 
 the parlor together. Madge first presented herself. 
 
 " Where have you been, Madge ?" said Edith. 
 
 " I have been to the theatre," answered the young girl, in a 
 defiant tone. 
 
 Blanche looked timid and alarmed, and shrank behind 
 Frank. Adele tried to laugh at the joke. Ralph seemed 
 cold and displeased, Gerald grieved ; and Edith, in a sorrowful 
 tone, said, " Frank, how could you do so ? You know our 
 dear mother's wishes on these subjects ; and placed as they 
 have been under my care, it is teaching them a sad lesson of 
 disobedience and deceit. 
 
 " I think that you regard it in a manner much too serious,"
 
 THE FAMILY CHAIN BROKEN. 105 
 
 replied Frank ; " the girls never have had an opportunity of 
 seeing such an entertainment ; and as father does not dis- 
 approve of it, I can't see that they have done any wrong 
 under my care." 
 
 Ralph avoided Madge ; for while he had confidence in her 
 truth, he hoped for better things from her ; but now that she 
 had manifestly departed from that straight path, he was deeply 
 disappointed. Madge was miserable, for the friendship of 
 Kalph Cameron was her greatest earthly comfort ; and to lose 
 that, would be to lose her last hope. When she returned to 
 her room, she thought over all her conduct ; but having lis- 
 tened to the injurious teachings of Josephine Fortescue, won- 
 dered if she was not wise enough to judge for herself. Her 
 proud heart began to rise up even against Ralph, and to long 
 for that liberty of action which she saw Josephine enjoying. 
 And yet, when she remembered all his generous kindness, 
 she could not but long for a reconciliation ; and ere she slept 
 that night, she resolved to seek Ralph next day, and explain 
 her conduct. 
 
 At an early hour on the following morning, Josephine 
 called, and when she saw the state of things, was very well 
 satisfied ; for she determined, if possible, to produce an estrange- 
 ment between the two. They talked over the affair of the 
 evening before. 
 
 "Surely, Madge," said Josephine, "you are not going to ask 
 pardon of that proud Pharisee ? What right has he to govern 
 your actions? If you do, you will greatly demean yourself; 
 and as to Edith, she is only your sister. You have as good a 
 right as she, to seek your own pleasures." 
 
 The poison sank deep into her proud heart, and she began 
 to dream of independence and female rights. Ralph called 
 after breakfast, and evidently sought an opportunity to speak 
 to Madge; she avoided his eye, answered him in monosyllables, 
 and wounded his noble heart. She was but fifteen years old 
 now, but there was about the young girl a strength of deter- 
 mination and resentment, that illy became one so young, and 
 which we seldom see in woman, at even a mature age. She
 
 106 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 had allowed the evil spirit to gain the mastery. Ralph's 
 influence was weakened by the power of a disappointed 
 woman, and under the mistaken idea of independence, Madge 
 was throwing away a friend that had proved himself a brother 
 indeed. 
 
 Edith's spirit was deeply saddened. She saw how Madge 
 and Frank had been affected by their new pleasure. She 
 dreaded the results on such natures, and deeply lamented the 
 increasing power of Josephine Fortescue. Under these adverse 
 circumstances, a visit commenced under such sunny skies had 
 been clouded by these worldly associations. She longed for 
 her quiet home, and on the third day, they started for a return 
 to Ravenswood. They could scarcely realize the change in 
 their feelings. The sky was still cloudless, but the voice of 
 merriment was hushed. Edith was sad at the thought of her 
 sister's departure from duty; Frank was vexed because she 
 was depressed ; Gerald sympathized with her feelings ; Ralph 
 and Madge were estranged ; Josephine rejoiced maliciously ; 
 Blanche and Adele were ashamed, and the whole party very 
 wretched. Miss Arnold soon perceived that much was amiss, 
 and on discovering the whole affair, endeavored to set it before 
 them in its true light. When she understood the part which 
 Josephine had taken, she was more than ever distressed at the 
 intimacy, especially between her and Madge, which now be- 
 came closer than ever. 
 
 The rest of the vacation was spent sadly, for Madge with- 
 stood all Ralph's advances to his former brotherly relations ; 
 and, misled by Josephine, she endeavored to appear indepen- 
 dent, but had too much feeling not to be miserable. Once 
 more, during the holidays, Frank rode down to New York to 
 go again to the theatre. He seemed captivated, and was often 
 heard, when alone, reciting from Shakespeare, and was com- 
 pletely engrossed by the fascinating amusement. Edith parted 
 from the young men sadly. She trembled for Frank, missed 
 the sweet sympathy of Gerald, and grieved to see how coldly 
 Madge bade Ralph farewell, although she saw that it cost the 
 poor misguided girl a bitter struggle. She had one blessed
 
 THE FAMILY CHAIN BROKEN. 107 
 
 refuge at a throne of grace, and there she brought all dear 
 ones ; and as she named them one by one to her Heavenly 
 Father, hoped that Divine grace would rescue them all at last 
 from the deep dark prison-house of inbred sin. 
 
 During the winter, she heard frequently from her mother. 
 Accounts were encouraging; and when the news reached them 
 that they were to commence making preparations for a removal 
 to Europe in May, the household was consequently in a great 
 state of excitement. All were pleased with the idea of a visit 
 to the Continent ; as it was proposed that they should travel, 
 through the summer, and spend the winter in the south of 
 France. Edith was grieved at the thought of losing Gerald, 
 and Madge cared not where she went, as she felt that she had 
 lost Kalph Cameron's friendship, and it mattered not where 
 she dwelt. The bright chain of harmony seemed broken. 
 When alone, musing over the past, Madge frequently asked 
 who had first snapped the links. Sometimes her heart whis- 
 pered, "Is it Josephine?" and yet she had grown so des- 
 perate under the certainty that she had finally lost Ralph's 
 friendship, that she gave herself up completely to the guidance 
 of her new friend. 
 
 Edith felt also the snapping of the golden links of their 
 family union ; but tracing the first to the separation of their 
 dear parents from the family circle, she felt that the hand of 
 God had unclasped them for wise purposes ; and while she 
 prayed with earnest faith, she still hoped for the reunion of all 
 these broken links, if not in this world, in the brighter one to 
 come. These blessed hopes sustained her ; but poor Madge, 
 farther and farther off, into the barren desert of doubt and 
 suspicion, found her heart chilled once more, for want of a 
 genial, firm, and loving spirit. 
 
 Little did she think how completely Ralph still read her 
 heart, understood her temptation, prayed for the misguided 
 girl, and looked for her return. He feared it might be long, 
 for he saw her surrounded by the mists of prejudice; but still 
 he hoped, and still he loved the wayward child of genius. 
 Believing that he had ceased to care for her, Madge was per-
 
 108 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 fectly reconciled to the idea of leaving America, and began to 
 look forward with some anxiety to the prospect of seeing other 
 countries, and of revelling among the beautiful scenery of the 
 interior of Europe. The winter passed rapidly away. That 
 sweet season had come, when the singing of the birds is heard 
 in the green forests, among the leafy boughs ; and, in the lan- 
 guage of Scripture, when " the voice of the turtle is heard iu 
 the land." 
 
 Early in May, the parents returned, Mrs. Clifford greatly 
 improved, having gained flesh, with a more rosy-tinted com- 
 plexion, and much more strength. They were all delighted 
 to be together once more. Preparations for departure rapidly 
 progressed. The house was to be left in the care of a steward 
 and his family, in whom they could repose perfect confidence. 
 Frank and Gerald came home on a short visit before the 
 family sailed, and anxious to see Ralph, Mrs. Clifford sent for 
 him also. Madge seemed softened at the idea of leaving Ralph 
 unreconciled, and often appeared disturbed at the thought, and 
 almost inclined to grant the interview which he sought ; but 
 the old pride held her back, and the certainty that she had 
 estranged every friend but Josephine, made her still shrink 
 from his notice. 
 
 One evening, she had wandered to her old walk by the river- 
 side. Seated on the bank, she was sadly musing on the past, 
 and wondering over the future. While absorbed in thought, 
 she did not perceive footsteps approaching, until Ralph Came- 
 ron stood before her. She was about to run hastily away, when, 
 with his former spirit of command, he took the little hand which 
 trembled in his grasp, and seating her by his side, said : 
 
 " Why do you avoid me, Madge ? Are you really going 
 away, so completely estranged from your old friend?" 
 
 "You cannot wish it to be different, Mr. Cameron, after the 
 events of last winter. My conduct was so bad, that with your 
 principles, I do not see how you can notice me. I deceived my 
 sister, and have ever since been pursuing a path of determined 
 transgression." 
 
 " Are you happy, Madge?"
 
 THE FAMILY CHAIN BROKEN. 109 
 
 " Happy !" answered the child, "I do not expect to be happy. 
 I am ugly, disagreeable, proud, and bad-tempered. Nobody 
 can love me ; all I ask is to be let alone." 
 
 " I shall never do that, Madge. When I profess friendship, 
 it is for life ; and I shall never cease to care for you, to pray for 
 you, and to look for your return to me, Madge, as your friend, 
 but most of all to God, whom you have offended." 
 
 The trembling lip and tearful eye, betrayed the feelings with 
 which Madge listened to the old familiar tones of kindness. 
 She did not trust herself to look into Kalph's face, for she men- 
 tally referred to Josephine's sneers, and inwardly resolved not 
 to place herself so completely under her friend's control. Under 
 the influence of this evil feeling, she merely replied : 
 
 " Thank you, Mr. Cameron, for your kind instructions, but I 
 am growing older every day, and think that I ought to act a 
 little more independently." 
 
 " Foolish child !" replied Ralph, " you will be sorry for re- 
 fusing my friendship. Remember what I say, you will come 
 back to your old friend ; but I fear that you are laying up for 
 yourself a store of sorrow before that day." 
 
 " When I feel the need of your advice, I will certainly ask 
 it, Mr. Cameron," replied Madge, " but for the present, I have 
 a strong-minded friend of my own sex, who is able to direct me." 
 
 " Do you mean Josephine Fortescue, Madge ? I am very 
 sorry that you should have chosen such a guide. She is one 
 illy qualified to direct such a spirit as yours." 
 
 Ralph saw that the mood of the young girl was completely 
 changed, and that the poison of Josephine's teaching had com- 
 menced its work. His noble heart was deeply pained on feeling 
 the estrangement which had thus been produced ; but with true 
 Christian faith, he laid his hand on Madge's head, and said : 
 
 "I leave you, my dear child, in God's care; may he guide, 
 watch over, and bear with you, and bring you into his fold." 
 
 Tears filled her eyes, and choked her utterance, as she re- 
 plied : 
 
 " You will not forget me, Mr. Cameron, though I have proved 
 myself so unworthy ?"
 
 110 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 "No, Madge, in your distant sojourn in a foreign land, re- 
 member, that at morning and at night I shall bear you on my 
 heart before a throne of grace." 
 
 Somewhat softened, Madge accompanied Ralph to the house. 
 Next day, he took his sorrowful leave of the family, and re- 
 turned to college, the same kind and faithful friend of poor 
 misguided Madge. She stood upon the piazza, watching the 
 carriage which conveyed her friend away, and kept down 
 the swelling feelings of regret which agitated her young heart 
 at the remembrance of what she had thrown away, and secretly 
 wondered if Josephine would prove the same faithful friend 
 that Ralph had been. The sequel will show the results of her 
 present course of proud independence.
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 BEYOND THE SEA. 
 
 RAVELLING preparations rapidly progressed. 
 Gerald and Frank still tarried ; for, looking for- 
 ward to a separation for two years, they could 
 not bear to sunder the last tie too soon. 
 
 The evening before departure at length arrived. 
 After tea, Gerald whispered to Edith, " Will you 
 walk with me ?" And silently they pursued their 
 way down the shady avenue to the old elm tree, a 
 spot so much endeared by so many tender recollections. Edith 
 leaned on Gerald's arm mournfully and silently. Not one 
 word Avas spoken, until they reached the trysting-place. It 
 was a lovely evening in May ; all around was fresh and smiling, 
 but the two young hearts felt no sympathy with the loveliness 
 of the evening ; for thoughts of the deep ocean which would 
 soon roll between them, sank into their bosoms like lead, and 
 quenched each joyous feeling. Gerald seated himself by Edith, 
 upon a rustic settee that stood under the old tree. Taking her 
 hand, he said : 
 
 " Edith, what, a lonely place Ravenswood will be when you 
 are far away ! I cannot tell you how sadly I look forward to 
 our separation. I can scarcely bear to think of even visiting 
 our old haunts when you are absent." 
 
 " Are you sure, Gerald," replied Edith, " that you will con- 
 Ill
 
 112 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 tinue to remember me ? May not absence dim the recollection 
 of your early friend ?" 
 
 " No, Edith, nothing can efface your image from my heart. 
 I cannot see you depart, without a promise which will bind you 
 to me for life, as my sweet companion." 
 
 "That promise is yours, Gerald," solemnly replied Edith; 
 " no other can ever be so dear to me, as the cherished friend of 
 my early years, the future partner of my earthly lot ; but re- 
 member, Gerald, if you should prove untrue to me, my hopes 
 of earthly happiness are at an end." 
 
 " Do not talk so, Edith ; it seems to imply a doubt of my 
 constancy. You will write frequently. I shall expect to hear 
 by every steamer, and shall be greatly disappointed if you 
 should be negligent." 
 
 " You need not fear that, Gerald ; it will be my greatest com- 
 fort in a foreign land." 
 
 " I have a little case here, Edith, which I have thought that 
 you would value," said Gerald ; and taking it from his pocket, 
 he handed it to her. 
 
 What was her delight on seeing a perfect resemblance of 
 himself, painted by his own hand ! Long ere this, he had 
 secured a picture of Edith, which all had pronounced excellent, 
 and which he preserved among his treasures. 
 
 In sad, though pleasant intercourse, they whiled away the 
 twilight hour, and returning, when they came in sight of his 
 house, Gerald paused, and pointing to his home, said, " Oh, 
 Edith, how long the time appears, ere I can claim you as the 
 mistress of Oak Hall. How many years may elapse before that 
 happy day ?" 
 
 "It may never be, Gerald. The future is wisely hidden 
 from us. Sickness or death may overtake either of us ; and 
 should I lose my precious mother, duty might call me else- 
 where ; but while I desire to commit all the future to God 
 entirely, be assured that my eaithly love is all your own." 
 
 The shades of night gathered rapidly around them ; the 
 whip-poor-will sang sadly his evening song ; the night-hawk 
 sailed over their heads, screaming as he directed his course to
 
 BEYOND THE SEA. 113 
 
 the woods ; the old elm tree was seen no more, and Oak Hall 
 was concealed by the curtain of night. As they reached the 
 piazza, the moon arose slowly and majestically, shedding her 
 pale light over the landscape. Their spirits were in unison 
 with the melancholy of the picture, and after sitting a few 
 minutes on the piazza, they entered the house. The parents 
 fully sanctioned the transaction of the evening, and Edith's 
 high nature felt a new motive to grow in grace and elevation 
 of character, when she looked upon herself as the betrothed 
 of Gerald Fortescue. 
 
 The morning dawned propitiously. At an early hour, the 
 carriages stood before the door. All the servants but Uncle 
 Peter had been dismissed. A trusty family was left in charge 
 of the house, and the faithful old man was appointed to take 
 care of the grounds. Aunt Priscilla had come up to take 
 leave of the family. She had furnished them abundantly with 
 medicine for sea-sickness. She had made each a nice shoe-bag 
 and needle-book, and in Edith's hand she placed a package, 
 which she desired her not to open until she embarked on board 
 the vessel. Miss Arnold and a faithful old nurse accompanied 
 the party. The latter was a faithful servant, who had nursed 
 Mrs. Clifford when an infant, and being tenderly attached to 
 her, had lived with her ever since her marriage, and had 
 become an indispensable appendage to the family. When all 
 was prepared, Mrs. Clifford stood on the piazza, taking one last 
 look of her beautiful home. Turning to her husband as she 
 leaned upon him, she said, "We shall see nothing lovelier than 
 this, George. Look at that flowing river, the fresh green 
 forests, and those rolling hills. Were it not for the hope of 
 restored health, nothing could tempt me to leave this charm- 
 ing spot." Turning, she bade Aunt Priscilla an affectionate 
 farewell. 
 
 Uncle Peter covered his face to hide his tears, and blessing 
 his kind mistress, he moved rapidly away. Gerald and Frank 
 accompanied the party to New York, where they took a 
 steamer for Liverpool. The young men stayed on board until 
 the last minute. When the signal to leave was given, farewells
 
 114 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 were spoken hastily. Gerald wrung Edith's hand, and press- 
 ing it to his lips, in another minute was gone. 
 
 As the steamer slowly moved from the wharf, Edith who 
 stood watching, pale and motionless, perceived Gerald standing 
 with his hat down over his face. With one more wave of his 
 hand, he turned slowly away, and taking Frank's arm, they 
 walked silently back to their hotel. The next day they re- 
 turned to college, and the vessel pursued her gallant course 
 rapidly out to sea. 
 
 Remembering Aunt Priscilla's package, Edith opened it and 
 to her surprise found a draft for one hundred dollars for her 
 own personal use, as a parting gift from her aged relative. 
 
 Mrs. Clifford suffered much from sea-sickness, and the ser- 
 vices of dear old nursey were invaluable. Edith was often 
 very sad. Madge was moody and sought solitude. Blanche 
 and Adele enjoyed the novelty of their situation, everything 
 on board the ship delighted them. Lilly and Emily were the 
 especial charge of nurse, and Edith, in company with Miss 
 Arnold, learned to delight in the grandeur and magnificence 
 of scenes on the deep blue and boundless ocean. 
 
 After a pleasant passage, they arrived in safety at the desired 
 haven. Staying but a few days in Liverpool, they proceeded 
 to London, and the whole party were delighted with the country 
 through which they travelled, the railroads were conducted 
 so admirably, and the travelling so easy and pleasant. They 
 passed many beautiful homes, and were especially struck with 
 the hedge-row beauties which they observed. The white haw- 
 thorn blossom, now in full bloom, dividing the field, gave the 
 country the appearance of a highly cultivated garden. The 
 charming villas, the rose-embowered cottages, the grassy lanes, 
 and countless village spires towering up to heaven, all lent 
 enchantment to the picturesque scenery which everywhere met 
 the eye. 
 
 On reaching London, they delivered a few letters of intro- 
 duction to some choice English families, and were delighted 
 with the acquaintances which they formed. They had brought 
 letters to a family by the name of Percy, whom they found
 
 BEYOND THE SEA. 115 
 
 living out of town, at Richmond, in one of the most charm- 
 ing suburbs of the great metropolis. Their house was an old- 
 fashioned English hall, provided with every comfort, and even 
 many luxuries of life, surrounded by highly cultivated grounds. 
 The noble old trees looked as ancient as if they had sheltered 
 several generations, and their flower-garden was laid out in the 
 most tasteful manner. 
 
 When Mr. and Mrs. Clifford paid their first visit, they soon 
 found themselves domesticated with one of the finest specimens 
 of a refined and pious English family. It consisted of Mr. and 
 Mrs. Percy, a governess, Clara, the eldest daughter, a girl of 
 fifteen ; May, the next, a child of thirteen, and Lydia, a little 
 girl of six. Lionel, a youth of nineteen, was absent at college, 
 and to judge from the affectionate mention of this beloved 
 member of the family, one might suppose that he was every- 
 thing that a son and brother ought to be. Be that as it may, 
 the loving household looked at him through the glasses which 
 made everything couleur de rose. When Clara took the young 
 girls out on an excursion through the grounds, they were con- 
 tinually chatting of Brother Lionel. 
 
 "Do you see that pigeon-box? Brother made it and nailed 
 it up there, and we take care of his pigeons while he is away." 
 
 Running still further on, they came to a pond of gold-fish. 
 
 "Look at those fish, Miss Edith," said Clara. "Some of 
 them are so tame, that when brother throws crumbs of bread, 
 they will come up close to the border of the pond to get them ; 
 but, no wonder, Lionel is so kind. He would not even hurt a 
 fish." 
 
 When they came to the stables, Clara called to the groom : 
 " John, will you bring out Oscar?" and very soon a fine-looking 
 horse came ambling gaily out of the stable, and neighing at the 
 sight of the children, came rubbing his head against Clara's 
 hand, and seemed as tame among them as a pet dog. 
 
 " That is Lionel's horse. He loves brother just as much as 
 we do, and when he comes home, Oscar is as happy as any one 
 else." 
 
 May went running into the stable, and calling out, " Tray,
 
 116 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 come out here," her call was soon responded to by a fine old 
 dog, that came bounding along to greet his young friends. 
 
 " That is Lionel's dog," said May. " I -wish you could see 
 how he minds brother, and yet he never strikes him, or says ail 
 unkind word." 
 
 " When does your brother come home ?" asked Blanche. 
 
 " Not till vacation. When he returns this summer, he is 
 going to travel with his tutor." 
 
 " Is he handsome ?" asked Adele. 
 
 " Yes, indeed," replied May; "he is splendid. He has the 
 most beautiful black eyes, and fine black hair, and such white 
 teeth, and then his smile is so sweet ; but when he gets angry, 
 I feel afraid of Lionel, for his eyes look so fiery, they seem like 
 lightning." 
 
 " Oh ! then he does get angry," said Adele. 
 
 "Yes; I remember once, when our groom beat his horse 
 furiously, Lionel was very angry, and threatened to have him 
 turned away ; but when the man begged his pardon, he for- 
 gave him. Then he was angry again, when he saw a proud- 
 looking man knock down a poor little match girl in the 
 street. Dear brother picked up all her matches for her ; and 
 he was so vexed with the proud man, that he seized him by 
 the collar, and was going to knock him down, only he begged 
 his pardon." 
 
 " Well, I think that I should like to know this brother of 
 yours," said Adele. 
 
 " Perhaps you may, some day," replied May. " I don't 
 think that anybody has such a darling brother, so good, so 
 wise, so beautiful." 
 
 Many were the pleasant hours spent by the Cliffords with 
 this excellent family. On their first Sabbath in England, they 
 passed the day with the Percy's, going to church with them in 
 the morning. They returned to dinner. At the table, each 
 child was expected to repeat as much as was remembered of 
 the sermon, and the conversation was such as became the day. 
 In the evening Mr. Percy conducted family prayer in the 
 library ; aud on each morning, every member of the family
 
 BEYOND THE SEA, 117 
 
 repeated a text, of Scripture, and children, servants, and the 
 whole household, joined in the solemn worship. They truly 
 obeyed the Scriptural injunction, to " use hospitality without 
 grudging," and our travellers soon felt as much at home with 
 them, as in the family of relatives. Under their kind escort, 
 they explored all the places of interest in and about London. 
 Madge was charmed with her visit to Westminster Abbey. 
 Standing amidst its long dark cloisters, surrounded by the 
 dust of sleeping kings and rival monarchs, she could scarcely 
 breathe, so intense was the feeling with which she gazed upon 
 those solemn monuments of human greatness. The misty light 
 of these dim cloisters imparted a mysterious grandeur to the 
 imposing scene ; and the vivid imagination of Madge Clifford 
 found it very easy to people the dark Abbey with spirits of 
 the departed. 
 
 Shakespeare seemed to arise from his silent sepulchre, and, 
 waving his magic wand among the tombs, he called up many 
 illustrious spirits from their deep slumbers, who stalked 
 before her mental vision in all their grandeur. Henry the 
 Eighth and his murdered queens rose first, the gloomy 
 Katharine of Arragon, the bewitching Anne Boleyn, the 
 beautiful Catharine Howard, the scorned and disappointed 
 Anne of Cleves, and last the wily Catharine Parr ; all seemed 
 to pass before her, with accusing looks of injured woman- 
 hood. Richard the Third seemed confronted with the mur- 
 dered Princes, and the ghost of injured Clarence seemed to 
 point his pale finger at his murderer. The haughty Eliza- 
 beth shrank from the shadowy form of the lovely Mary 
 Stuart, and she could almost hear the clanging of knightly 
 armor, as she recalled the martial deeds of Richard Coeur de 
 Lion. 
 
 Poets chanted their magnificent lays, and great musicians 
 breathed unearthly music around her. It was at an hour of 
 daily service when she visited the Abbey, and as the choir 
 chanted their solemn hymns, she could easily imagine that 
 she was in another world, listening to heavenly strains around 
 the everlasting throne. She was bewildered, overpowered ;
 
 118 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 not one word could she speak. So much did she feel herself 
 surrounded by the mighty dead, that she would have felt it 
 sacrilege to speak in such an audience-chamber. When tread- 
 ing again the streets of London, she felt as if she had been in 
 dream-land, and for hours she could not recover the usual tone 
 of her mind. 
 
 After having visited all the places of note, it was arranged 
 to proceed to the chaiming lakes of Westmoreland; after 
 which, it was proposed to make a summer tour on the Con- 
 tinent, and to spend the following winter at Pau, in the 
 south of France. They parted with much regret from their 
 pleasant friends, the Percy's, but with the sanguine feelings of 
 the young, the juvenile portion of the party hoped to meet 
 again. 
 
 Travelling through a most picturesque part of England, 
 they visited the charming lakes of Westmoreland. That of 
 Derwent Water was peculiarly beautiful, dotted over with 
 green islands, and decorated with elegant country-seats, in a 
 state of high cultivation. A beautiful, though not very 
 noisy cascade, whose musical waters murmured at the en- 
 trance, was an additional feature of beauty. In their tour, 
 they stopped at Wordsworth's residence, on Rydal Mount, situ- 
 ated among the most enchanting scenery of the north of 
 England. In view of the poet's home, Madge read aloud 
 some of his most beautiful peoms, and realized much more 
 keenly the charm of his descriptions. 
 
 Early one morning, Blanche and Adele, with the permission 
 of their parents, started on an excursion in search of some long 
 grasses, which they had observed in their rambles. Taking 
 a little boat they were safely conducted over the lake to one of 
 the green islands, on the borders of which they hoped to find 
 the object of their search. When they reached the island, 
 they dismissed the boatman, telling him to return in about an 
 hour. 
 
 It was one of the most genial days in June, when the blue 
 sky, in its perfect transparency, seemed as though the spirits 
 who might visit its confines could almost be seen by human
 
 BEYOND THE SEA. 119 
 
 eyes. The air was exhilarating; and the young creatures, who 
 bounded in all the gayety of youthful spirits over the green 
 velvet sward, and under the leafy trees, seemed under the 
 inspiration of one of Nature's brightest holidays. Attired 
 in simple white dresses, with large straw flats, tied under the 
 chin Avith a light blue ribbon, they flitted about like some pure 
 vision of youth and beauty. They were now in their fourteenth 
 year, and were charming specimens of that time of youthful 
 loveliness. 
 
 " Look there, Blanche," said Adele, "there are some of the 
 very grasses which we want ; but they are on the other side of 
 the lake. How can we get there? O, I see! there is a boat. 
 I know how to row, for I have rowed many a time on our own 
 dear Hudson." 
 
 "Are you not afraid to try it, Adele?" asked Blanche, who 
 was much more tirnid than her sister. 
 
 " No, indeed ; can anything be more quiet than this beau- 
 tiful lake ? and it is a very short distance. Let us try it." 
 
 Accordingly, Adele quickly unmoored the boat, and in a 
 few minutes the young creatures were gliding rapidly along 
 in search of their grasses. Adele had thrown off her hat; 
 her luxuriant black hair hung in clustering ringlets around 
 her bright face, and down her shoulders ; exercise and excite- 
 ment had imparted an additional glow to her olive com- 
 plexion, and more brilliancy to her sparkling eyes. They 
 went along, singing merily, until they came in sight of the 
 grasses. Leaning over the boat, they succeeded in obtain- 
 ing some fine variegated specimens. 
 
 " Oh, Blanche, see what beauties! But they are so far off," 
 said Adele. But not accustomed to be deterred by difficulties 
 in the execution of her plans, she gave a few more strokes of 
 her oar, and was almost in reach of her prize. Extending the 
 oar to draw them nearer, she found that she could not reach 
 them ; and leaning over, as Blanche thought, too far, her sister 
 was alarmed, and called out, 
 
 " Adele ! Adele ! be careful. I am afraid that you will 
 upset the boat."
 
 120 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 Adele stood up one minute in the boat, and giving another 
 stroke, she was so near that she could almost reach the grasses 
 stretching forward, the motion caused the boat to recede a 
 little ; another effort, and in the long stretch which Adele 
 made, she lost her balance, fell over, and in one instant was 
 in the water. Blanche screamed for help, as she saw her 
 sister go down ; and in her terror, dropping the oar, the boat 
 floated out into the stream, leaving Adele struggling in the 
 water. In her agony, Blanche continued screaming, until 
 overcome with terror, she sank fainting in the boat, 
 
 During the scene, a young man had been seated on a shady 
 knoll, somewhat back from the shore, watching the pretty 
 picture, and admiring the sportive grace with which the young 
 girls had been flitting about on the island. Hearing the 
 sudden plunge, and the screams at the same minute, he flew to 
 the shore, and as Adele was going down the second time, 
 succeeded in snatching her form a watery grave. 
 
 As he raised the lovely from of the insensible girl, he feared 
 that it was too late ; but he laid her down on the shore, in the 
 position most favorable for her recovery, and looking round, he 
 called loudly for help. Perceiving two men not far off from 
 the shore, he succeded in attracting their attention. As quickly 
 as possible, they conveyed the apparently lifeless form to 
 the nearest cottage, and on applying the usual restoratives, 
 the young man was rejoiced to see signs of returning life. 
 
 In the meanwhile, he had dispatched the men in search of 
 Blanche. Taking a boat, they soon reached the poor child, 
 who still laid insensible in the bottom of the boat. On con- 
 veying her to the cottage where Adele laid still weak, and in a 
 state of great nervous excitement, she was committed to the care 
 of the kind people who had administered to the case of her 
 sister. So soon as Blanche opened her eyes, she looked wildly 
 around, and exclaimed, in a pitiful tone of agony, "Oh, Adele! 
 Adele ! Where is my sister? Tell me the worst !" 
 
 "She is here," replied her preserver, "safe, and anxious to 
 see you." 
 
 When Blanche was conducted into her sister's presence
 
 BEYOND THE SEA. 121 
 
 they threw themselves into each other's arms, and wept con- 
 vulsively for some minutes. 
 
 " Oh, Adele, what a fearful dream I have had ! How could 
 I have lived without you, my dear, dear sister !" exclaimed 
 Blanche. 
 
 The young man who had rescued Adele stood gazing on the 
 scene with feelings of deep interest. He looked about nineteen, 
 with fine dark eyes and hair, and a peculiarly noble bearing. 
 
 " How can I thank you sufficiently ?" said Adele. " What 
 will my parents say? I was so foolish, and I fear disobe- 
 dient." 
 
 " Do not say a word about thanks," replied the youth ; " I 
 am too happy to have saved your life. When you feel suffi- 
 ciently recovered, allow me to conduct you to your parents." 
 
 " Let us go soon," said Adele ; and attired in dry clothes, 
 borrowed from the cottagers, they started for their hotel. The 
 young man rowed the boat himself; and on drawing near to 
 the hotel, they met the old nurse, coming out in anxious search 
 of her darlings. 
 
 "Where have you been so long? your mamma is very un- 
 easy," said the old woman. 
 
 " Oh, nurse, don't scold us ; I have been nearly drowned," 
 replied Adele ; " and if it had not been for this kind friend, 
 I should never have seen you again." 
 
 Seizing his hand, the faithful old woman imprinted on it 
 respectful kisses, while she uttered, " Heaven be a praised for 
 this goodness ! Thank you a thousand times ! We could not 
 spare our darling twins !" 
 
 Nurse broke the intelligence quickly to Mrs. Clifford, who 
 in the joy of receiving her rescued child, could not find it in 
 her heart to reprove her at that time for her rashness. 
 Turning to the youth, with swimming eyes, she said, "And to 
 whom am I indebted for this deliverance?" 
 
 " It matters not, dear madam ; I shall leave this evening for 
 my home, and would prefer to remain unknown in this matter. 
 I have been instrumental in restoring your sweet daughter to 
 your arms, and this moment amply repays me."
 
 122 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 Bidding her good-bye, the young stranger took his depar 
 ture ; and when Mr. Clifford made inquiries for him, no trace 
 of him could be found. A young man answering his descrip- 
 tion had arrived the day before, stayed all night, and had 
 departed in the morning. But the beautiful vision of the young 
 girls went with him, and he often wondered who they were. 
 Blanche had appeared almost as beautiful as an angelic form, 
 but the sportive, piquant graces of mischievous Adele, had 
 pleased him most. 
 
 On passing through the hall, Adele had found a small 
 pocket-book, with tablets, on which were noted college engage- 
 ments, and a few scraps of fugitive poetry. A few specimens 
 of grass were carefully folded away, in a small envelope, on 
 which was written, " A memorial of the water-nymph of West" 
 moreland." She was almost certain that this belonged to her 
 preserver, and she carefully laid it away among the curiosities 
 collected on their journey. 
 
 In a day or two they took their departure from the charm- 
 ing lakes, and on their route they visited Melrose Abbey, and 
 walked among its ruins by moonlight, fully realizing the 
 beauty of Sir AA r alter Scott's description : 
 
 " If thou wouldst view fair Melrose aright, 
 Go visit it by the pale moonlight; 
 For the gay beams of lightsome day 
 Gild, but to flout, the ruins gray. 
 When the broken arches are black in night, 
 And each shafted oriel glimmers white; 
 When the cold light's uncertain shower 
 Streams on the ruin'd central tower ; 
 When buttress and buttress, alternately, 
 Seemed formed of ebon and ivory ; 
 When silver edges the imagery, 
 And the scrolls that teach thee to live and die; 
 When distant Tweed is heard to rave, 
 And the owlet to hoot o'er the dead man's grave, 
 Then go but go alone the while 
 Then view St. David's ruin'd pil ; 
 And, home returning, soothly swear, 
 Was never scene so sad and fair !" 
 
 They could not leave England without visiting Abbotsford
 
 BEYOND THE SEA. 123 
 
 and in Sir Walter's library they sat and listened to the music 
 of the Tweed, as it rippled over its pebbly bed, and could well 
 imagine the soothing charm which it must have had for such a 
 mind as that of the former occupant of this honored, conse- 
 crated spot. 
 
 Edith wished for Gerald to enjoy these charming scenes with 
 her. While absent from Ralph, Madge thought more fre- 
 quently of him than of Josephine Fortescue. Blanche and 
 Adele found amusement everywhere, and the whole party were 
 encouraged and flattered by the manifest change in Mrs. Clif- 
 ford's health. So much had she improved, that she appeared 
 to enter, with all the enthusiasm of youth, into the delight 
 which their journey afforded. Miss Arnold was a peculiarly 
 interesting companion, for in all their journeying she kept her 
 pupils well informed, geographically, historically, practically, 
 and even politically, of the land through which they travelled. 
 With such a teacher, her young charge would gain more know- 
 ledge in one month than could be gathered from books in a year. 
 Each was required to keep notes of all that they saw daily, and 
 at their stopping-places their journals were read by Miss Arnold, 
 and useful hints given for future notices. When stopping long 
 enough, it was her custom to correct their manuscripts. They 
 also gathered specimens of plants and minerals in their journey, 
 which they carefully preserved for future use. 
 
 So much did the children desire it, that Mr. Clifford consented 
 to visit the ruins of Kenilworth Castle, ere he embarked for 
 France. They first stopped at Warwick, where there is a very 
 fine old castle, where Madge luxuriated in all the reveries of 
 her romantic nature; then they directed their course to Kenil- 
 worth, a small place in the vicinity, celebrated only for its mag- 
 nificent castle and park, the former of which is now in ruins. 
 It was a gift of Queen Elizabeth to her favorite, Dudley, Earl 
 of Leicester. The area inclosed within the castle walls was 
 seven acres, and the circuit of the park and chase alone, was 
 not less than twenty miles. As they stood amid its ruins, Madge 
 could easily picture the scenes of courtly grandeur once acted 
 there, when the haughty Elizabeth visited the Earl of Leicester ;
 
 124 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 and her blood chilled with horror, when she thought of the 
 mysterious disappearance of the lovely Amy Robsart, when 
 waiting for her lord and husband, betrayed, as many thought, 
 by the whistle which her loving heart recognized as Leicester's 
 but which only lured her to a horrid death. She thought of the 
 deep vault beneath the treacherous trap, and of the form seen 
 only by its snowy robes, which lay there, a victim to man's per- 
 fidy. As they stood in silence amid its forsaking and imposing 
 ruins, Elizabeth, the haughty queen, Essex and Leicester, 
 the favorites ruined by her preference, Amy Robsart, the 
 murdered wife, Burleigh, the sagacious statesman, Sir Walter 
 Raleigh, the accomplished courtier, all passed before their 
 mental vision ; but no voice could answer to the names once so 
 powerful, and none recall them from the world where they 
 await the resurrection trump. To Elizabeth, and all her flat- 
 tering courtiers, what is ambition now but a stinging scorpion, 
 if it has caused the ruin of their immortal souls ! With 
 thoughts like these, they left the scene, deeply impressed with 
 a sense of the vanity of earthly grandeur and ambition. Ere 
 they left the shores of England, they passed through the 
 county of Devonshire, where they saw much that was beautiful 
 and picturesque. 
 
 They had seen much to admire in England, high cultiva- 
 tion, lovely rural landscapes, much beyound the merely 
 rural, refined society, remains of ancient greatness, views of 
 old castles, noble churches, richly endowed charities, and much 
 that was elevated in literature ; but their hearts turned back 
 to their own favored land, and could still say, " America, with 
 all thy faults, I love thee still ; with all thy impulsiveness and 
 love of liberty, bordering sometimes on wild license, I love 
 thee still ;" for in those very excesses may be seen the effort of 
 a great nation to reach a great principle, that of universal 
 freedom, and no aristocracy but that of worth and intellect.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 PRINCIPLES TRIED. 
 
 HE eve of their departure from England was 
 cheered' by news from home: letters from 
 Gerald, Frank, and Ralph had arrived, all 
 containing intelligence gratifying to their friends. 
 Gerald's breathed of calm and pure affection, 
 Frank's of joyous greetings, and Ralph's of kind 
 and brotherly advice to Madge, which would have 
 produced a salutary effect, had it not been ac- 
 companied by a counteracting epistle from Josephine. Edith 
 had kept a journal, full of sweet pictures of nature's loveliest 
 scenes, and sanctified by the highest sentiments of deep, en- 
 during affection ; this was for Gerald's especial benefit, on 
 which no other eyes were ever permitted to rest. 
 
 Madge had written fully to Josephine ; but the confidence 
 which had once existed between herself and Ralph was not 
 yet restored, and could not be while under the influence of 
 such a spirit as Josephine Fortescue. 'Tis true, she answered 
 his kind letter ; but with a jealous watchfulness, she repressed 
 all expressions of former friendship, lest he should imagine 
 that his influence was returning. 
 
 Ere the party sailed for Havre, they despatched their pack- 
 age, and on the next day took a steamer, which in a few hours 
 landed them on the shores of France. They were greatly 
 annoyed by the visit of the officers, who searched all their 
 
 125
 
 126 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 trunks, and i&ked many impertinent questions, which the free 
 spirit of Americans could illy brook. Accustomed to travel 
 where and how they pleased, they could scarcely realize the new 
 situation in which they found themselves placed. After obtain- 
 ing the passports, they proceeded rapidly to Paris. Everything 
 struck them as splendid in the extreme. The magnificent 
 public buildings; the fine parks, and appearance of gayety 
 everywhere manifest, completely bewildered our young 
 travellers, and they could scarcely describe the impression 
 which these new scenes made upon their minds. 
 
 Proceeding to Hotel du Louvre, they engaged rooms for the 
 night, but as they expected to remain some weeks in Paris, Mr. 
 Clifford proceeded on the following morning to deliver several 
 letters, one to a distinguished French family, named D'Ouville, 
 and another to Mr. Stuart, an English gentleman. Although 
 M. D'Ouville was a gentleman of wealth, he found him resid- 
 ing in a suite of apartments in Rue Saint Denis. He perceived 
 that this was the general custom, and accordingly requested M. 
 D'Ouville to conduct him to a suitable lodgings for his family. 
 
 When he arrived at the Rue de Rivoli, he found himself at 
 the porte cochere of a very large dark sandstone house, 
 six stories high. On ringing the bell, the porter (who must be 
 ready at all hours of the twenty-four,) answered the call, saying 
 that there were rooms to rent. Mr. Clifford perceived that 
 the house was built around a hollow square, having a court- 
 yard sufficiently large to admit the turning of a carriage. 
 On ascending the staircase, he asked to be shown through the 
 vacant rooms. With true delicacy, Mr. Clifford shrunk back, not 
 wishing to intrude upon the retirement of private families. M 
 D'Ouville smiled, and said : " Vous n'avez rien a craindre, lea 
 Francais sont accoutumes a ces choses la ; ils ne vous trouveront 
 pas importun." (You need not fear; French people are 
 accustomed to these things, and will not think it an intrusion.) 
 Accordingly, Mr. Clifford was conducted, unceremoniously, 
 from room to room by the landlord, who appeared to think 
 himself privileged to intrude upon his tenants at any hour. On 
 opening a door, to his dismay he observed a lady half-dressed,
 
 PRIN IPLES TRIED. 127 
 
 and was about retreating, when, with the utmost sang froid, she 
 exclaimed, " Entrez, Monsieur," and shrugging her shoulders, 
 added, " Nous n'y pouvons rien." (We cannot help it.) On 
 passing on the next room, a French gentleman arose, and with 
 true, politeness, said, '* Voila un joli appartement : il sera libre 
 demain." (This is a pleasant room : it will be vacated to- 
 morrow.) 
 
 On proceeding up another flight, Mr. Clifford soon discovered 
 that he was in very different quarters, it being evident that 
 the family occupying these rooms were English, and regarded 
 the visitors as disagreeable intruders. Mr. Clifford bowed po- 
 litely, and said, " Excuse me, sir : this w y as not my own seeking, 
 I was introduced by the landlord." As soon as the gentleman 
 perceived that the visitor was one who sympathized with his 
 own feeling of reserve, he replied, "you are excusable, sir; 
 but you will be much annoyed by the free manners of these 
 French people." Passing further on, they saw a couple of 
 young ladies hastily retreating into a closet, for fear of being ob- 
 served by strangers. 
 
 The landlord, perceiving that Mr. Clifford was pleased with 
 the last suite of rooms, bowing politely, said, " Le Conte D' 
 Arlincourt a vu ces chambres, il y a quelques jours, il les a 
 trouvees delicieuses." (The Count D' Arlincourt was looking at 
 these rooms a few days since and was perfectly charmed.) Mr. 
 Clifford smiled significantly on hearing this flourish, and with 
 true American republicanism, wondered how the admiration of 
 a French count could possibly recommend the rooms. 
 
 Heartily glad that they suited him, he engaged them, already 
 furnished with everything excepting linen and silver. Having 
 concluded his bargain, he hastily left the house, powerfully 
 impressed by the contrast here presented, to the sweet private 
 homes of domestic comfort and refinement in his own native 
 land. In the afternoon he conveyed his family to their apart- 
 ments, hired an additional domestic, and soon they found them- 
 selves as comfortably situated as they could be, away from dear 
 Ravenswood. Mrs. Clifford felt the contrast painfully ; for here 
 were found nobles, laborers, grisettes, saint and vagabond, all
 
 128 EDITH'S MINI? TRY. 
 
 dwelling beneath the same roof; and although in no way inter- 
 fering with each other, yet the consciousness was annoying to 
 her delicate and retiring habits. On the next day, Madame 
 D'Ouville called, accompanied by her daughters, aged eighteen 
 and sixteen. They were fine specimens of an intelligent French 
 family ; still the air of high fashion and French elegance, 
 which distinguished their dress and carriage, told that they 
 were " of the earth, earthy." They spoke of many places of 
 public amusement, to which they invited Mrs. Clifford and her 
 family, who politely declined attendance upon any which she 
 could not frequent in her own land. " When in Rome, to do 
 as Rome does," was not her maxim of Christian morality. 
 
 It was her wish that her children should visit interesting 
 places in Paris, provided that their characters were not injured 
 thereby. At an early hour on the next day Madame D'Ouvill< 
 called in her carriage, to take our travellers out to ride in the 
 garden of the Tuilleries. They were much struck with itb 
 extent and beauty, as nothing in their own country can at all 
 compare with its elegance. To the west of the Imperial Palace 
 the gardens were elegantly laid out with gravelled walks, ter- 
 races, plots of flowers, exquisite shrubbery, groves of splendid 
 trees, and basins of water, interspersed with beautiful statues in 
 bronze and marble. Numbers of elegant equipages were driv- 
 ing through the grounds, and everywhere groups of gaily- 
 dressed persons were enjoying the refreshing shade. 
 
 " Look, Blanche !" said Adele ; " I wonder if that is not the 
 Emperor? It is a magnificent carriage, and there are several 
 outriders." 
 
 " C'est 1'Erapereur," replied Madame D'Ouville. 
 
 His carriage was attended by a guard of cavalry, and on 
 drawing near, it was perceived that the Empress and the young 
 Prince were riding with his majesty.. The young girls had an 
 excellent opportunity of seeing the Emperor as he passed. 
 Mrs. Clifford thought that he looked stern and care-worn ; 
 which might well be imagined concerning one who felt that his 
 life was never safe among his oppressed subjects. The Em- 
 press fully realized all the descriptions of beauty, which they
 
 PRINCIPLES TRIED. 129 
 
 had so often heard; and the young Prince se jmed like all other 
 little boys, light-hearted and joyous. 
 
 " Est-il airne ?" (Is he beloved ?) asked Mrs. Clifford. 
 
 " Non, raadame, cela ne peut pas etre, il est trop craint pour 
 etre aime ; si ce n'etait pas pour le despotisme cle fer qu'il a 
 e'tabli, il ne saurait garder son trone." (No, madam, that 
 cannot be ; he is too much feared to be beloved. Were it not 
 for the strong iron despotism which he has established, he could 
 not keep his throne.) 
 
 " II parait populaire dans la classe ouvriere." (He seems 
 popular among the working classes), answered Mrs. Clifford. 
 
 "II s'arrange de maniere a les tenir tranquillesen leur don- 
 nant assez d'ouvrage et beaucoup de fetes, et les Francais tant 
 qu'on les amuse, ne s'inquietent guere des affaires de 1'etat.'' 
 (He manages to keep them quiet by plenty of employment and 
 numerous fetes; and while the French have amusements, they 
 do not trouble themselves much about the affairs of govern- 
 ment,) replied Madame D'Ouville. 
 
 Ere they returned, they drove through the Champs Elysees, 
 a favorite park in- the western part of the city. Walks are laid 
 out in various parts of these fields, where superb national fetes 
 are given, on which occasions the trees are brilliantly illumi- 
 nated. They were particularly struck by the multitudes Avhom 
 they met in these parks, and could not but mark the contrast 
 between the care-worn, anxious countenances of Americans of 
 the same class, all in pursuit of gain, and the light-hearted step, 
 and cheerful, animated countenances of the pleasure-seeking 
 Parisians. 
 
 In the evening they visited the Boulevards, and were quite 
 bewildered by the scene of enchantment which met their gaze. 
 One, on account of its nearness to the Italian Opera, is called 
 Le Boulevard des Italians. Multitudes of gaily dressed people, 
 were sauntering through its paths, while parties of ladies and 
 gentlemen were sitting beneath the trees, sipping coffee, lemon- 
 ade, or liqueurs. The air was filled with music, and the mag- 
 nificent buildings on either side as brilliantly illuminated as if 
 on some great occasion. Our young friends could scarcely 
 9
 
 130 EDITH 
 
 realize that this was just an ordinary evening, so full of gayety 
 and animation was the whole scene. Madge was silent with 
 Avonder; Blanche and Adele brimful of excitement; and Edith 
 could easily imagine, with so much to captivate the senses, how 
 people could forget God. 
 
 When they returned to their lodgings, Blanche and Adele 
 rattled on merrily about what they had seen, until Mrs. Clifford, 
 warning them of the lateness of the hour, after their evening 
 devotions, dismissed them to their own room. 
 
 Madame D'Ouville called the next day, \vith an inA r itation for 
 the young ladies to come out and spend a few days with them. 
 Mrs. Clifford granted permission, but Edith declined, not wish- 
 ing to leave her mother so long. 
 
 "Remember, my daughters," said the anxious mother, "that 
 you have had a Christian education, and do not conform to 
 anything which you have been taught to avoid." 
 
 Madge, although not decidedly religious, had a character 
 and opinions of her own. Blanche followed the stream nearest 
 to her ; and Adele, though generally thoughtless, did not alto- 
 gether forget her mother's instructions. On -their first day at 
 Madame D'Ouville's, a servant announced M. Le Brun, a 
 cousin of the young ladies. 
 
 "O! que j'en suis contente," said Celeste. "Mais je ne puis 
 pas descendre avant que ma gouvernante vienne." (Oh ! how 
 glad I am ! But I must not go down stairs until my governess 
 is ready.) 
 
 " Pourquoi pas ?" (Why not ?) said Adele. 
 
 " Parcequ'il n'est pas perm is a une demoiselle de se trouver 
 seule avec un monsieur." (Because it is never allowed for a 
 young girl to see a gentleman alone.) 
 
 "Quoi! pas meme avec sen propre cousin?" (What! not 
 even your cousin ?) said Adele. 
 
 " Non, vraiment, il ne nous est jamais permis de nous trouA'er 
 dans la societe des messieurs, avant de nour marier." (No, 
 indeed, we are never allowed to associate with gentlemen until 
 we are married) answered Celeste. 
 
 " C'est une drole d'habitude ; les jeunes personnes en Ameri-
 
 PRINCIPLES TRIED. 131 
 
 que ne sont pas snjettes a cette espece de gene ; ce sont les 
 dames mariees qui maintiennent la reserve." (That is a strange 
 custom) said Madge. (In America, there are no such re- 
 straints upon young people ; the reserve there is among the 
 married people.) 
 
 When the governess was ready, the young ladies entered the 
 drawing-room, and with a timid, constrained manner, addressed 
 their cousin. The utmost ceremony was observed during the 
 interview, and the young Cliffords drew a rapid contrast 
 between this, and the frank, genial intercourse between them- 
 selves and Gerald and Frank in their own home. In the pre- 
 sence of their parents, the utmost demureness was preserved by 
 the young D'Ouvilles, but when alone, their conversation 
 proved that the espionage of a French boarding-school had not 
 been sufficient to guard their secret thoughts, or to prevent 
 them from obtaining information and indulgences, more eagerly 
 sought, because so strictly forbidden. 
 
 The next day, Madge asked the young girls to go out to 
 walk. They looked horror struck. 
 
 " Quoi, seule ! Ici, une demoiselle n'est jamais seule." 
 (What, alone ! Such a thing is never heard of here among 
 young girls.) 
 
 " N'etes vous jamais seule ?" (Are you never alone ?) asked 
 Adele. 
 
 "Non ; si nous sortons, c'est toujours avec notre maman, ou 
 avec notre gouvernante. Si nous aliens a 1'eglise, on nous 
 surveille, si nous avons des visites on nous surveille; notre 
 gouvernante couche meme dans notre chambre, parceque 
 maman dit, que nous pourrions parler inconvenablement les 
 lines avec les autres." (No, if we go out, it is with our mother 
 or governess ; if we go to church, we are watched, if we have 
 company, we are watched, and our governess even sleeps in 
 our room, because mamma says that we may talk improperly 
 to each other.) 
 
 " Combien cela dure-t-il?" (How long does all this last?) 
 
 " Jusqu'a ce que nous nous marions, alors nous pouvons aller 
 pu nous voulons, it avoir autant d'admirateurs que bon nous
 
 132 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 semble." (Until we are married; then we can go where 
 we please, and have as many admirers as we want) replied 
 Celeste. 
 
 " Alors, je suppose que vous avez bien en vie de vous 
 marier? (Then I suppose that you are very anxious to be 
 married ?) said Madge. 
 
 " Certaineraent, il nous tarde de sortir de prison ; et souvent 
 on nous marie avec des personnes que nous n'avons vues qu'une 
 ou deux fois." (Yes, indeed, we like to get out of prison, and 
 we often marry persons whom we have not seen perhaps more 
 than once or twice.) 
 
 " Cela nous parait horrible, a nous autres Americaines, 
 Celeste ; je crains qu'il n'y ait pas beaucoup d'amour dans un 
 tel mariage." (That seems very dreadful to us Americans, 
 Celeste. I should be afraid that there was not much love in 
 such a marriage) answered Madge. 
 
 " Eh bien !" ("Oh well) said Celeste. " L'amour pourra 
 venir apres ; beaucoup de dames mariees dans Paris, ont des 
 adinirateurs." (The love may come afterwards. It is a very 
 common thing for married ladies to have their admirers 
 in Paris.) 
 
 Madge listened amazed, and replied in tones of indignation : 
 "Estil possible que vous puissiez parler si legerement d'un 
 etat si saint!" (Can it be possible that you can really speak 
 so lightly of such a holy state !) 
 
 Celeste looked up surprised in her turn, for she had so long 
 been accustomed to hear such sentiments that they were now 
 familiar household words. From that moment Madge shrank 
 away from intimacy with Celeste D'Ouville. 
 
 Thus early had the pernicious influence of a false education 
 began its work upon the young heart ; and thus firmly did the 
 cultivated instincts of Madge Clifford repel the darts of evil 
 principles. Accustomed to the rigors of a constant degrading 
 system of espionage and suspicion, instead of confidence 
 blended with moral instruction, these young French girls had 
 learned most eagerly to covet that which was constantly 
 denied, and had already been privately engaged in secret
 
 PRINCIPLES THIED. 133 
 
 correspondence with youth of both sexes, hiring servants to 
 carry their letters, and thus daily growing in habits of decep- 
 tion. When out walking one day with the young Americans, 
 on the Boulevards, Madge perceived a very handsome youth 
 approaching their party. As he drew near, glances of recog- 
 nition passed between him and Celeste, while she rapidly 
 placed her finger on her lip, and pointed to a statue near. 
 The youth understood the signal, and quickly deposited some- 
 thing at the foot of the statue. Madge perceived that Celeste as 
 quickly snatched a note from the statue, and rapidly kissing 
 her hand to the youth, led him to understand that she had 
 received it. All this passed in one minute, and Madge saw at 
 a glance what an adept in deception Celeste had become. 
 When alone, she frequently described to the young girls how 
 their teachers used to watch them when at Madame Fontain's 
 pensionnaire. In the garden, in the entries, on the staircase, 
 in the school-room, in the bed-room, everywhere the teacher's 
 hateful eye was watching all their movements; but she 
 laughed, when she told in how many ways they had contrived 
 to deceive them, and how much had been practised there that 
 Madge never dreamed of. And yet these are the schools and 
 this is the system which are frequently chosen by American 
 parents, in order to learn the French language, and be 
 rendered more graceful by French polish. In America, both 
 sexes are allowed to mix freely together. In France, they are 
 studiously kept apart. In America, a good judicious mother 
 relies upon the precepts of morality and religion, which she 
 has early instilled in her daughter's heart. In France, girls 
 are more carefully screened from outward evils. The legal 
 rule is to deem every one innocent, until pronounced guilty ; 
 in France, the reverse is taught, and education conducted 
 accordingly. Let the general results of the two systems be 
 proofs of their adaptation to produce the end desired. Com- 
 pare the general tone of morals in America and in France, and 
 the hundreds of unfaithful, unholy marriages occurring there, 
 aud sanctioned by all classes, will answer at once. The actions 
 of a young American girl, properly educated, which would be
 
 134 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 counted only as innocent among us, would ruin the character of 
 a young French girl. And on the contrary, no American 
 matron could escape censure, if following the example of a 
 French wife. The American system certainly allows too much 
 latitude, and exercises too little discipline, but it tends more 
 to preserve the young from habits of falsehood and hypocrisy. 
 
 Celeste and Laurine D'Ouville were true specimens of a 
 fashionable French education. They had passed their early 
 days in a French pensionnaire, where they had been outwardly 
 restrained and watched, stimulated unwisely by rewards and 
 prizes ; highly polished, but morally neglected ; and as to their 
 religious training, it ended in a few senseless forms. Their 
 code of morals allowed of lies of convenience, politeness and 
 policy ; and the young Cliffords were amazed when they 
 observed not only the young girls, but their governess also, 
 departing constantly from what they had been accustomed to 
 regard as sincerity and truth. One striking instance occurred 
 under their notice. Madam D'Ouville had just purchased a 
 new hat, which Adele thought very unbecoming, and which 
 she had heard ridiculed by the governess, Mademoiselle Du 
 Pont. What was her surprise, when entering the saloon, to 
 hear that lady exclaiming, 
 
 " Voila un chapeau charmant ! il vous va a ravir, Madame." 
 (What a charming bonnet! you look lovely, Madam.) 
 
 Celeste, turning to Adele, said, " Ne pensez vous pas qu'il 
 est bien joli ?" (Do you not think it very pretty ?) 
 
 Adele, accustomed to speak the truth always, and yet not 
 wishing to be impolite, replied, " Dispensez-moi, Celeste, de 
 dire ce que je pense." (Excuse me, Celeste, from saying 
 what I think.) 
 
 The young French girl elevated her eyes, shrugged her 
 shoulders, and replied, " Que vous etes malhonnete !" (What 
 a rude girl!) 
 
 Blanche, always anxious to please, said, " Je ne suis pas de 
 votre avis, ma soeur, je trouve que le chapeau lui va parfaite- 
 ment bien." (I do not agree with my sister, and think that 
 the hat is very becoming.)
 
 PRINCIPLES TRIED. 135 
 
 Adele looked displeased, because she had heard Blanche 
 also ridicule the article ; but, knowing her sister's failing, she 
 was not surprised. 
 
 Wishing to make the young girls' visit as pleasant as pos- 
 sible, Madame D'Ouville sent out invitations for a select party 
 to meet the strangers. Accordingly, Edith and her sisters 
 were invited. The former politely declined, fearing that the 
 amusements would be such as she had solemnly renounced on 
 the day of her confirmation. She had not forgotten the deep 
 import of those two small words, " I do," when asked if she 
 renewed the solemn vows of baptism. Madge, never particu- 
 larly interested in scenes of gayety, was still led on by curi- 
 osity to make one of the party. Adele and Blanche, both 
 fond of the world and its amusements, looked forward with 
 delight to the evening. 
 
 A large company of elegantly dressed young persons 
 assembled at the hotel of M. D'Ouville, and everything was 
 conducted in the most fashionable style. Never having been 
 taught the accomplishment of dancing, Adele declined ; but 
 Blanche, who had learned from some of her young compan- 
 ions, joined with great zest in all the amusements of the even- 
 ing. They observed in an adjoining room, tables spread out 
 as if for cards, and were shocked on observing many young 
 persons take their seats, and with the utmost nonchalance, 
 enter into these games, even playing for money, and exhibit- 
 ing the greatest eagerness to win the small piles of money 
 staked on the game. Though not influenced by religious 
 principle, still Adele had too much regard for the lessons of 
 her home to join in such amusements. But Blanche, too 
 weak to resist, even against the whispers of her conscience, 
 allowed herself not only to be led to the tables, but endeavored 
 to learn the game. Her exceeding beauty drew around her 
 many youthful admirers, and both Madge and Adele were 
 disturbed by the character of the scene in which they found 
 themselves placed. They felt that their mother would disap- 
 prove of the whole thing, and wondered why Madame D'Ouville 
 should have made such an entertainment for girls so young as
 
 136 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 themselves. Blanche was completely intoxicated ; the dress, the 
 lights, the praise and flattery, almost turned her young brain, 
 and she began to think that she was too closely confined at 
 home. 
 
 Celeste and Laurine gave her glowing accounts of the 
 French Opera, and she felt an intense desire to see one of 
 these entertainments. A party was accordingly formed, and 
 our young friends urged to go. Madge and Adele both re- 
 fused, although they were anxious to make one of the com- 
 pany. Blanche was silent. When they retired for the night, 
 Celeste said to Mile. Du Pont, "Ne pourrions nous pas faire 
 en sorte que Blanche aille a 1'Opera ?" (Can't we get Blanche 
 to the Opera ?) 
 
 " Mais oui," replied Mademoiselle, "si elle peut garder le 
 secret; nous n'irons pas ce soir la, nous le remettrons au 
 lendemain, et puis nous ferons semblant d'aller quelqu' autre 
 part, Marguerite et Adele doivent aller chez elles, faire visits 
 a leur mere, et si Blanche veut garder le secret, nous nous 
 arrangerons de maniere que sa mere, n'en sache jamais rien." 
 (I think we can, replied Mademoiselle, if she can keep a 
 secret. "We will not go on the evening appointed, but will put 
 it off until the next evening, and then pretend to go somewhere 
 else. Madge and Adele are going home to see their mother, 
 and if Blanche will keep her own secret, we can manage 
 it, and her mother will never know anything about it.) 
 
 " C'est dommage," said Celeste, " qu'elle soit privee d' un si 
 grand plaisir, pour un sot caprice de sa mere." (It seems a 
 pity, said Celeste, that she should be deprived of such a plea- 
 sure by such a foolish whim of her mother.) 
 
 It was proposed to Blanche, who, in her anxiety to partake of 
 the pleasure, forgot the pain which such conduct would give 
 her mother, and consented to the plan. 
 
 On the evening appointed, Madge and Adele returned home. 
 Blanche remained, and so soon as the coast was clear, started, 
 in one of Laurine's suits to the opera. It could not be said 
 that she enjoyed herself, for the remembrance of her sweet 
 mother's pale face haunted her, and she could not wholly forget
 
 PRINCIPLES TRIED. 137 
 
 her gentle admonition. She would not, however, allow her 
 feelings to be manifest, for fear of incurring the sharp ridicule 
 of Celeste and M'lle Du Pont. 
 
 When they returned from the opera, Madge and Adele were 
 already in waiting, and wondered what kept the party out so 
 long. When Blanche entered the room, she was very silent, 
 and her sisters strongly suspected that there was some reason 
 for concealment. They could scarcely have believed that 
 Blanche would have practised such falsehood. 
 
 When Sunday arived, Madame D'Ouville invited the girls 
 to accompany her to church. Madge and Adele, in accordance 
 with their mother's wishes, declined, and, therefore, attended 
 Protestant services with their mother and Edith. Blanche 
 was so much enchanted with her new friends, and so anxious 
 to secure their good opinion, that she spared no pains to please 
 them. We will behold her entering the church, crossing herself 
 as the rest did, making the sign of adoration, and in all things 
 conforming to the ceremonies of the Romish Church. She was 
 struck on observing so many of the stores opened on the Sab- 
 bath-day ; streets thronged with gaily -dressed people ; the public 
 squares filled, where all kinds of amusement were going on. 
 The places of public resort were everywhere thrown open, 
 and after twelve o'clock, persons of all classes were seeking 
 their own pleasure on God's most holy day. 
 
 After dinner, Madame D'Ouville proposed a ride to the 
 Tuilleries. Blanche was ready to accompany the party. On 
 observing that they were about to visit a public museum on 
 their return home, notwithstanding the force of early education, 
 for the sake of pleasing French friends, she consented, and thus 
 passed her Sabbath-day in Paris. 
 
 None could have perceived any indications of the Sabbath 
 in this God-forgetting city. Just the same gayety, and even 
 more devotion to pleasure, was still more manifest than on 
 ordinary days. Indeed, Sunday in Paris is but a holiday. 
 
 Blanche allowed herself to be carried along with the stream. 
 Observing her evident enjoyment, no one could have supposed 
 that she could have had a religious education. On her visits
 
 138 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 home, Edith perceived that her head was almost turned by the 
 scenes through which she had been passing, and consequently, 
 begged that she might be brought back to the shelter of her 
 family. Mrs. Clifford was sadly distressed when observing so 
 many instances of her beautiful child's weakness of character ; 
 for she was well aware that her personal charms must weave 
 around her young footsteps many entanglements. She could 
 not rest until Blanche was once more under the maternal roof; 
 and although the young lady would have prolonged her stay 
 still further, on the following morning she to,ok leave of her 
 friends. 
 
 After staying a few more days in Paris, the travellers pre- 
 pared to prosecute their journey, and set out with high expec- 
 tations of romantic Switzerland. 
 
 Edith, fortified by religious principles, had passed the ordeal 
 of life in Paris unharmed. Madge and Adele were glad of the 
 prospect of a change, but Blanche was full of childish sorrow, 
 at the thoughts of leaving her dear Parisian friends.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 AMONG THE MOUNTAINS. 
 
 UR travellers enjoyed their journey, for their 
 spirits were greatly enlivened by the manifest 
 improvement of the dear mother of the flock. 
 
 Edith wanted nothing but Gerald's society to 
 make her delight complete. Madge was en- 
 chanted, and Blanche and Adele sported among 
 the fair scenes, with all the warm enthusiasm of 
 early youth. 
 
 Up the mountain side, down through charming valleys, and 
 along the borders of the lakes of Switzerland, they pursued 
 their way by slow journeys, always in sight of the lofty Alps, 
 which were sometimes dressed in green verdure, and enlivened 
 by the picturesque chalets dotted about on the mountain 
 slopes, around which grazed flocks of sheep, nibbling the 
 fresh pastures ; at others, towering away in loneliness towards 
 the heavens, their snowy peaks glistening in the sunshine, 
 or at sunset, tinged with rosy hues, gradually darkening 
 towards the descent, until the shadows of evening falling 
 gloomily upon their base, threw their dark veil over some dusky 
 Inke, sleeping in the deep stillness of mountain solitude. 
 
 An event soon transpired, which was likely to detain them 
 some time among the mountains. Travelling in a French 
 diligence, they were driving more rapidly than usual down a 
 steep hill. The postilion seemed careless, and Mr. Clifford 
 
 139
 
 140 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 soon perceived that he was intoxicated. He called out re- 
 peatedly to arrest his speed, but it was all in vain ; crack 
 went the whip, and down flew the horses. Mr. Clifford saw 
 that an upset was almost inevitable. He attempted to seize 
 the reins, but could not, consequently he did the next 
 best thing, which was to endeavor to calm his family. Reach- 
 ing the foot of the hill, the diligence struck violently against a 
 rock, and was upset almost on the edge of a precipice. Mr. 
 Clifford was thrown out, and fell down the deep ravine. The 
 rest of the family were but slightly injured. Edith and Miss 
 Arnold flew to the help of the injured man, but finding, in 
 their despair, that they could not reach him, they looked 
 anxiously around for help. The postilion having succeeded 
 in fastening the horses, was now pretty well sobered, and with 
 the help of a companion who rode outside, succeeded in bring- 
 ing Mr. Clifford out of his perilous situation. Placing him on 
 the roadside, they soon found that he was unable to move, and 
 from his groans, judged that he was severely injured. 
 
 Edith remembered having passed a charming village about 
 half a mile distant, and in company with Miss Arnold, they 
 turned back, and found that there was a small hotel on the 
 border of the lake, where they could obtain shelter and 
 medical advice. 
 
 Stating the particulars of the accident they returned with a 
 litter, borne by two men, on which they placed Mr. Clifford, and 
 the rest of the party proceeded on foot, directing the postilion 
 to follow with their baggage. Glad to obtain lodging at a 
 hotel, a messenger was soon despatched for a physician, who 
 pronounced the leg broken. Finding that it was impossible to 
 proceed farther, they engaged rooms, and made preparations for 
 tarrying some weeks among the mountains. After the limb 
 was carefully set they sought their rest ; and at an early hour 
 the next morning, were awakened by the bleating of the sheep, 
 and the sound of the shepherd's horn, calling out the flocks to 
 their mountain pasture. Edith and Madge occupied the same 
 room, and both being equally anxious to see sunrise on the 
 mountains, M ere up betimes.
 
 AMONG THE MOUNTAINS. 141 
 
 The village was built upon the sides and at the foot of the 
 mountain. The picturesque cottages, the church with its spire, 
 the rich foliage, and the placid lake, all formed beautiful pic- 
 tures in the landscape ; but the mountains ! the glorious moun- 
 tains ! held them in speechless delight. First appeared the 
 faint blush of the rosy morning, tinging the snowy peaks ; as 
 the sun rose higher and higher, his bright rays crept down the 
 sides of the mountains, illumining the whole landscape, bringing 
 out trees, cottages, and flocks of sheep, conducted by their 
 shepherds to their early pasture. The Alpine horn, the bleat- 
 ing of the sheep, and the song of the Switzer, rendered the 
 morning air vocal with music, and Edith turning to Madge, 
 said : 
 
 "Oh! what would Gerald give to see such a glorious pros- 
 pect !" 
 
 "You remember, Edith, what he said about visiting Europe. 
 I should not be surprised if he is with us this fall. You know 
 he leaves college, this term, and as he is to be an artist, this is 
 just the place for him." 
 
 Edith smiled brightly, as she replied, " That would be de- 
 lightful, to have Gerald with us. Perhaps he intends a pleasant 
 surprise for us." 
 
 After their morning devotions, the young girls set off for a 
 walk before breakfast, and came in, glowing with health and 
 exercise, to join the family group around the table. Mr. Clif- 
 ford had passed a restless night. The affectionate wife was 
 solicitous and sad ; but their physician assured them that all 
 was proceeding as well as they could ask, and Mrs. Clifford 
 endeavored to be reconciled. 
 
 Miss Arnold soon laid out her plans for daily employment. 
 The girls resumed their studies, and devoted two hours each 
 day to their mental improvement. Soon after their arrival, the 
 good pastor of the village, M. Armand, having heard of their 
 accident, called to see them. He was a fine old patriarch, with 
 white hair, and a placid smile, full of the benevolence of his 
 heart. Having lost his wife, his daughter and grandchild lived 
 with the old man. Marietta was a sweet girl of fourteen*
 
 142 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 Dressed in her Swiss costume, she was an object of great curi- 
 osity to Blanche and Adele ; and on account of her guileless 
 manners, of much interest to Mrs. Clifford. 
 
 M. Armand's conversation breathed that strain of earnest 
 piety, which Mrs. Clifford had always looked for among the 
 descendants of the good Waldenses; and she was peculiarly 
 thankful that her stay was to be comforted by the visits of the 
 godly pastor. 
 
 " Have you a large flock ?" asked Mrs. Clifford. 
 
 " Not very, madam, for even in modern days we have been 
 the subjects of persecution, and many of our people who were 
 driven from us, have never returned." 
 
 "What has become of them?" inquired the lady. 
 
 " Some of them have gone into the towns to live ; some wear 
 the martyr's crown ; and some, worn out by hardship and sor- 
 row, sleep in Jesus : among such was Amie, my wife ; she was 
 a tender lamb, and soon sank beneath the oppressor." 
 
 " It must be a comfort to have your daughter and her child," 
 answered Mrs. Clifford. 
 
 " It is a great mercy," said the aged man, raising his eyes to 
 heaven, in humble gratitude. " They are an unspeakable com- 
 fort. My daughter is a solid Christian, and as for Marietta, 
 my pet lamb, she knows her old grandfather loves her." 
 Drawing near, she took his aged hands in her own, and kissing 
 them, said, " Dear grandfather, who could help loving you ?" 
 After inviting the strangers cordially to his house and church, 
 the good pastor took his departure, leaving a deep impression 
 of the sweetness and simplicity of his piety upon all the party. 
 As Marietta reached the door, she ran back to her young 
 friends, and, in the guilelessness of her heart, she whispered to 
 Blanche, "Won't you let me kiss you? You look like the pic- 
 ture of an angel." Blanche, blushing, presented her cheek, 
 and the young girl said, "You will come to see us, soon, won't 
 you, in our humble home?" 
 
 In a few days, they returned the pastor's visit. It was 
 late in the afternoon, and they found the family at their even- 
 ing meal. They were kindly invited to partake with them
 
 AMONG THE MOUNTAINS. 143 
 
 of their evening repast ; but declining, they remained out on 
 the front porch, until after supper. 
 
 "Will you join in our evening worship?" said the good 
 pastor. "It is our custom to have it directly after supper, 
 before we feel drowsy." Conducting the party into the 
 family sitting-room, with a calm and serious aspect he 
 opened the hymn-book, and Marietta, taking her seat at a 
 small parlor organ, led the singing in a very sweet and 
 solemn manner. After reading a chapter in the Bible, he 
 engaged in a warm and fervent prayer, in which the youthful 
 guests were kindly remembered. These exercises being over, 
 Marietta sang some of their most beautiful Swiss airs, and 
 Blanche was warm in her expression of delight. 
 
 " How do you spend your time, Marietta?" asked Blanche. 
 
 " Oh ! I have plenty to do. In summer I lead the sheep 
 out to pasture, and aid my mother in family cares ; in winter I 
 have a great deal to do, sewing and knitting for the next year, 
 studying to improve my mind, practising on the organ, and 
 waiting on my dear grandfather." 
 
 " Will you take us with you out on the mountains ?" said 
 Adele. 
 
 " I shall be very glad to have you go with me," answered 
 Marietta, " but you must wear strong shoes, and common 
 clothes, for many a long walk do I have to take sometimes in 
 very rough places, after my flock." 
 
 The girls frequently joined Marietta, when their duties for the 
 day were over, and enjoyed the freedom of this pastoral life ex- 
 ceedingly. Marietta often had to check Adele for her adven- 
 turous spirit, fearing that she might meet with some accident. 
 But she was always in high spirits when snuffing the free moun- 
 tain air; and bounding along by the side of Marietta, it was a 
 very difficult task to restrain her wild gambols. One unusually 
 bright and beautiful morning they had joined Marietta in her 
 daily rambles. Adele wore a large flat : in her sport she had 
 dressed it with a wreath of wild flowers. Over her shoulder, 
 suspended by a broad blue ribbon, hung her guitar, for she 
 often took her instrument with her to enliven these rambles.
 
 144 EDITH'S MINISTRY. . 
 
 Having reached a fine place of pasture, where the sheep 
 were quietly browsing, they all seated themselves in a group * 
 on the green grass. Marietta had taught Adele several of her 
 Swiss melodies, and she, in her turn, had taught the mountain 
 maid some of her own pretty airs. Entirely unconscious of 
 the presence of a stranger, they sang a number of sweet aira 
 together, while Adele accompanied them with her guitar. Not 
 far, from where they sat, screened from their sight by a very 
 large tree, sat a young man, deeply interested in the youthful 
 party. By his side reposed his favorite dog. Suddenly there 
 was some movement among the flock, which started the dog, 
 and before his master could prevent it, he was among the 
 frightened sheep, scattering them in all directions. Up sprang 
 the young girls. Adele soon perceived that the animal was in 
 pursuit of her pet lamb, which she called Patsy. She flew 
 after him not perceiving a chasm which the lamb had crossed. 
 The young man aware of her danger, pursued her, calling 
 out, " Stop, Stop ! Come back, Tray !" but she flew on, alarmed 
 at the voice of a stranger. Reaching the chasm, she gave 
 one spring and succeeded in landing on the opposite side ; but 
 fell, in the effort, to the ground. 
 
 " Are you not hurt ?" said the youth, as he stooped to raise 
 Adele. Blushing, she endeavored to arise, but could not her 
 ankle was sprained. Raising her eyes, the recognition was 
 mutual. " Do I not see the water-nymph of Windermere, 
 transformed into the wild shepherdess of the Alps ?" said the 
 young man, while a mischievous glance sparkled in his dark 
 eyes. Adele smiled, and though suffering pain, said, " That 
 is my pursuit at present ; but I am ashamed to be seen so often 
 in these wild moods." 
 
 " May I help you to arise?" said the youth. 
 
 " Thank you," replied Adele, " I think that I can walk ;" but 
 on making the attempt, she found that she could not stand. 
 
 "My horse is not far off," replied the young man ; "if you 
 will accept of my escort, I will convey you to your home." 
 
 " I think that I shall have to trouble you, sir, for I feel that 
 I cannot walk."
 
 AMONG THE MOUNTAINS. 145 
 
 In a short time, the horse was brought around, Adele placed 
 upon it, and his master led him gently along, conversing pleas- 
 antly as they proceeded. When they had reached the hotel, 
 Mrs. Clifford was surprised and pleased to see once more the 
 young stranger who had rescued Adele from a watery grave. 
 Presenting his card, what was their pleasure and surprise to find 
 the unknown no other than Lionel Percy. 
 
 " Just think, Blanche," said Adele, " that we should have met 
 Mr. Percy again ! How pleasant and kind he is ! I don't won- 
 der that his sisters should think so much of him ; he is just the 
 one to be proud of." 
 
 " It seems to me, Adele, that I should be afraid of him, if he 
 were my brother ; he has such bright black eyes and such a firm 
 look about his mouth. I should be much more proud of a 
 brother like Gerald," answered Blanche. 
 
 Mrs. Clifford found that Mr. Percy was travelling with his 
 tutor, and that having Switzerland in their route, they had en- 
 countered him on the mountains, where he was staying fora 
 fuvv \veeks. Taking up his abode at their hotel, he was a plea- 
 sant addition to their company. He waggishly named Adele 
 " The Shepherdess," and soon became quite intimate with the 
 child. Although in her fifteenth year, she was peculiarly 
 childish and sportive in her disposition, and the whole ten- 
 dency of her education being calculated to preserve her sim- 
 plicity, her intercourse with Lionel Percy was frank, sisterly, 
 and playful. Confined to the sofa for two weeks, her tedious 
 hours were pleasantly beguiled, by visits from Marietta and 
 kind attentions from Lionel. 
 
 Mrs. Clifford esteemed it a great privilege to attend upon 
 the ministry of M. Armand. The simplicity of their worship, 
 and the purity of the doctrines which she heard from the lips 
 of the good pastor, were like refreshing water in a thirsty land. 
 Marietta played upon the organ, and her simple, touching per- 
 formance lent peculiar solemnity to the Sabath devotions. 
 
 Shut in this mountain village, there were some delays in re- 
 ceiving their letters ; but as they had left particular directions 
 with their agent, they generally received them. 
 10
 
 146 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 Edith had begun to grow somewhat impatient, not having 
 heard from Gerald for some weeks ; but one evening, when the 
 servant brought in a package for Mr. Clifford, her eager eyes 
 ran over the letters, and soon, with glowing cheeks, she recog- 
 nized the familiar hand of dear Gerald. Seizing her letter, 
 she hastily sought her room, where her heart beat and her eye 
 glistened at the joyful intelligence it contained. 
 
 With her treasure open, she ran to her mamma's room ex- 
 claiming, " Dear mamma, Gerald is coming in the fall ; he will 
 meet us at Pau. Josephine is coming also. I am not very glad 
 of that for I fear her influence upon Madge." 
 
 "So do I, Edith," answered her mother. 
 
 " Apart from Josephine, I think that Madge might lose all 
 her foolish notions of independence ; but with Josephine by her 
 side, I fear a return of her old folly." 
 
 In a few weeks, Mr. Clifford was sufficiently recovered to re- 
 sume his journey. Edith and Madge were sorry to leave the 
 "beautiful mountains. Blanche, with her usually yielding 
 nature, had accommodated herself to the simple habits of Mari- 
 etta, and one might have thought, to judge from her daily con- 
 duct, that she was trying to imitate her childish piety ; indeed, 
 her young heart had been slightly touched by the sweet example 
 of the child, but new scenes and associations quickly oblit- 
 erated these transient impressions. 
 
 Lionel Percy had parted from them, to pursue his journey 
 on the Continent, but as he had an aunt living in New York, 
 he promised, at some future time, to visit America, with his 
 sister Clara. 
 
 With many regrets, the family parted from the good pastor 
 and his lovely grandchild, and as he laid his hand in solemn 
 blessing upon the head of Mrs. Clifford, he felt that the message 
 had gone forth that would ere long summon the Christian 
 mother from her flock, and he sighed as he thought that he 
 should see the sweet, pale face, on earth no more.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 SCENES NEVER TO BE FORGOTTEN. 
 
 FTER a journey of several weeks, and stopping at 
 many noted places, early in October, they found 
 themselves in sight of Pau, a town in the south of 
 France, celebrated as a resort for invalids, on 
 account of its mild, balmy climate, at all seasons 
 of the year. Their first emotions were those of 
 disappointment ; for, viewing the landscape through 
 the misty atmosphere, dull leaden clouds obscured all the 
 features of beauty which they had expected ; but suddenly the 
 sun shone out revealing a charming valley, stretching out for 
 leagues in splendid forest trees, tinted with all the fading hues 
 of autumn. A wide river, flowing in the midst of the lovely pros- 
 pect, dotted with green islands, where the plaintive song of the 
 nightingale is nightly heard, was an added feature of beauty 
 to the landscape ; and the noise of the foaming waters indicated 
 the mountain source from which it flowed. Capping the hilly 
 eminences opposite, for half a league away, lay the pretty white 
 and tasteful villas, giving life and animation to the dusky land- 
 scape, where the chief features were dark and sombre trees. 
 Beyond all this, nothing was seen for a while but masses of 
 heavy clouds, veiling the most beautiful features of the land- 
 scape. 
 
 " But where are the Pyrenees ?" said Madge, as she looked in 
 
 147
 
 148 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 vain for those imposing mountains. "Surely, those low hills 
 cannot be mountains, made so small by distance ?" 
 
 "While endeavoring to pierce the hazy atmosphere, suddenly 
 a marvellous change occurred. 
 
 " Look ! look !" said Edith, as the gray wall which had 
 really shut out the glorious prospect, began to melt away. 
 
 Rolling and quivering, the clouds seemed all alive. Sud- 
 denly an opening appeared, and the sun darted its glittering 
 beams through the cleft clouds, and revealed a snowy peak, 
 glistening in the sunbeams. The landscape increased in mag- 
 nificence; the opening widened more and more, until the whole 
 sky was rent asunder, and there appeared mountain after 
 mountain, each higher and more majestic, until the whole land- 
 scape Avas filled with forms of dazzling grandeur. 
 
 "Look, Edith," exclaimed Madge, "at that range of moun- 
 tains ! Was there ever anything so grand as that giant, shooting 
 up so abruptly into the heavens ?" 
 
 " Do you mark the effect of the sun's rays beaming down 
 upon them ?" answered Edith. " The clouds resting upon them 
 are so beautiful, Madge, they seem as if they might almost be 
 the hills upon which the angelic hosts alight in their visits to 
 our earth." 
 
 " It reminds me, Edith, of the vision of good John Bunyan," 
 answered Madge, " and as if this was like ' Immanuel's Land,' 
 and these were the 'Delectable Mountains' described in his 
 ' Pilgrim's Progress.' I think I remember the very words used 
 when describing them : ' "When the morning was up, they bid 
 him look south ; so he did, and behold ! at a great distance, he 
 saw most pleasant mountains ; a country beautified with woods, 
 vineyards, fruits of all sorts, flowers also, with springs and 
 fountains, very delectable to behold. It was common, too, for 
 all the pilgrims, and from thence might be seen the gate of the 
 celestial city.'" 
 
 "Dear Madge," said Edith, as she looked affectionately upon 
 her face, " have you any hope of reaching that celestial city ? 
 Can you admire the mere poetical sentiment of such a rest, and 
 live without a real interest in its blessedness ?"
 
 SCENES NEVER TO BE FORGOTTEN. 149 
 
 Madge dropped her eyes, not wishing her sister to read their 
 expression, as she replied, " I once hoped that I might obtain 
 an interest in their possession, but, Edith, that was some time 
 since. I have no particular interest now in these holy subjects." 
 
 As they proceeded through this splendid and imposing 
 scenery, they were gradually awed into silence, for nothing 
 like these glorious Pyrenees had they ever imagined. 
 
 When they reached Pau, they soon found pleasant winter 
 accommodations, Protestant services, and agreeable society. 
 There were also several clergymen from their own land, in 
 search of health ; and it was a great comfort to Mrs. Clifford 
 to feel that she was thus spiritually provided for. She lived 
 much out of doors, for the climate was so mild and balmy, that 
 it was at all times more agreeable than in the confinement of 
 the walls of a house. 
 
 There was much to interest the young people, for expecting 
 to remain all winter, they were ready to form some acquaint- 
 ances among the inhabitants. In the house with themselves 
 resided a French family, composed of a mother and two chil- 
 dren, Henri and Natalie La Bruyere. They were very polite 
 to the strangers, and being about of the same age, were fre- 
 quently with Blanche and Adele in their outdoor sports. They 
 were Roman Catholics, and were brought up by their mother 
 in a very rigid manner as regarded religious observances ; but 
 the same laxity as was prevalent elsewhere, with regard to the 
 observance of the Christian Sabbath, was practised by these 
 young persons. Blanche, anxious to please every one, and to 
 enjoy all that was passing around her, tried to conceal the 
 strict ideas of her mother, and would often speak slightingly 
 of customs prevalent in her own land, as superstition and bigotry. 
 On one Sunday afternoon in October, Blanche was missing 
 from the family circle. She had attended Protestant services in 
 the morning, but after dinner could nowhere be found. 
 Adele had heard her whispering with the La Bruyeres about 
 La Guinguette, an amusement common among the French 
 people on Sunday afternoon ; and knowing the place where they 
 usually assembled, Edith and Adele started in search of the
 
 150 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 truant girl. The place for the dance was a large open spa<x, 
 with a smooth grassy turf, in the midst of a shady wood. 
 When they drew near, they heard the sound of music, and on 
 entering the wood, there was thoughtless Blanche, in the midst 
 of the merry group, dancing with Henri La Bruyere. When 
 she saw her sisters, she looked somewhat abashed, as she remem- 
 bered too much of her early training not to know that she was 
 doing wrong. Edith hastened up to the group, and whispered, 
 
 " Blanche, mamma wishes you to come home. She will be 
 much displeased when she knows the truth." 
 
 " I do not think that I am very wrong, Edith. These are the 
 customs of this country, and I do not see any use in making 
 one's self ridiculous," replied Blanche. " Dancing is very 
 innocent, and I cannot see what harm it does." 
 
 " I am suprised, Blanche, that you do not seem aware of the 
 sanctity of the Christian Sabbath. Are we not commanded 
 to remember the day, to keep it holy ?" answered Edith. 
 
 " I do not pretend to be a Christian, Edith ; and I don't see 
 why I am to be so restrained." 
 
 Looking back sorrowfully upon Henri and his sister, the young 
 girl unwillingly turned her steps homeward, ashamed to meet 
 her mother. Mrs. Clifford never scolded her children, but her 
 mild, reproachful eye spoke volumes, as she said to Blanche, 
 " What is to become of you, my child, if you have no more 
 principle than you have lately exhibited? you are to live in an 
 ungodly world, and are to meet daily with temptations ; if you 
 are so led about by every wind that blows, what are to be your 
 rules of action?" 
 
 "Indeed, I am sorry, dear mamma," answered Blanche, "but 
 it seemed so pleasant, under the green trees, to join the 
 lively dancers, that I could not help it; but I will try to do 
 better, indeed I will," and she threw her arms around her 
 mother's neck, and burst into teai-s. 
 
 "You will always fail, dear Blanche, if you do not depend 
 upon God's grace ; but my child, I fear that as yet you have no 
 desire to please God ; and therefore, you must be led by your 
 own wicked notions and the companions whom you meet."
 
 SCENES NEVER TO BE FORGOTTEN. 151 
 
 The fond mother's heart was often made sad by these exhi- 
 bitions of weakness in her beautiful child ; she saw, moreover, 
 that she was not capable of very deep emotions, but she felt 
 anxious that her feebleness should be fortified by Christian 
 principles. One source of comfort was always at hand, and 
 while she could cast her burdens upon the Lord, she enjoyed 
 sweet and abiding peace; to Him she daily carried her husband 
 and children, confidently believing that all would at last be 
 brought home to God, in answer to her faithful, trusting prayers. 
 Edith she believed safely sheltered in the Redeemer's fold. 
 Her character daily deepened and ripened, and the mother, with 
 swimming eyes and a swelling heart, often looked upon this 
 daughter with peculiar emotions, in view of her own delicate 
 health, which always kept eternity before her, and loosened 
 her hold upon the things of time and sense. With all the wil- 
 ful ness of Madge, she still believed that there was a struggle 
 going on in her young heart between God and herself, deeply 
 convinced of her duty, and yet unwilling to yield, for fear of 
 being thought enthusiastic and weak. For her, the mother 
 prayed, and feared, and hoped ; the latter, however, being the 
 prevailing feeling of her heart. 
 
 Her absent Frank she believed to be a boy of fine moral char- 
 acter but on account of his levity and his sex, for him she feared 
 most. Blanche caused her many anxious hours; Adele was 
 more under the influence of principle; blind Lilly and little 
 Emily she daily laid at her Saviour's feet, and looked upon her 
 sightless child as already a lamb of Jesus' fold. 
 
 Autumn stole upon them gradually. The change which it 
 made was hardly perceptible ; but as its days and nights passed 
 away, Edith began to sigh for Gerald, and when rambling 
 among the pleasant scenery, often imagined the pleasure which 
 they should enjoy together. One evening she was walking 
 alone on the terrace, beneath shady trees, where she could com- 
 mand one of the most lovely prospects. She had seated her- 
 self and was drinking in the beauty of the landscape, when, 
 looking back towards the town which she had left behind, she 
 saw a young gentleman, in travelling dress, approaching
 
 152 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 with rapid step. She thought the form familiar ; another 
 glance, and her heart gave a bound, as she recognized Gerald 
 Fortescue. Instead of running to meet him, she blushed until 
 tears filled her eyes; trembling she awaited his approach. In 
 another moment, their hands were clasped in speechless joy. 
 
 "Dear Edith," said Gerald, "do I see you once more?" 
 
 Her overcharged feelings sought relief in tears. Gerald, lead- 
 ing her to a distant seat, under one of the old trees, placed him- 
 self by her side, and, in a pure interchange of young affection, 
 they passed a happy hour, one of those rosy periods which in 
 after years come back to the heart, like sweet music from the 
 distant hills, to cheer the worn and weary pilgrim, when sinking 
 under the burden of life. 
 
 " How are Frank and Ralph ?" asked Edith. 
 
 "They are well. Frank is progressing rapidly, but I am 
 afraid that he is becoming too fond of theatricals. You know 
 that your father has not restrained him in the choice of amuse- 
 ments, and he is completely fascinated with the stage. But 
 Ralph is the same noble, Christian character, pursuing his 
 onward path, towering above all his companions, in intellect, 
 in moral worth, and sterling Christian principle. Do you 
 know, Edith, that I think it very strange how he can continue 
 to feel the same interest in Madge, when she is so ungrateful 
 to him ; but he still predicts for her a happy and a useful 
 future." 
 
 " Is Josephine with you, Gerald ?" asked Edith. 
 
 "She is; and just the same independent, eccentric woman. I 
 wish, Edith, that I could see her a useful Christian woman." 
 
 " Do not despair, Gerald; I think that her heart was touched 
 once by Ralph Cameron, and I am sure that if she is only 
 brought under good influences, she will yet be a blessing to the 
 world." 
 
 Returning to the house, Edith met Josephine, who maintained 
 the same bold and masculine manners, and who, seated close 
 by Madge, seemed already to have taken possession of the 
 gifted young girl. 
 
 On the following day, anxious to show Gerald some of the
 
 SCENES NEVER TO BE FORGOTTEN. 153 
 
 picturesque scenery around Pan, Edith conducted him to a 
 point from which he could have one of the most charming 
 views of the Pyrenees. It was one of the brightest days of 
 autumn, when the* snowy peaks glistened beneath the rays of 
 the glorious sun, towering away so far into the heavens, that 
 one might easily imagine them to be almost the boundary that 
 separated our lower world from boundless space. Far away, to 
 the left, the Pic du Midi de Bigorre seemed to form the eu^tci'n 
 bulwark ; in the centre, stood, as a cloven crest, the Pic du 
 Midi de Pau ; between these, are heights, on which the dazzling 
 rays seemed to concentrate all their grandeur: and these are the 
 glittering glaciers of a Vignemonde. The southwestern sky is 
 filled with the mountains that bound the valleys of Aspe and 
 Mauleon, and far beyond lie the snowy peaks of Arragou. 
 Gerald stood for some time in perfect silence, holding Edith's 
 hand ; at last, after drawing a long breath, he spoke : 
 
 "How grand! how glorious! Edith, what mortal pencil 
 could ever portray such splendor?" 
 
 "Gerald, do you see that long, low chateau opposite?" said 
 Edith ; " that sheltered the first Napoleon ; and there, far down 
 the valley, on the first rise of the Bigorre hills, is the little 
 village were the young Henry of Navarre passed his childish 
 
 The foreground of this matchless picture is shaded by avenues 
 of lofty trees, bordering the green meadows, that bound the 
 northern part of the valley. " Do you see that sparkling river, 
 Gerald? It looks as pure as the crystal glaciers and virgin 
 snows from which it rises ; and look at the old bridge, casting 
 its shadows upon the water below; and see the Donjon Keep, 
 towering above the lofty trees; and look there, Gerald, at the 
 beauty on the opposite side of the river, studded with [hose 
 charming villas, and so beautif.illy shaded by those swelling 
 woodlands." 
 
 "I never could have imagined anything so beautiful, Edith," 
 answered Gerald. "Everything is here to make a splendid 
 landscape: here are the bright, green meadows, gradually shad- 
 ing away into the brown hills, and the dark hillsides walled in
 
 ]54 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 by jagged, snowy peaks ; and, above all, the deep blue of the 
 southern sky." 
 
 " You will have some fine studies here, Gerald," answered 
 Edith. 
 
 " I almost despair of sketching here: there is so much of 
 beauty, it actually intoxicates. I should scarcely know where 
 to begin : it overpowers me entirely. I must get accustomed to 
 these scenes before I can attempt them." 
 
 " But, Gerald," replied Edith, "it is a place where we must 
 think of God and heaven. I never come here that I do not 
 feel awed by his majesty, and overpowered by these manifesta- 
 tions of his glory. He speaks to me from these lofty moun- 
 tains, and says, ' Come up higher ;' he beckons to me from these 
 lovely skies, and bids me prepare for the glorious home beyond ; 
 his voice of love murmurs in the gentle breeze and in the rip- 
 pling waters ; and, Gerald, sometimes I long to soar away, that 
 I may see the God that created all this beauty." 
 
 "Ah, Edith," answered Gerald, "you are the same lofty crea- 
 ture that I have always loved ; but do you know that I fear 
 sometimes that you are so rapidly outstripping my feeble steps 
 in moral elevation, that I scarcely dare raise my eyes so high, 
 and am often conscious that your aspirations are higher, purer, 
 holier than mine." 
 
 Edith had often felt pained by remarks like these, and a 
 vague, undefined fear of something in the distance slightly op- 
 pressed her sensitive spirit ; but with a woman's love, it was 
 easy to persuade herself that Gerald was all that her young 
 fancy had painted him. 
 
 Late in the day they turned their steps homeward. Arm-in- 
 arm they pursued their course ; and the sweet confidence that 
 beamed in Edith's trusting smile, as she turned her modest gaze 
 on Gerald's counter^ance, spoke of the deep love enshrined 
 within her young heart. As they walked along, they were 
 almost entranced by a view of one of those splendid sunsets 
 seen at Pau, when the ocb of day sets with a magnificence diffi- 
 cult to describe. First the sky assumed that gauzy, misty hue, 
 in which poets veil a spirit; then the colors that sparkled iu the
 
 SCENES NEVER TO BE FORGOTTEN. 155 
 
 warm noonday sun gradually became cooler in their tone, and 
 the mountains assumed their snowy white. As the sun gradu- 
 ally descended, he first tinged the eastern peaks with a rosy 
 hue; 'then the Pic d'Ossau flashed back a ruddy light, as if 
 reflecting the glare of a burning city. All along the ridge it 
 spread, until the central summits were covered with a crimson 
 fleece. Then the air became more shadowy, and the western 
 sky fired up into one gorgeous sea of glory, from the faintest 
 tint of orange to regal purple ; the clouds reflected the most 
 splendid of the prismatic colors, while the river gave back the 
 splendors of the sky, until sky, hills, woods, and river were all 
 blended in one magnificent picture of the most glorious hues. 
 Slowly the gayer colors faded away ; the sunset lingered awhile 
 low in the red west, then a purple shade stole over the landscape, 
 and the river assumed its usual shadows of declining day, now 
 and then lit up by a stray sun-glance, that kissed its waves, 
 as it seemed to say, "Good night! good night! good night!" 
 Then came the deeper shadows of evening; and the great 
 white mountains stood up against the heavens in chilling 
 majesty, while here and there, a bright constellation lit up the 
 evening sky. When the young people reached home, they 
 had but little inclination for conversation ; and in silence they 
 sought their rest. 
 
 Many were the delightful rambles, or rides, which they took 
 among the charming scenes around this southern home. Many 
 pleasant parties were formed, sometimes to visit places of his- 
 toric interest, where mouldering church, or shattered castle, 
 brought back the names once famous in the world's history, but 
 now mouldering in the silent grave. Sometimes their path lay 
 among winding valleys and smiling hills, where the song of the 
 thrush or linnet brought back the memories of green lanes and 
 shady trees, across the deep ocean. In scenes like these, Edith's 
 high and fervent nature sent out its clasping tendrils more 
 firmly, more purely, around the one she loved ; and deeper 
 down in memory's silent halls were daily impressed pictures of 
 Nature's loveliness, all shared with one from whom she might 
 part, but never forget.
 
 156 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 Even as late as November, when Americans are shivering in 
 the same latitude, here invalids can go out at night, and enjoy 
 the soft, mild air of the moonlight evenings, without any 
 danger of taking cold. There is a peculiarity in the southern 
 sky : the vaulted firmament seems to be higher and farther 
 removed from the earth which it covers, while the moon and 
 stars seem larger and more clearly defined, and burn with a 
 more brilliant light, through this transparent atmosphere. 
 Even in December, the air seemed as warm and cheering as on 
 a Slay-day morning : roses were blooming in the hedge-rows ; 
 violets were found in shady lanes ; wild flowers, that live all 
 winter, were peeping out in sunny spots, and butterflies were 
 flitting over head, although there were no leaves upon the 
 forest trees. 
 
 As the young people were often seen sitting amid the 
 branches of the orange trees, studying their lessons, and drink- 
 ing iu the sweet perfume of the orange-blossoms, mingled with 
 the heliotrope, that bloomed below, it was difficult to imagine 
 that this was December. Gerald became deeply interested in 
 sketching, amid these imposing scenes, and Edith was almost 
 as much engrossed as he. 
 
 Josephine again exercised an unhappy influence upon Madge, 
 and would frequently have detained her from the house of 
 God on the Sabbath ; but here the mother's authority inter- 
 fered, and she allowed no choice in the matter. Mr. Clifford 
 spent much time with his wife, but expected, early in the 
 spring, to return to America, to attend to his business. His 
 heart often seemed softened by the gentle ministry of his sweet 
 companion ; but worldly chains are hard to break, and they 
 fettered him yet with their iron links. 
 
 The young girls were busily occupied with their studies, and 
 having a piano, were making rapid progress in that beautiful 
 accomplishment. Gerald had discovered that Blanche had a 
 fine taste for drawing, and offering to give her lessons, she 
 gladly accepted. She made considerable improvement, and 
 Edith had a mortifying return of her old malady, when she 
 saw him anxiously looking forward to the period for the draw-
 
 SCENES NEVER TO BE FORGOTTEN. 157 
 
 ing lesson. She tried to school her heart into willing compli- 
 ance, but it was with the utmost difficulty that she could receive 
 Gerald with her old cordiality, when coming from these exer- 
 cises ; she could feel the arching of her proud neck, the curling 
 of her lip, and the ice which chilled her extended hand. She 
 endeavored to analyze the feeling, but she could not. Jealous 
 she could not be of one so young, and her own sister ; and yet 
 there was always some feeling of uneasiness when she saw 
 them together. She endeavored to banish the thought, and to 
 fight down the temptation, and by the aid of the Holy Spirit, 
 generally succeeded so far as to make no perceptible change in her 
 conduct. When alone with Gerald, she was always happy, for 
 then their intercourse was uninterrupted by jarring influences. 
 
 In one of these walks they strayed into the cemetery, 
 which was tastefully decorated with flowers, crosses, and 
 other touching memorials. Men and woman of all classes 
 and ranks were interred here, who, coming in search of health, 
 found death stronger than the warm sun and gentle air of 
 these sunny skies; and, away from home and friends, had 
 found a stranger's grave in a foreign land. 
 
 Many had lain down in early youth, but more in middle 
 age. As Edith walked among the tombs, with their touch- 
 ing inscriptions, her spirit was saddened, and leaning upon 
 Gerald's arm more heavily, she said "Gerald, what do you 
 think of my mother? I do not perceive the change which 
 I had hoped for. Her cheek is very pallid, and the afternoon 
 fevers alarm me." 
 
 " I think, dear Edith, that she seems better. She is certainly 
 stronger than when she left America." 
 
 " Oh ! Gerald, if I should lose my dear mother, how much 
 our relations might be changed. I feel as if life would be a 
 very different thing without that beloved parent." 
 
 " I trust that she may be spared to you many years yet, 
 Edith," answered Gerald. 
 
 " When we walk here, Gerald, and see so many of our fel- 
 low-creatures, sleeping in the dust, how vain our earthly 
 cares appear, and hotf vastly important does eternity be-
 
 153 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 come! When we think how short our lives may be, does it 
 not appear very foolish to give ourselves so much anxiety 
 about the things of time?" 
 
 " It does, Edith ; and yet how we lose sight of the other 
 world when engrossed by the cares of this." 
 
 " Let us live a better life, Gerald," replied the sweet girl ; 
 " so that if called away while we are young, we may sleep 
 in Jesus. I wonder, Gerald, if we are careful to perform 
 our higher duties, and often ask how we have fulfilled our 
 Christian vows." 
 
 " I fear that I have not been faithful, Edith," answered 
 Gerald, as he looked upon her with feelings very much akin 
 to veneration. "I always feel, when talking with you, as 
 if you are so far distant from me, that I can scarcely reach 
 your holy elevation. In our love of nature and of art, I 
 feel that we truly sympathize; but, Edith, in the love of the 
 good and holy, I fear that there is in my bosom but a feeble 
 response." 
 
 Edith lifted her heart in prayer for her betrothed, and 
 found blessed consolation in committing every care to God. 
 The winter passed rapidly away. Mrs. Clifford did not seem 
 to recover her strength so rapidly as her friends desired. 
 Indeed, towards spring, her strength rather diminished, and 
 by the advice of her physician she again prepared to resume 
 her travels. 
 
 Early in May, her husband felt obliged to return home, 
 but not until he had made all necessary preparation for 
 their return to England by the last of May. Desiring to 
 visit the Khine, they took that far-famed river in their route. 
 Sailing on its placid bosom, bordered by the vine-clad hills 
 of France, whose swelling eminence were capped by an- 
 cient, decaying castles, their love of the beautiful was fully 
 gratified. Gerald, Edith, and Madge revelled amid the cap- 
 tivating scenery ; and regretted the change, when, having 
 passed once more through Paris, they bade a final adieu to 
 their French friends, and found themself crossing the Channel 
 for England.
 
 SCENES NEVER TO BE FORGOTTEN. 159 
 
 The fears of the affectionate family were painfully awak- 
 ened, when they saw Mrs. Clifford's strength so rapidly fail- 
 ing. Instead of staying another winter, it was apprehended 
 that a speedy return to their native land was advisable. 
 Calling in one of the best physicians in London, she begged 
 to be left alone with him, while he carefully examined her 
 case. 
 
 " You need not fear to give me your candid opinion, Dr. 
 Bond," said Mrs. Clifford; "I am not afraid to die. My 
 hopes are all securely fixed on my Redeemer ; but I wish to 
 know the worst, that I may know how to act." 
 
 " I would advise a return to your native land, dear Ma- 
 dam. The disease which has so long afflicted you, seems 
 making slow, but sure advances. I do not think that you 
 will be benefited any farther by a sojourn in England." 
 
 " Thank you, dear sir, for your candor," answered Mrs. 
 Clifford. "I wish to be wifli my husband and my children, 
 and when I resign this mortal breath, I wish my remains to 
 rest in my native land." 
 
 When the physician left her, she begged to be left alone, and 
 fortified herself by prayer for the task which remained. Send- 
 ing for Edith, she said, " Fasten the door, my child, and sit 
 down by me. I have a great deal to say. We must return, 
 Edith, to America. My disease is, as I have always imagined, 
 incurable. I wish to die among my friends, and under the 
 roof of dear Ravens wood." 
 
 Edith burst into tears, and threw herself sobbing upon her 
 mother's bosom. 
 
 " This must not be, my dearest child," said Mrs. Clifford, as 
 she tenderly and caressingly laid her hand upon the pale fore- 
 head, and pressed loving kisses on the sweet lips. " If it is our 
 Father's will to take me hence, he cannot err. He will com- 
 fort me in the dark valley, and I know that he will bless my 
 child, my Edith." 
 
 "Oh, mother! mother! what a wilderness the world will be 
 to me!" 
 
 " No, my dearest, it will not. You will have high and holy
 
 160 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 duties to perform, and while fulfilling these, life will be joyous 
 You will learn to think of me as at rest in heaven, and waiting 
 for my loved ones." 
 
 Laying her hand upon Edith's head, she poured out her soul 
 in earnest prayer, and both were calmed and comforted by the 
 holy exercise. 
 
 "Now, Edith, my daughter, let us be cheerful. We must 
 make our preparations to go in the next steamer. I shall feel 
 much more happy, when safe at home." 
 
 In a very few weeks, the family embarked for New York, 
 with very different feelings from those with which they had 
 crossed the ocean. Then the hope was sanguine in their bosoms ; 
 now they felt that at no very distant period they must part 
 from the fond mother, and pursue the journey of life compara- 
 tively alone. 
 
 Gerald and Josephine remained in Europe, the former to 
 pursue his studies in Rome, and among the works of art which 
 other cities afforded. Edith parted sadly from Gerald, for she 
 felt that days of sorrow and sadness were before her ; but the 
 aspirations of her soul were upward, and its cry was, "Lead me 
 to the rock that is higher than I." With her young feet 
 planted firmly on that rock, she felt that there was a 
 sure foundation, and there sho calmly rested with all her 
 cares.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 ANGELS' VISITS. 
 
 ?ITH sorrowful feelings, they sought their native 
 land, the mother resigned aud prayerful, Edith 
 sad and devoted. 
 
 Miss Arnold saw, with painful certainty, that 
 her dear friend's step grew daily more feeble, her 
 cheek more pallid, her appearance more spiritual. 
 Whenever the weather permitted, the invalid was 
 taken on deck, and, supported on her cushions, 
 enjoyed the sea-air, comforted and cheered by the tender care 
 of her beloved daughter. Madge was more kind, Blanche and 
 Adele more subdued. Little Lilly hung around her mother 
 with ever-increasing love, and Emily ran about, unconscious of 
 approaching sorrow, sportive as a little fawn, always under the 
 faithful care of good old nurse. 
 
 One summer evening, when the air was mild and balmy, the 
 mother had gathered her flock around her. It was a glorious 
 sunset, and was one of ihose scenes well calculated to elevate 
 the soul. 
 
 "Sing our evening hymn, Adele," said her mother. The 
 young girl tenderly touched her guitar, when they all joined 
 in singing the sweet hymn ; after which, the mother's fa- 
 vorite, 
 
 " Jesus, Saviour of my soul, 
 Let me to thy bosom fly." 
 
 With feelings deeply solemnized, they sat in silence for a few 
 11 161
 
 162 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 minutes, watching the orb of declining a&j, as it gradually 
 disappeared below the horizon. 
 
 " Look, my dear children," said the mother, "what a beauti- 
 ful emblem of the Christian's death ! So may my departure 
 be, so calm, so glorious ! See how majestically it sinks below 
 the ocean ! Thus calmly sinks to rest, the believer in Jesus." 
 
 Her children listened in tearful silence, little Lilly clinging 
 more closely as she nestled to her mother's side, affectionately 
 holding her thin hand, and pressing it to her lips, while she 
 bathed it with her tears. Mrs. Clifford saw that it was a time 
 for impression, and turning to Madge, while her eye beamed 
 with holy love, she said, " My daughter, come listen to your 
 mother's words. You may not have me with you much longer, 
 and I would give you a fond mother's advice. You are rapidly 
 approaching womanhood. Its responsibilities will soon be 
 pressing upon you. God has endowed you, my child, with 
 many talents ; do not forget, Madge, for what purposes, not to 
 elevate yourself, but to glorify his holy name. This you can 
 never do unless you devote your life to his service. Thus far, 
 my daughter, you have lived for yourself. You are not happy, 
 and never will be, until you submit to the yoke of the Lord 
 Jesus." 
 
 Madge listened with a tearful countenance and swelling 
 heart, and kissing her mother's hand, said, " Thank you, dear 
 mother ; I will try to profit by what you say." 
 
 " And you, dear Blanche, how I long to see you a real 
 Christian. In such a world, and with such a fickle, change- 
 able disposition, what will become of you without a strong 
 Redeemer ?" 
 
 Blanche wept as she listened to her mother's words, and 
 resolved to lead a better life. 
 
 " And Adele, my playful, sportive, thoughtless child, would 
 that I could see you sheltered in a Saviour's arms ! Lilly, my 
 sightless one, I know is one of the Saviour's lambs. And Edith, 
 to you, my Christian child, I look. It may be our Father's 
 holy will to remove me from you all very soon, but I look to 
 you to supply a mother's place when I am at rest. Watch over
 
 ANGELS' VISITS. 163 
 
 dear Frank and yonr sisters ; comfort your father, and be a 
 bright example of what a Christian ought to be." 
 
 All were in tears. Old nurse stood leaning by her mistress's 
 couch, overcome by the strength of her feelings ; but none were 
 BO calm as the Christian mother. 
 
 " To my younger children I would say, look to your sister 
 Edith, when I am gone ; render to her the love and respect 
 which you would to me, and God will bless you all. Then, my 
 dear children, when life's cares are ended, and its sorrows 
 passed ; when all its discipline is perfected, we may hope to 
 meet, a family in heaven." 
 
 Edith listened as though a prophet's tongue spoke to her. 
 The words sank profoundly into the depths of her spirit, and 
 she heard them as though there was a voice calling to her from 
 heaven, and pointing out her holy mission. 
 
 Her deep heart responded, " Here am I, dear Lord ; do with 
 me what thou wilt, even though thou should'st require me to 
 sacrifice my dearest hopes." 
 
 Mrs. Clifford was much exhausted by the effort which she 
 had made, and as she lay pale and tearful, but with an ex- 
 pression of holy elevation on her countenance, all who looked 
 upon her felt as if nothing could efface the solemnity of that 
 hour; but youthful impressions are often very transient, and 
 human hearts very deceitful and desperately wicked ; and yet 
 the good seed once sown, though buried many years, may yet 
 spring up and bear an abundant harvest. Let the faithful 
 mother "cast her bread upon the waters," in humble faith, 
 assured that she shall "find it after many days." After the 
 evening conversation the group separated, the mother to her 
 rest. Blanche and Adele, with arms encircling each other's 
 waist, paced the deck, with subdued step and tearful counte- 
 nances, until the hour for retiring arrived. Edith led Madge 
 away, and in deeply serious conversation endeavored to impress 
 the lesson of the hour. They continued walking until 
 the moon arose, in pale impressive majesty, and shedding her 
 mild rays over the deep blue ocean, as she sailed serenely 
 through the flitting clouds, filled their young bosoms with
 
 164 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 tender and solemn thoughts, both of the past and of the 
 dreamy future. 
 
 As they leaned over the side of the vessel, for awhile they 
 were charmed into silence by the beauty of the scene. As the 
 gallant ship cut her way through the sparkling waves, she left, 
 behind her that beautiful phosphorescent appearance, which is 
 so frequently seen on the still evenings, dancing upon the ocean. 
 On this evening, it was peculiarly bright, making a shining path 
 for the noble vessel. 
 
 " How sweet Ravenswood looks on such a night as this ?" said 
 Madge ; " but how different it will be when we reach there." 
 
 "Yes," replied Edith, "our dear mother has always been the 
 charm of our home; without her, it must seem desolate. What 
 will papa say when he sees her ?" 
 
 " I have thought of that very often, Edith, for we know that 
 he loves her very dearly," answered Madge. 
 
 "But, Madge, you see what a source of happiness her faith is 
 to her. What would she be now without that anchor on which 
 to lean ?" 
 
 The young girl wiped a tear from her eye, as she replied, "I 
 see it, Edith ; but I have no such comforting faith. I cannot 
 reconcile many things in the Bible. Josephine has pointed out 
 so much that is contradictory, that I am constantly disturbed 
 by these inconsistencies." 
 
 "Be persuaded, Madge, to give up her friendship. She is of 
 no profit to you," said Edith. 
 
 " I think that it would grieve her if I should slight her, and 
 then I really do admire her talents and independence." replied 
 Madge. " I would not give a cent for your milk-and-water 
 females, who have no mind of their own." 
 
 They had been so deeply interested, that they had not per- 
 ceived that the sailors, who had been sitting on the deck, sing- 
 ing their last song and telling their last story, had one by one 
 departed, leaving none but the night-watch, pacing the deck 
 alone. Silence settled down upon the vessel ; nought was heard 
 but the heaving of the lead, and the dashing of the waves, as 
 the noble bark ploughed her way through the boundless ocean.
 
 ANGELS' VISITS. 165 
 
 Thinking that enough had been said at this time, and warned 
 by the deep stillness that the hour for retiring had long passed, 
 Edith led the way to the cabin, both deeply impressed by the 
 conversation of the evening. In a few days they came in sight 
 of New York, and it was with deep emotion that they per- 
 ceived Mr. Clifford and Frank on the wharf, awaiting their 
 arrival. 
 
 As the vessel neared the lauding, they looked in vain for the 
 face of the wife and mother among the family group. All 
 were standing in eager expectation but this dear member of the 
 household. 
 
 As soon as possible, the father and son sprang to the deck of 
 the vessel, and neither could altogether conceal their feelings 
 when they saw the wasted form that lay reclining on a couch 
 on the deck. Extending her arms and smiling sweetly, but 
 sadly, upon those dear objects, she received them with speech- 
 less emotions of mingled joy and sorrow. Mr. Clifford held the 
 wasted remains of his beloved wife a minute in his arms, and 
 imprinted warm kisses upon her sweet, pale lips, as she whispered, 
 " Thank heaven, dear George, home to die; that is what I have 
 longed and prayed for." 
 
 In a short time the family were conveyed to their carriages, 
 the husband supporting the cherished wife, all the rest of the 
 way, upon his own bosom. Arrangements had been made, after 
 a night's rest, to proceed immediately to Ravenswood ; accord- 
 ingly, on the next morning, they set out for home. When in 
 sight of Ravenswood the mother's eyes filled with tears as she 
 gazed, in speechless tenderness, upon the home of her youth 
 and married life. 
 
 Uncle Peter and Aunt Priscilla were on the piazza to meet 
 the travellers. The faithful old servant respectfully kissed his 
 mistress's hand, and in silence turned away, to hide the falling 
 tears. 
 
 Aunt Priscilla received her affectionately in her arms, and 
 with the aid of Mr. Clifford led her into the house. " Into the 
 library, dear George," whispered the wife ; and once more 
 seated in her accustomed chair, she looked around upon each
 
 166 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 familiar object with an expression of tranquil resignation and 
 tender sadness. 
 
 " You see, Aunt Priscilla, that your poor niece is not much 
 benefited by her journey ; but she is unspeakably thankful for 
 all the kindness she has experienced at the hands of so many 
 dear friends, and especially on finding herself once more at 
 home." 
 
 " Shall I stay with you, Mary ?" asked the kind old woman. 
 
 "Yes, aunty ; but you must not expect me to take your medi- 
 cines. I must be guided in that by my physician." 
 
 Fatigued by her journey, she wished to go to her room, and 
 looking around with a yearning expression, which all felt to be 
 a mute farewell, she was led by her husband to her own apart- 
 ment. 
 
 From that day her strength rapidly declined. Cheered by 
 the constant visits of her dear pastor, Mr. Birkely, the kind 
 attentions of her husband, and the devotion of Edith, she sank 
 gradually and serenely to the tomb. 'Twas now that the value 
 of Christian faith was truly tested. Her communion with her 
 Saviour was close and intimate. As she drew nearer and nearer 
 to the hour of her departure, her hopes grew brighter and her 
 faith stronger. She had bade adieu entirely to earthly things, 
 and they crossed the chamber-door no more. She seemed to be 
 at all times in view of the "land of Beulah:" its breezes 
 fanned her, its odors were wafted to her couch, its music 
 charmed her senses, and its visions were of angels and the 
 golden streets of the New Jerusalem; but the one glorious 
 object which illumined the whole horizon of her hopes was 
 Jesus, her own Redeemer, whose presence beamed around her 
 perpetual sunshine. In view of these glorious anticipations, 
 she could bid farewell to earth and her loved ones, and longed 
 to be at rest forever. 
 
 The husband was unremitting in his attentions; but no devo- 
 tion of his could stay the hand that was pointing her away, nor 
 win her back to earth, though so full of fond attractions to a 
 wife and mother's heart. 
 
 For a few days she seemed revived, was able to set up, and
 
 ANGELS' VISITS. 167 
 
 be wheeled to the window in her easy chair, where she could 
 command a view of the beautiful Hudson. By her side stood 
 a little table, on which was placed a bouquet of lovely flowers. 
 Her Bible was always at hand, and when not too weak to read, 
 many an hour in her sick-room was comforted by the blessed 
 promises of that holy volume. 
 
 Edith was her constant companion. She never left her 
 mother's side, excepting to take her meals, and sometimes 
 would have them brought up to her, until her father, fearing 
 that her health would suffer by such co istant confinement, in- 
 sisted on her taking some rest and relaxation. Having some 
 very important commissions in the vicinity of New York, he 
 desired that Edith might attend to them. She consented, un- 
 willingly, fearing that she might be absent many days; but her 
 mother joined her requests to her father's, saying that she could 
 easily be spared, when there were so many at home ready to 
 wait upon her. 
 
 Edith reluctantly prepared, and entering her mother's room, 
 kissed her affectionately, and placing a fresh bouquet upon her 
 table, said, " Mother, that is Edith's farewell ; they will bloom 
 until I return again." 
 
 Raising her soft blue eyes, she answered, " I shall miss you, 
 my daughter; but you know who is always with me. I never 
 lose the sense of my Saviour's presence. It is better that you 
 should take some recreation while you can ; thei'e may be many 
 days and nights of watching yet, before I am at home." 
 
 The mother's lip quivered as she kissed her daughter's cheek, 
 and her eye filled with tears as she watched her retreating 
 figure. She had not been absent more than one day, before a 
 messenger arrived to hasten her return. A violent hemorrhage 
 had alarmed Mr. Clifford, and the physician had advised an im- 
 mediate recall of the absent daughter. Being some distance 
 from the city, there was necessarily a delay of some hours ere she 
 could reach New York. As she rode along through the streets 
 at night, her eye was attracted to the signs of death every- 
 where : the white tomb-stones glistening like pale ghosts in the 
 silent graveyards ; the bright lamp before the doors of the city
 
 168 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 undertakers, burning at all hours in readiness for the midnight 
 messenger ; the sound of church-bells, calling the worshippers 
 to their evening service, all filled her heart with gloomy fore- 
 bodings. She thought, how soon may my dear mother be num- 
 bered among these silent dead, and how soon may these unwel- 
 come messengers be needed to perform the last offices for her ! 
 The church-bells seemed to be tolling a funeral knell, and 
 mourning processions filled her excited imagination. 
 
 It was the hour of midnight ere she approached her home. 
 She was alone. The pale moon shone sadly around the silent 
 walks and among the dark trees of Ravenswood. No human 
 forms were visible; no signs of life were manifest, save the dim 
 light burning in her mother's chamber. But around that dwell- 
 ing, where lay a saint preparing for glory, doubtless angel 
 visitants were hovering, ready to convey a sister-spirit home to 
 heaven. Could mortal eyes have penetrated the fleecy clouds, 
 there might have been revealed the bright convoy sent to 
 minister to this heir of salvation, and in obedience to their 
 Heavenly Master, whispering sweet thoughts of peace and love, 
 ever watching for that mysterious moment, when the mortal, 
 becoming immortal, takes its flight to the spirit-land. 
 
 Thoughts of these celestial visitants filled Edith's heart as 
 she watched the fanciful forms of the moonlit clouds flitting 
 above her, in her ride up that dark avenue of old elm trees, and 
 seeming to precede her in misty crowds, veiling angelic messen- 
 gers. With a beating heart she rang the bell. Old Uncle 
 Peter met her at the door, and with a solemn aspect, he said, 
 " We have been expecting you." 
 
 " Is my mother alive ?" grasped Edith. 
 
 "She is still with us, but just ready for the angels." 
 
 Uncle Peter preceded her to the supper-room. A dim 
 light burned in the hall ; the old clock had just struck the 
 midnight hour, and Edith could easily imagine that its loud, 
 impressive ticking, was keeping time with the beating heart 
 above, that was slowly and solemnly laboring beneath the 
 hand that was gradually stopping its pulsations. An un- 
 tasted meal stood upon the tea-table. She passed with a
 
 ANGELS' VISITS. 169 
 
 throbbing heart through the deserted room, up the long 
 staircase, and along the dark entry that led to her mother's 
 chamber. Measuring time by the depth of her feelings, it 
 seemed lengthened minutes, instead of a few seconds, that 
 brought her into her mother's presence. 
 
 Quietly she opened the door. Her father was standing by 
 the bed, supporting the dear invalid, as the life-blood welled 
 from her pale lips. Miss Arnold was sitting by the other 
 side. Frank and her sisters were standing at a distance, 
 bathed in tears. As soon as her mother perceived her, she 
 pointed upwards, and looked upon Edith with a smile full of 
 heavenly love.and blessedness. Edith found that she could not 
 speak ; and schooling, her heart with a firm resolve, she seated 
 herself, with a blanched cheek, but a calm and quiet manner. 
 
 All night they watched in silence around the bed, fearing 
 by a word to agitate the sufferer, and thus increase the hem- 
 orrhage. Towards morning the symptoms abated, but great 
 weakness followed. Unable to speak, for many hours she lay 
 pale and almost as silent as if shrouded for the grave. When 
 the physician arrived, he pronounced her somewhat better, 
 and expressed the opinion that, in a few days, she might rally 
 once more. At the close of the third day, she could speak 
 in whispers ; in a day or two, she was able to converse more 
 freely, and when her strength was sufficiently restored, called 
 Edith, and requested to be left alone with her, as she had 
 much to say. 
 
 " Close the door, my dear," said the mother, " and come 
 sit down by me. I feel unusually strong to-day, and may 
 never be able again to say all that I desire. It cannot be 
 much longer, my daughter, before I leave you. For the 
 world to come, I have no fears : my hopes are on the rock, 
 Christ Jesus ; nothing can move them ; but it requires strong 
 faith to leave my children in this wicked world. I feel that 
 Frank has reached a dangerous age, not yet eighteen, im- 
 pulsive, fond of pleasure, but most of all, captivated with the 
 stage. Exert your influence over him, Edith: be kind, 
 be affectionate, never forsake him, happen what may.
 
 170 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 Do not be impatient with Madge ; she may be a bright 
 Christian yet. Watch over Blanche faithfully, ::he needs 
 all a sister's care ; restrain Adele in her wild moods ; cherish 
 dear blind Lilly, and bring up little Emily for the Lord. 
 Pray much for them, Edith ; keep them within reach of the 
 means of grace ; ask for guidance of the Lord ; be in all 
 things a bright example of a Christian sister. Do not forsake 
 them, Edith, while they are so young; and one thing I wish 
 you to promise me, and that is, when I am gone, to conduct 
 our family worship. There are many helps to devotion ; use 
 some of them. Will you promise me?" 
 
 " By God's help, dear mother, I will do all ;" and throwing 
 herself on her knees, by her mother's bed, she said, solemnly, 
 " Hear me, mother : here, by this bed, and in the presence of 
 God, I promise never to forsake my brother and sisters, so 
 long as they need my care. I will endeavor to be sister, 
 mother, all to them, God being my helper." 
 
 It was no light vow that Edith Clifford took that day, 
 before the Lord. Down in the depths of her lofty nature it 
 was uttered, and registered in heaven ; in after-life, it was 
 nobly fulfilled. As she arose, an elevated expression beamed 
 upon her pure and holy countenance, and illumined her soft, 
 dark eyes. Her mother took her in her arms, almost with 
 reverence, and placing her hand upon her young head, raised 
 her soft eyes to heaven, as she whispered, "Saviour, bless my 
 child ; baptize her with thy own pure and loving spirit. May 
 she be guided and blessed, and may her light be that of the 
 ' shining light, which shineth brighter and brighter, until the 
 perfect day.' Now, Edith, kiss your mother. I have no more 
 earthly anxieties, I can now sing, 
 
 ' Farewell to sin and sorrow ;' 
 
 but ere I depart hence, I have one more request to make, and 
 it is this: I desire to partake of the communion, next Sabbath. 
 Will you send for Mr. Berkely? I should like to have it 
 administered in the afternoon ; it will be the last on earth. I 
 shall soon sit down at the marriage-supper of the Lamb, in
 
 ANGELS' VISITS. 171 
 
 heaven. Now, Edith, send your father to me. I must make 
 all my requests while I have strength." 
 
 Kissing her mother, she left the room, and in a few minutes 
 the husband entered. "George, will you place me on that 
 couch?" said the wife. Lifting the light burden, he gently 
 removed her to the couch, seated himself by her side, and, 
 leaning her head upon his bosom, while he encircled her frail 
 form with his strong arm, he kissed her pale cheek, and said, 
 "What does my dear wife want?" 
 
 " I have a great deal to say, dear George, ere I depart. I 
 shall soon leave you, dearest husband, for another and a better 
 world. I have been reviewing all my life to-day. I have 
 thought over the days of our early love. I remember, George, 
 just where we sat when you first declared your love ; it was 
 there, down on the banks of the Hudson, under the shade of 
 the tree that stands there still. You made me very happy, 
 then, when you vowed to be mine forever. George, you have 
 kept your vow. And then, I have thought of our bright 
 wedding-day, when the whole air was filled with the perfume 
 of the roses of June ; how cheering everything appeared 
 around dear Ravenswood. You remember, George, that 
 father and mother were here, then, and dear sister Emily: 
 but they are gone, George, and I shall join them soon. Oh! 
 husband, you have kept that vow, too ; you have made life 
 very bright and happy to me ; you have never let the winds 
 visit your wife too roughly ; you have anticipated all my 
 wishes ; not an unkind word has ever passed your lips, and 
 this day, in sight of the river of death, which must soon 
 separate us, I bless you, my husband, for all the devoted love 
 of these happy years, but much as I love you, my husband, I 
 am willing, yea, rather anxious to depart, and be with Jesus. 
 There has been but one drawback to our happiness, and that 
 has arisen from your want of interest in the things of God 
 I cannot bear to think of separation beyond the grave ; and 
 yet, my dearest husband, I have now no hope of meeting you 
 in heaveu. Oh ! George, my early love, the dear partner of 
 jay riper years, do not live without God in this world."
 
 172 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 Mr. Clifford's breast heaved, as he listened to this eloquent 
 appeal from the wife he so fondly loved. He answered with a 
 trembling voice, " Mary, I have many more serious thoughts 
 than you can imagine, but the cares of the world, and the 
 things of time and sense engross my attention so much, that 
 my resolutions to lead a better life are often put to flight, but 
 I will promise you to pay more attention to these things. I 
 will be more diligent in attending upon the house of God, in 
 reading the Scriptures, and in prayer. Of one thing you may 
 be certain, that no other woman shall occupy your place in 
 my desolate home. I can depend upon Edith ; she is a girl 
 of strong sense, and firm and lofty character, and, I am sure 
 can fill the station well, as head of this household." 
 
 Mrs. Clifford answered fondly, " She is a dear girl, full of 
 high aspirations, and devoted to the service of her Redeemer. 
 I can fully trust her. I know that she will be a blessing, and 
 a comfort to you all." 
 
 Taking his wife in his arms, he gently laid her down upon 
 her bed to rest ; and passing out of the room with a deeply 
 subdued and solemn aspect, he sent Edith to her mother. 
 On the following Sabbath, a little company gathered in the 
 chamber of the dying Christian, where the emblems of re- 
 deeming love were decently spread out on the table before her, 
 and all the family gathered around her bed. 
 
 Miss Arnold, Edith, Aunt Priscilla, and Uncle Peter, all 
 partook of the solemn ordinance ; and the holy elevation that 
 beamed upon the countenance of the interesting invalid, spoke 
 of the deep peace that dwelt within. Doubtless, angelic visi- 
 tants witnessed the touching scene, and unseen, bent over the 
 dying Christian, and sympathized in some mysterious manner, 
 to us unknown, with the spirit so near to the verge of the land 
 of immortals. 
 
 Be this as it may, one thing to the believer is always certain, 
 and this Mrs. Clifford sweetly realized, as she felt a Saviour 
 near in the breaking of bread. Taking Mr. Berkely's hand 
 ere he left, she said, " It is the last communion on earth, the 
 next will be in my Father's kingdom. Oh ! may my dear ones
 
 ANGELS' VISITS. 173 
 
 all sit down with me at that marriage-supper ; and I think they 
 will, my friend, for God has promised to answer prayer, and 
 this has been the prayer of my life. Will you not watch over 
 them, my dear pastor, when I am gone?" 
 
 " Rest assured, my dear friend, that I shall never lose sight 
 of your precious family, and that in me they Avill always find a 
 faithful friend." 
 
 From this day she sank gradually away. On the evening 
 of the third day the angel visitants drew nearer to the dying 
 chamber, until, aware that the hour of departure was just at 
 hand, they hovered over the departing saint, ready to convey 
 her spirit home. Gathered around the bed, the family stood in 
 solemn silence, suppressing their feelings, for fear of disturbing 
 this sacred scene. 
 
 " I cannot see you, George, but I feel that you are near me ; 
 dearest, kiss me once more. Frank, come, take your mother's 
 blessing. Oh ! my son, make your sister Edith your guide, 
 your friend. Edith, Madge, Blanche, Adele, farewell, farewell ! 
 Bring Lilly and Emily to my arms." She kissed them both, 
 but as she pressed her cold lips to the cheek of her blind 
 daughter, the shivering of the poor sensitive child indicated 
 the intensity of her sufferings, and Miss Arnold quietly removed 
 her, and laid her fainting form upon the couch, while she 
 applied gentle restoratives. ." Come to me, my friend," and she 
 pressed her pale lips upon Miss Arnold's cheek, as she said, 
 " You have been a faithful friend, never forget my children. 
 Aunt Priscilla and Uncle Peter, farewell ! We shall meet in 
 heaven. Bid Gerald and Ralph farewell. And now, Lord 
 Jesus, receive my spirit ; come, come quickly !" As she uttered 
 these words, the angel messengers, stooping over the departing 
 spirit, received it into their keeping, and bore it speedily away, 
 beyond the bounds of time and sense, away, away, beyond the 
 stars ; and left nought in the chamber of death but the cold 
 remains of the beloved, and the weeping family mourning over 
 their bereavement. 
 
 " Take them, Death ! and bear away 
 Whatevr thou canst call thine own !
 
 174 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 Thine image, stamped upon this clay, 
 Doth give thee that, but that alone I 
 
 " Take them, Grave ! and let them lie 
 
 Folded upon thy narrow shelves, 
 As garments hy the soul laid by, 
 And precious only to ourselves. 
 
 " Take them, great Eternity! 
 Our little life is but a gust, 
 That bends the branches of thy tree, 
 And trails its blossoms in the dust."
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THE BAPTISM OF GRIEF. 
 
 HE sad event which removed the dear mother 
 from this affectionate household had been so 
 long anticipated that it had not come upon them 
 unawares. And yet in the realities of bereavement 
 there are always some bitter drops, which none but 
 those who have been called to drink the cup can 
 ever fully realize. The sad awakening after a night 
 of sorrow is always one of anguish ; for what grief- 
 stricken heart cannot remember the first bewildered thoughts 
 after the troubled slumber, the dim recollection of some heavy 
 blow, the quickening consciousness of a weight of sorrow, and 
 the convulsive weeping at the full recollection of all that has 
 passed ? Then the dreary wilderness of the future rises before 
 the mental vision, as its trials are anticipated, when the sym- 
 pathizing bosom of the departed is sleeping in the cold tomb, 
 the melting eye closed, and the sweet lips silent forever. 
 
 These were the feelings that agitated the heart of Edith 
 Clifford as the morning sun of a summer day streamed in her 
 window, and she arose to shut out the brightness, which seemed 
 a mockery in her hour of bereavement. But she was a sincere 
 Christian, and as she read the glorious promises of the resur- 
 rection, with what new power did they distil their precious 
 influence upon her heart, as she applied them to her departed 
 mother! When she meditated upon the apostle's glowing 
 
 175
 
 176 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 chapter on the resurrection, her heart was filled with peace, 
 and she felt that she could commit the dear remains to the cold 
 grave, knowing that "all who sleep in Jesus will God bring 
 with him." She felt assured that her mother was one of these 
 blessed ones; and when she thought of the glory which "eye 
 hath not seen, nor ear heard," she prayed for resignation to the 
 Divine will, and was at peace. Hastily dressing after her 
 devotions, she repaired alone to her mother's chamber. How 
 sad, how desolate all appeared ! The usual accompaniments 
 of the sick-room were removed, and on the bed lay the pale 
 form of her best earthly friend. A few bright rays of a summer 
 sun stole in through the Venetian shutters, and played around 
 the sleeping form of the dead, brightening the light ringlets 
 that lay around the sweet face. It was a faded form, but there 
 were still remains of beauty in the marble forehead, the deli- 
 cate features, the closed eye, with its long drooping lashes, and 
 that indescribable charm of angelic sweetness which so fre- 
 quently lingers around the lips of the departed. Clad in her 
 usual attire of a pure white wrapper, in the pale hands, folded 
 meekly on her breast, lay a few sprigs of mignonette and 
 heliotrope, her favorite flowers. 
 
 She looked as though sweetly sleeping, so natural and com- 
 posed was her lovely aspect ; and Edith felt as if her heart must 
 break, when she realized that she might call in vain, and in 
 vain kiss the pale lips of that dear parent, who never would 
 greet her again with those soft eyes and those smiling lips. 
 The beauty of Byron's description of death was here entirely 
 realized, when he says : 
 
 11 He who hath bent him o'er the dead, 
 Ere the first day of death is fled ; 
 The first dark day of nothingness, 
 The last of danger and distress ; 
 Before decay's effacing fingers 
 Have swept the lines where beauty lingers; 
 And marked the mild, angelic air, 
 The rapture of repose that's there ; 
 The fixed, yet tender traits, that streak 
 The languor of the placid cheek,
 
 THE BAPTISM OF GRIEF. 177 
 
 And but for that sad, shrouded eye, 
 
 That fires not wins not weeps not now; 
 
 And but for that chill, changeless brow, 
 
 Whose touch thrills with mortality, 
 
 And curdles to the gazer's heart, 
 
 As if to him it could iir.part 
 
 The doom he dreads, yet dwell? upon ; 
 
 Yes, but for these, and these alone, 
 
 Some moments, ay, one treacherous hour, 
 
 He still might doubt the tyrant's power, 
 
 So fair, so calm, so softly sealed 
 
 The first, last look by death revealed !" 
 
 As Edith stood leaning over the dead, all the former years 
 of her life passed before her in solemn review. The days of 
 infancy, and the sweet cradle-hymn that soothed her restless 
 hours ; the evening prayer first whispered at her mother's 
 knee ; the words of instruction by the wayside, under the green 
 trees, along flowery garden-paths, and by the river's brink, all 
 murmured their impressive lessons once more. The succeeding 
 years of increasing solicitude ; the holy example of that spot- 
 less life ; the gentle, loving ministry which she exercised in her 
 household, as she went in and out among them, a living epistle 
 of the holy doctrines of Christ. Her gradual decline, so 
 sweetly illumined by bright visions from the land of Beulah ; 
 her peaceful death-bed ; her glorious hopes ; her triumph over 
 the last enemy ; but, most of all, the impressive charge which 
 she left alone to her. She recalled every word and look of that 
 solemn hour, and throwing herself upon her knees, and press- 
 ing her lips upon the cold hand, she renewed her vow of devo- 
 tion to the loved ones at home. " Hear me, oh, my Father," 
 she prayed, from the deep recesses of a self-denying heart, 
 "hear me, in the awful presence of the dead, and before Thee, 
 renew the vow made to my dear mother, that so long as they 
 shall need a sister's care, I give myself to them. O, give me 
 grace to live before them as a Christian ought to live." She 
 knelt in silence some minutes longer. Thoughts of Gerald, 
 and her early love, came up swiftly before her heart. She felt 
 that she might be called to resign that cherished hope ; and as 
 the poor heart swelled with anguish at even the distant pros- 
 12
 
 178 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 pect, she pressed her hand upon it to still its beatings, while 
 showers of scalding tears fell upon the cold face over which she 
 bent in sorrow, 
 
 This was, indeed, an hour when the deep baptism of a sacred 
 grief consecrated the lofty heart anew to God; and when Edith 
 Clifford arose from that kneeling posture, she felt that the rosy 
 dreams of youth were fading from her sight. A cross lay in 
 the path once strewed with flowers ; and with a youthful Chris- 
 tian's fortitude she took it up, pressed it to her bosom, and with 
 eyes raised to heaven, she implored a Father's blessing. There 
 are seasons in the history of every human heart, when, under 
 the discipline of trial, in one short hour the character under- 
 goes, as it were, almost a second renewal, in the, waters of the 
 baptism of grief. Such an hour was this to Edith Clifford. 
 She could be no more what she had been; the light-hearted- 
 ness of youth had vanished before the dawning of that high 
 and holy self-denial, which henceforth marked her daily life. 
 
 So deeply was she engrossed by her thoughts, that she had 
 not perceived dear old nurse, who had entered without her 
 knowledge, now standing silently by her side. Leaning over 
 the form which she had loved almost as her own child, while 
 tears rained over her aged cheeks, she said, " O, Miss Edith ! 
 what we have lost ! How can I bear to go into her room again? 
 I was the first to take her in my arms when she drew her infant 
 breath. I nursed her through all her sweet childhood. I held 
 her when she was baptized. I stood by her on the day of con- 
 firmation. I helped to dress her for the wedding-day, O, 
 what a sweet bride she was! They say that Blanche is beauti- 
 ful as an angel ; but she is not so sweet as my lovely Mary was, 
 on that bright and happy day. These aged arms have nursed 
 all her dear children. I watched her last breath, and saw her 
 leave us for the skies ; and I must dress her for the grave 
 shan't I, dear Miss Edith ? Let me touch her last ; do not let 
 a stranger's hand come near her." 
 
 "You shall have your wish, dear nurse," replied Edith. "I 
 could not bear any one else to perform these offices for her." 
 
 " I can never tell you, Miss Edith, what a dear, sweet, affec-
 
 THE BAPTISM OF GRIEF. 179 
 
 tionate child she was, always so good to her loving old nurse. 
 I think that she must have been one of those, sanctified from 
 the very day of her birth, for she always seemed to me like a 
 Christian ; but I hope to meet her in heaven. I trust in the 
 same Saviour; and many are the sweet talks we have had 
 about our home in the heavens." 
 
 After a few more affectionate words, the faithful old nurse led 
 Edith to her room, persuaded her to lie down, and sat by her 
 bed repeating comforting passages from the Bible, bathing her 
 aching head, and ministering to her wants in all those name- 
 less ways so precious to a suffering heart. She was one of 
 those household blessings, spoken of as performing her duties 
 " in singleness of heart, as to the Lord, and not to men ;" and 
 even in the humble capacity of a domestic, received from all 
 the respect and love which she so richly merited. 
 
 On the second day after Mrs. Clifford's death, Mrs. Morris 
 and her family arrived, dressed in very fashionable mourning. 
 She avoided her sister's chamber, visiting it but once, for the 
 sight of death was unwelcome to her worldly spirit. Nor 
 would she allow her daughters to visit the room, as she said it 
 would only make them gloomy. She felt herself sadly at a 
 loss in her ignorant endeavors to comfort the heart of her 
 niece. 
 
 " I would not grieve, Edith," said she ; " your mother was 
 always a very good Avoman, she never did any harm in the 
 world, and I dare say that she is in heaven, if anybody is 
 there." 
 
 "Do not talk so, dear aunt," replied Edith. "My dear 
 mother's hopes were all anchored 'in the rock Christ Jesus; that 
 was the only ground of her peace." 
 
 "You do not pietend to say that your mother was a sin- 
 ner ?" 
 
 " Dear mamma had a very humble opinion of herself, aunt. 
 She tried herself by the spirituality of God's law, which con- 
 demns the most holy. All her goodness was divine.; this she 
 realized constantly, and always gave the glory of her salvation 
 wholly to the Lord Jesus."
 
 180 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 Her cousins liked to hear the account which Edith gave of 
 her mother's departure, and secretly thought that there must be 
 something in that religion which could so sweetly comfort in 
 the hour of death. On the third day, a ring at the front door 
 announced the arrival of a stranger, and Uncle Peter came up 
 to say that Mr. Cameron was down stairs, and had asked for 
 Miss Edith. Not wishing to treat him as a stranger, Edith 
 went to the drawing-room to receive him. She had not seen 
 him for nearly two years. Having completed his college course, 
 while they were absent in Europe, he had been ever since 
 travelling, and having just returned, he had heard of Mrs. 
 Clifford's death, and had hastened to offer his condolence to the 
 afflicted family. 
 
 He had greatly improved, and was a fine, noble-looking 
 young man. with a manly bearing. His eagle eye and firm lip 
 spoke of strong resolve, and his whole manner of a frank and 
 fearless character. But when he arose to meet Edith, in her 
 mourning garb, the melting of his eye and the quivering of his 
 lip spoke of a heart full of Christian sympathy. 
 
 " I need not say, Miss Clifford, that I sympathize with you in 
 this hour of sorrow. You know how I valued your dear 
 mother, and I can imagine something of what you have suffered, 
 for I have passed through the same heavy trial." 
 
 After some minutes spent in serious conversation, Ralph 
 inquired for the family, and especially for Madge. " Can I see 
 her, Miss Clifford?" 
 
 "I will send her to you," replied Edith, and leaving the 
 room, she had some difficulty in persuading Madge to go to the 
 drawing-room. 
 
 Two years had made a great change in Madge. She was no 
 longer a child. The then swarthy little girl had given place 
 to the interesting young maiden. Her figure, though small, was 
 graceful. Her complexion had lost its sallowness, and a rich 
 coloring imparted new brilliancy to those lustrous eyes, now 
 more beautiful than ever, lit up, as they were, by the fire of a 
 sparkling intellect. One could almost imagine that they 
 emitted rays of light when animated. But on this occasion,
 
 THE BAPTISM OF GRIEF. 181 
 
 when under the influence of grief, their melting tenderness 
 touched the heart of Ralph Cameron, as he respectfully and 
 kindly met the young girl. 'Tis true, that the want of regu- 
 larity in her features made it impossible to call her beautiful ; 
 but the rich, dark hair, fine teeth, and variable expression, made 
 hers always an interesting face, 
 
 Ralph felt, in the modest reserve with which she advanced to 
 met her old friend, that she was no longer a child, but a 
 youthful maiden, on the very borders of dream-land, shrinking 
 with intuitive and graceful modesty from his cordial greeting. 
 In former days, he would have taken the little hand, led her to 
 a seat by his side, and called her Madge ; but now he seated 
 himself at some distance, and addressed her kindly, but some- 
 what formally, as Miss Margaret. Their talk was of the de- 
 parted, and Ralph took advantage of the softened mood of her 
 spirit to remark upon the blessedness of those hopes which 
 sustain the dying Christian. He was grieved to find that the 
 shadow still shrouded her spirit, and feared that the influence 
 of Josephine Fortescue was yet in the ascendant. 
 
 He remained with the family until after the funeral, which 
 took place on the fourth day. The sad morning at last arrived 
 when the precious remains were to be removed from their sight. 
 Their good pastor, Mr. Berkely, had been unremitting in his 
 attentions during the whole of their affliction. On this sad 
 morning he carne at an early hour, and by his kind counsels 
 and earnest prayers strengthened them for the last duty which 
 remained. When coming in sight of the old village church- 
 yard, where reposed the remains of the Ravenswood family, 
 the solemn tolling of the church-bells struck upon the hearts of 
 the bereaved with that sad melody, which seems to say, " Fare- 
 well, farewell, farewell !" To Edith's heart it spoke of hope 
 and reunion in heaven; to Madge, of the gloomy, and dreary 
 grave, and the uncertain future. As the sound came borne to 
 Edith on the fitful breeze, sometimes swelling up to heaven 
 and then faintly dying away, they soothed, instead of depress- 
 ing her spirit ; for she could well apply the sentiment of the 
 following lines to her sainted mother:
 
 182 EDITH'S MINISTRY, 
 
 "Soft the bell, for saints departed, 
 
 Hopeful tolls their funeral knell: 
 Comforting the broken-hearted : 
 Rest in Jesus tolls the bell. 
 
 Best in Jesus, 
 Seems upon the air to swell." 
 
 Inexpressibly sweet were the sublime passages with which 
 their good pastor committed the precious dust to the tomb, in 
 the hope of a joyful resurrection ; and in the grave-yard of old 
 St. John's, by the side of her sleeping family, they left the 
 seeds of immortality. 
 
 On the evening of the day after the funeral, Edith remem- 
 bered her promise to her dying mother, and, with trembling 
 heart, rang the bell at the usual time of evening prayer. The 
 servants looked on, wondering at their young mistress, and 
 when all assembled in the library except the father, she looked 
 around with consternation, for there sat Ralph Cameron, and 
 her worldly aunt and cousins. How could she possibly 
 conduct such a service, in their presence? she whispered a word 
 to Ralph, who kindly assented to her proposal. Then, with a 
 solemn manner, she acquainted her family with her mother's 
 last injunction, and added, "All who love the memory of our 
 dear mother will respect her last request, and will always be 
 present on these occasions, morning and evening." Then, with 
 a quivering lip and trembling voice, she read a portion of the 
 Scriptures, and, as all bowed down before the Lord, Ralph 
 Cameron consecrated this family altar by an earnest, fervent 
 prayer, and while he supplicated for strength and wisdom for 
 the youthful head of this family, she felt her heart strength- 
 ened for her new duties. 
 
 Ere Ralph took his departure, he sought an opportunity of 
 conversing freely with Madge. It was for some days ere he 
 could find her alone, but one evening, strolling about among 
 the grounds, he observed the object of his search, reading very 
 intently, in one of the summer-houses. Ere she was aware of 
 his approach, he was by her side. Hastily putting by her book, 
 she appeared at first embarrassed. 
 
 "What are you reading, Miss Margaret?" asked Ralph,
 
 THE BAPTISM OF GRIEF. 183 
 
 "A book, lent me by a friend," answered Madge. 
 
 " May I not see it ?" 
 
 " Oh, certainly, I have no objection." 
 
 " My young friend, this is not a proper book for you ; it may 
 greatly shake your faith," answered Ralph, as he quietly took 
 possession of the volume. 
 
 "Will you please hand it to me, Mr. Cameron?" said the 
 young girl, with a kindling eye. 
 
 " No, Miss Margaret, excuse me, I shall hand it to your 
 sister; she is your appointed gardiau, and will do just what 
 your mother would have done, banish the book from her 
 family." 
 
 "You are really taking a great liberty, Mr. Cameron," 
 replied the young girl, haughtily. " I am not a child, now." 
 
 " That is true ; but, even though you were thirty, instead of 
 seventeen, I should remove poison from your reach." 
 
 " It seems very cowardly, Mr. Cameron, to be unwilling to 
 read the arguments of these philanthropists. If you are so sure 
 of your cause, I should suppose that you would be willing to 
 read anything." 
 
 " Will you tell me, Miss Margaret, what they propose to 
 give us in the place of the Bible? If they wish to overthrow 
 it, what better book can they send to us ?" inquired Kalph. 
 
 Madge looked somewhat perplexed, as she replied, " I have 
 never thought of that, Mr. Cameron ; that is a serious question 
 to answer." 
 
 Leaving the subject, with this suggestion, he remained firm 
 in his determination to give the infidel book into the hands of 
 Edith ; and, although the proud nature of Madge Clifford 
 writhed under the assumption of authority, something of her 
 old feeling of submission returned, as she bowed beneath his 
 strength, and felt assured of the pure friendship which dictated 
 the action. As they walked back to the house, Madge was 
 very thoughtful, and Ralph perceived that a tear trembled in 
 her eye, as she turned to go to her room. Arriving there, she 
 sat down by the side of her table, and leaning her head upon 
 her hands and closing her eyes, she thought long and earnestly
 
 184 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 upon the subject of their conversation. Instead, however, of 
 turning to the word of God for instruction, and to the Spirit of 
 God for light, she opened one of those dangerous books with 
 which Josephine had supplied her, and was soon lost in the maze 
 of darkness and bewilderment in which they shrouded her soul. 
 Poor Madge! weary days of wandering through tangled 
 thickets and many a sad plunge in the Valley of Despond are 
 before you ; and yet, there was one silver thread just trembling 
 before her vision when Ralph had asked her the one important 
 question. Could she but have followed that friendly clue and 
 gone to God's holy word for the answer, many hours of anguish 
 might have been saved to the poor misguided girl. 
 
 In a few days, Ralph took leave of her, with the promise, 
 that she would answer his letters. As soon as possible, 
 Edith made all the family regulations, conforming entirely 
 to her mother's plans. For a while, all went on smoothly. 
 Having so many cares, she had left the school-room, but de- 
 voted a portion of each day to her mental improvement. 
 She had laid by the harp, and for some months could not 
 bear to uncover the instrument, it was so much associated 
 with her mother, Edith was a fine performer, and had be- 
 guiled many a sad hour, so long as her parent visited the 
 drawing-room. Now, the harp stood silent, in a corner of the 
 closed room. 
 
 The care of the family had fallen upon Edith at a very 
 critical and trying period. Frank, being but one year 
 younger than Edith, could only be reached through the 
 power of silent influence ; Madge, nearly seventeen, was no 
 longer a child, and, with her strong will and self-reliant 
 spirit, was not at all likely to submit to an elder sister. 
 Blanche and Adele were now fifteen, and their sister trem- 
 bled as she thought of the responsibilities which rested upon 
 her. Little blind Lilly clung to her, as a second mother, 
 and though she constantly spoke of her departed parent, she 
 soon learned to love dear sister Edith, and to wind the ten- 
 drils of her affectionate nature as closely around her as she 
 had around her beloved mother. Little Emily was a prat-
 
 THE BAPTISM OF GRIEF. 185 
 
 tling child of three years, and was a bright sunbeam in the 
 household. 
 
 It was Edith's custom, after evening worship, always to 
 retire, with her younger sisters, to their chamber, where she 
 endeavored to impart to them such religious instruction as 
 they needed ; she taught them how to review the day, and 
 even little Emily began to lisp about the right and wrong. 
 One evening, Edith was seated, with her little sister in her 
 lap, whispering those sweet, dewy words, which distil so 
 gently in the twilight hour. Lilly stood by her side, with 
 Edith's arm around her waist, and Emily nestled closely to 
 her sister's bosom, asking those questions which so often 
 puzzle the budding intellect, and as often bewilder the per- 
 plexed teacher to answer. Suddenly, the child started, and 
 clapping her little hands in delight, exclaimed, as she leaned 
 forward, to gaze out of the window. 
 
 " Look, sissy, there's dear mamma's itty star." 
 
 " Where, Emily ?" answered Edith. 
 
 " Right up there, just above the big tree." 
 
 "What makes you call it mamma's star, Emily?" asked 
 Edith. 
 
 " Why, sissy, she used to take little Emily in her lap, and 
 show her the pooty star ; and she used to talk so pooty to 
 little Emmy about God, who made the pooty star." 
 
 Lilly leaned her head on Edith's shoulder, as she said, " I 
 cannot see the star, sister, but I remember dear mamma's 
 sweet words. I don't wonder, Emmy calls it mamma's star, 
 for she used to talk to us so much about the bright heaven, 
 beyond the stars. One night, mamma was talking to little 
 Emmy, when she clapped her hands, and cried out suddenly, 
 ' Look, mamma, God has just made a star ;' I asked mamma 
 what she meant, and she said, that she had just spied 
 another bright star, and she supposed that Emmy, in her 
 innocence, thought it was just made." 
 
 Edith was greatly affected by the artless prattle, and told 
 them that dear mamma was a blessed spirit far beyond these 
 stars ; and that if they were really God's children, and loved
 
 186 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 the Saviour, whom God had sent, they would both be taken 
 when they die to the same happy home. Then kneeling 
 down, with her arm around each little sister, she prayed 
 that God would bless them, and have them all in his holy 
 keeping. After they were undressed, she stooped over each 
 dear child, and imprinted the loving kiss, which so deeply 
 seals holy teachings upon the infant heart. God speed thee, 
 gentle sister, in thy holy ministry ! Angels sympathize with 
 thee ! Jesus smiles on thee, and will bless thee. 
 
 But all was not sunshine in Edith's path. Frank was 
 still at college; it was, however, his last term ; but his letters 
 were neither so frequent nor so open, and she feared she 
 knew not what. Anxious to have his son engage in mer- 
 cantile pursuits, Mr. Clifford was making inquiries in New 
 York for a suitable situation. Frank was greatly averse to 
 the plan, as he much preferred a profession ; but his father, 
 who attached undue importance to wealth, pointed to the 
 merchant princes of the great metropolis, and their splendid 
 palaces, and asked how many years he might toil at a pro- 
 fession, before he could realize even a maintenance ; whereas, 
 a successful merchant in a very few years might make an 
 independent fortune. 
 
 Mr. Clifford, accustomed to carry out his own views, never 
 rested until he obtained his son's consent to embark in that 
 pursuit. Accordingly, he obtained for him a situation in 
 one of the most wealthy and prominent firms in New York ; 
 and much to his satisfaction, he was to reside in the family of 
 his employer. 
 
 At the close of the college term, the family were on the 
 tiptoe of expectation. Dear Frank was coming, and his 
 advent was always a joyous occasion. The sisters were 
 dressed at an early hour, and waiting long before the time 
 at the entrance of the avenue, for the first sight of the ex- 
 pected one. At length the approach of a carriage set their 
 hearts to beating, and the wave of a cap out of the window 
 sent Blanche and Adeie flying down the road, keeping pace 
 with the carriage-wheels, until they arrived at the gate.
 
 THE BAPTISM OF GRIEF. 187 
 
 Frank stepped out, and taking in the twins and little Emily, 
 drove rapidly up to the house. Their greeting was joyous, 
 but Edith was not quite satisfied. She thought that Frank 
 avoided her eyes, and wondered what was the matter. 
 
 After supper, missing Frank, she stepped into the library, 
 and there sat her brother, with his head leaning on his 
 hands, and his whole aspect deeply dejected. Advancing 
 towards him, Edith threw her arms around him, and whis- 
 pered, "Dear Frank, what is the matter? You are sad. 
 Mother is not here to counsel you. Shall I not know your 
 troubles ?" 
 
 Turning to his sister, with a burning cheek and eyes brimful 
 of tears, he said, "Sister, I am trying to school myself into 
 submission to my father's will ; but, indeed, I think it very 
 hard. I am an only son ; and it seems too bad that I am to 
 be compelled to follow what I so much dislike." 
 
 " What do you prefer, Frank ?" 
 
 " I wish to be a lawyer ; all my studies have been directed 
 that way ; for I did not suppose that father would control my 
 choice." 
 
 "Father has obtained one of the best situations in New 
 York for you, Frank," answered Edith ; "and then you are to 
 live in Mr. Austin's family ; perhaps, if you try it, you may 
 like it better than you suppose. Just try it one year to please 
 father ; will you, dear Frank ?" 
 
 "Why, yes, you know, sister, that I have promised, and that 
 is sufficient. I will not break my word to father ; but I feel 
 that I shall never be able to endure it." 
 
 While Frank was at home, he visited New York more fre- 
 quently than Edith liked; and from his conversation, she 
 learned that it was always to see some new performance at the 
 theatre. She was grieved, but could not say much, as her 
 father encouraged his visits, and seemed almost as much 
 interested as Frank himself in the accounts which he gave of 
 these entertainments. 
 
 After the lapse of a few weeks, the time had arrived for 
 Frank to enter upon his new duties. Of a warm, impulsive
 
 188 EDITH'S MINISTEY. 
 
 nature, with a mind aspiring after fame, he could illy brook 
 the prospect of the dull, monotonous confinement of the mer- 
 chant's desk. 
 
 On the evening before his departure, Edith entered his 
 room, and seating herself by his side, she laid a small package 
 in his hand. "Take this, dear Frank," said the faithful sister ; 
 " 'tis our mother's Bible ; you will see how well it has been 
 used ; it was, indeed, ' a lamp to her feet, and a light to her 
 path.' Tis full of her own marks ; may it be the faithful 
 counsellor of your life, dear brother." 
 
 Frank's eyes drooped beneath his sister's warm appeal, for 
 he felt conscious that he had greatly neglected his religious 
 duties in the bustle and temptation of a college life. More- 
 over, he had formed acquaintances whom he expected to meet 
 in New York, and whom he knew that his sister would not 
 approve of. But taking the volume, he laid it carefully away 
 in his trunk, while his sister's silent prayer was dropped in 
 the golden censer, whose incense is ever ascending to the 
 mercy-seat. 
 
 It was a drizzly, cheerless morning when Frank took his 
 departure ; but great pains had been taken to make all bright 
 within. Everything had been arranged for his comfort; his 
 clothes had been neatly prepared under his sister's eye, and his 
 trunk as carefully packed. A nice warm breakfast of smoking 
 coffee, boiled eggs, and his favorite warm cakes were all waiting 
 for him when he entered the breakfast-room ; and there, at the 
 head of the table, sat dear Edith, smiling a sad welcome as she 
 greeted him with " Good-morning, dear brother ; though it is a 
 very early hour, you see we are all here to eat our last break- 
 fast together ;" and she looked around affectionately upon the 
 group, all present but little Emily. She endeavored to be 
 cheerful, for she saw that the tears would swell in Frank's 
 eyes, and the lip would quiver as he looked around upon the 
 dear home-circle. " You must write once a week, Frank," said 
 Edith, "for we shall all be very anxious to hear of your wel- 
 fare." When the prayer-bell rang, Edith detained him one 
 minute in the breakfast-room ere he arose from his chair,
 
 THE BAPTISM OF GRIEF. 189 
 
 and passing her fingers caressingly through the mass of dark 
 curls which lay around his forehead, which she tenderly kissed, 
 she said, "Frank, beware of bad .companions, and do not fre- 
 quent the theatre; it is too fascinating for you it will do 
 you harm." 
 
 Leading the way to the library, Frank silently followed, and 
 it was with feelings very near akin to veneration that he bowed 
 his knee, as he listened to Edith's supplications for her dear 
 brother, about to meet the world's temptations and responsi- 
 bilities. In a very few minutes the carriage s,ood at the door, 
 ready to convey the gentle youth away from his home. 
 Frank bade his sisters a tearful adieu, and throwing his arms 
 once more around Edith, she whispered, " Dear Frank, write 
 often," 
 
 In another minute Mr. Clifford and his son were rapidly 
 driving down the avenue, and Edith raised her heart in prayer 
 for her beloved brother, as she saw him embarking for " the 
 wide, wide world." "Never forsake him, Edith, let what may 
 happen ;" these solemn words seemed again to speak to her 
 from the deep solitude of her mother's grave, and she mentally 
 answered, " Never, dear mother, though all the world should 
 cast him off." 
 
 In about a week she received her first letter. He wrote but 
 little about his business, but appeared charmed with the family, 
 where he was soon domesticated. There were Mr. and Mrs. 
 Austin, one son, and two daughters. They were very gay and 
 fashionable people. Eveleen Austin was a remarkably inter- 
 esting and lovely girl ; the son a dashing gay fellow, entirely 
 devoted to the world and its follies. After he had been some 
 months in New York, his letters became less frequent, and 
 Edith's anxiety led her to write, begging an answer. In a day 
 or two she received the following : 
 
 DEAR SISTER : I am sorry to have distressed you, but I have 
 been so busy lately in the evening, that I have scarcely found 
 time to write. Mr. Austin's family are almost always occupied 
 in some pleasure, and I am generally invited to be of the party.
 
 190 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 The young ladies are in need of my services, and you know 
 that common politeness leads me to accept of their invitation. 
 
 I wish that you could see Eveleen Austin ; I think that you 
 would be charmed with her. She is almost as lovely as Sister 
 Blanche ; and what I know would recommend her to you is, 
 that she is kind to your unworthy brother. I do not think 
 she cares so much for worldly things as the rest. I never 
 neglect attendance upon the house of God once on the Sabbath ; 
 and although the family seldom go to church, Eveleen is 
 always ready to accompany me. She seems almost like a little 
 sister, hems my handkerchiefs, mends my gloves, puts strings 
 on my collars, and sees after all these little matters so modestly 
 and generously that I feel greatly indebted to her. 
 
 Sometimes I read to the family when they are at home. I 
 have formed some acquaintances among young men of the best 
 families. I suppose, dear Edith, that you would think them 
 too fashionable for Brother Frank, but you know that I am not 
 a professor of religion, and do not feel under the same restraints 
 as if I were. I think that I can stand firm against any of the 
 vices of young men, for when they tempt me I hear my 
 mother's prayers, and feel my sister's hand gently pointing me 
 another way. Do not be afraid, Edith. Thus far have I kept 
 free from vice, and although the young men of New York are 
 very dissipated, I am not afraid to associate with them. 
 
 I belong to a spouting club that calls me out once a week. 
 Our object is to improve ourselves in elocution and recitation. 
 Once a month the ladies join us, to witness our performance. 
 I am endeavoring to become accustomed to my business, but it 
 is very distasteful thus far. Give my love to all the dear faces 
 around the hearth at Ravenswood, and write frequently, even 
 though you do not hear as often as you write. It is late at 
 night, and I must bid you farewell. I am very tired and 
 sleepy, so no more at present. Your affectionate brother, 
 
 FRANK. 
 
 Edith read the letter carefully. Its contents troubled her. 
 In a very worldly family, daily in the society of a charming
 
 THE BAPTrSM OF GRIEF. 191 
 
 girl, having gay and fashionable associates, attending upon 
 demoralizing amusements, a member of a spouting club, and 
 worst of all, confident iu his own strength. She took her heavy 
 burden and laid it at the feet of Jesus, praying that he would 
 lead her cherished brother into paths of peace. As soon as 
 possible she returned an answer, full of kind sisterly advice, 
 and pointing out most faithfully the dangers by which he was 
 surrounded. She still heard constantly from Gerald. His 
 letters were always refreshing, for they were full of assurances 
 of unaltered affection, and contained pleasant intelligence of 
 the progress that he was making in his art. He looked forward 
 to reunion with those he loved in another year. 
 
 Having received letters containing the intelligence of Mrs. 
 Clifford's death, his notice of the sad bereavement was full of 
 tender sympathy. When Edith received his last letter she was 
 peculiarly depressed, and wrote under the influence of this 
 feeling : 
 
 " You cannot imagine, Gerald, what a comfort your letters 
 are to me ; for, bowed down as I have been, by my recent loss 
 and by the cares which daily oppress me, I often feel the need 
 of human sympathy. When I review, dear Gerald, the events 
 of the last few months, it seems as if years had elapsed, so much 
 of suffering has been condensed into that short period. How 
 different are my feelings now from what they were after that 
 summer evening, when you first declared your love for me! 
 
 "How sweet were my dreams that evening, 'and how blessed 
 was my awakening ;' but Gerald, I often feel as if it were a 
 dream, that may never be realized. Between us and that 
 sunny future stands a pale shadow, that wears my mother's 
 form, and points away from that enchanted ground to the 
 rugged paths of duty. 
 
 "For, Gerald, on her death-bed, I promised never to for- 
 sake her cherished ones, so long as they need my care. I 
 renewed that vow before God, beside my mother's pale remains. 
 I feel it to be just as solemn as the one which we took together, 
 at the altar of our God, when, in answer to the bishop's charge, 
 I said, ' I do.'
 
 192 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 " These realities, dear Gerald, have dissipated much of the 
 rosy mist in which the future has been enveloped. I desire to 
 commit my all to my Heavenly Father. He orders our goings 
 and chooses our lot; and though he disappoints our earthly 
 expectations, he sends peace with every trial. Let us commit 
 ourselves to him, confident that he will guide us aright. I look 
 forward to your return with great delight, for it seems a long 
 time since I have seen you. Frank is in business in New York. 
 He gives me much anxiety. Madge is almost the same way- 
 ward girl. Blanche grows more beautiful daily, but is still the 
 same weak and fickle character. Adele is a bright, joyous 
 creature; Lilly a precious lamb of the Saviour's fold, and little 
 Emily my bright sunbeam. Miss Arnold is with us still. 
 They all join in affectionate remembrance to you, and your 
 sister. 
 
 " Good-night, dear Gerald. Write soon to your own 
 
 " EDITH."
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 BANISHED. 
 
 the events of the year that followed the 
 death of Mrs. Clifford, there were not wanting 
 "many marks of heavenly adoption ; for to his own 
 children, God sendeth trials to prune their char- 
 acter, to purge away their dross ; like the refiner of 
 silver, he sitteth by the furnace, watching the pro- 
 cess, until he sees his own image reflected in his 
 child. Conscious of much weakness, aware of her 
 many deficiencies, Edith endeavored, as it were, daily to realize 
 the hand of Jesus leading her on in her pilgrim path. She had 
 many glimpses from the "Delectable Mountains" of "Im- 
 manuel's Land," but her cares were for others. 
 
 For some months after their bereavement, Mr. Clifford 
 seemed impressed by the counsels of his dying wife. Her 
 whispered words floated silently around him, in the night 
 watches of his lonely chamber, and under their influence he 
 frequently read the word of God, and bent the knee in prayer ; 
 but these exercises were distasteful, and were not prompted by 
 that "godly sorrow which worketh repentance," but by "the 
 sorrow of the world, which worketh death." Consequently, the 
 echoes from that dying chamber became more and more faint ; 
 as the poignancy of his grief subsided, these impressions van- 
 ished. Instead of being regular, as at first, in his attendance 
 upon the means of grace, he allowed trifles to detain him from 
 13 193
 
 EDITH 9 MINISTRY. 
 
 the house of God ; and frequently Edith and her sisters went 
 alone. The powerful influence of his example, joined to the 
 promptings of an unrenewed nature, placed many difficulties in 
 her path of duty. 
 
 One Sunday morning it was slightly cloudy. When the 
 hour for church arrived, Edith found her father seated in 
 the library, in his dressing-gown and slippers, reading a daily 
 paper. 
 
 " Father, are you not going with us to-day ?" asked Edith. 
 
 " No, daughter, it is too cloudy. I am tired. I was very 
 busy about the farm yesterday, and I feel the need of rest." 
 
 She turned away with a sigh, and thought of the blessed 
 rest which God had provided, and entering the drawing-room, 
 where she expected to meet her sisters, she found that Adele 
 was absent. Turning to Blanche, Edith asked, " Where is 
 your sister ? Is she not ready ?" 
 
 " She is not well to-day, and wishes to stay at home," an- 
 swered Blanche. 
 
 "She did not complain this morning," answered Edith. 
 Going to her room, she knocked at her door. 
 
 " Who is there ?" said Adele. 
 
 " 'Tis I, your sister!" answered Edith. "Adele, let me 
 in." 
 
 After some delay, she opened the door, and hastily con- 
 cealed a book which she was reading. Edith looked earnestly 
 at the young girl, and knowing her truthfulness, said, " Are 
 you really indisposed, Adele, or do you stay away from church 
 to read a favorite volume ?" 
 
 ' I cannot tell an untruth, sister, but I really did not wish to 
 go to-day, and obtained permission from father to remain at 
 home." 
 
 " What would our dear mother say, Adele, to know that you 
 are neglecting the house of God, for the sake of reading a 
 story ?" 
 
 " I don't see, Edith, that it makes much difference ; if my 
 heart is not in the worship of God, what is the use of taking 
 my body there?"
 
 BANISHED. 195 
 
 " You are within reach of the means 01 grace, and are much 
 nore likely to receive the gospel than by staying away from 
 the sanctuary. Indeed, you grieve me very much by this con- 
 duct, Adele." 
 
 " I think, Sister Edith, that you attempt to exercise too 
 much authority over us now. I am past fifteen, and ought not 
 to be regulated as if I were a child." 
 
 " I am not exercising authority ; if I were, I should insist 
 upon your obedience to these family rules, but I am only 
 advising you in an affectionate manner." 
 
 Adele, conscious that she was doing wrong, betrayed impa- 
 tience, and said, " Well, Edith, I am not going to-day, so say 
 no more about it." 
 
 " Good-bye, dear Adele, I am sorry to leave you at home." 
 
 She stepped into the carriage with a heavy heart, and felt 
 the truth of that saying, which declares that " a man's foes 
 shall be they of his own household." 
 
 She did not speak severely about these departures from duty, 
 but the eloquence of a holy life preached silent volumes in -the 
 presence of her household. Sometimes tempted to impatience, 
 sometimes to pride, her heart was sorely bowed down in view 
 of her feeble Christian graces. 
 
 But this was the day for the holy communion, and bringing 
 all her cares to the feet of her soul's Redeemer, she realized the 
 blessedness of this sacred season, and felt that the feast was 
 indeed an unspeakable privilege, while the Saviour's banner 
 over her was love. 
 
 More shadows darkened the pathway of our young pilgrim, 
 and called for the daily, hourly exercise of faith. Letters from 
 Frank troubled her, their tone was so dejected, and his disgust 
 with his business daily increasing. In his visits home, he was 
 no longer the joyous, merry brother, spreading sunshine all 
 around him ; but, in his efforts to appear cheerful, Edith saw 
 that underneath the sparkling surface was hidden some secret 
 grief. This state of things continued on the increase during 
 the year that followed his residence in New York. She sought, 
 frequently, for a private interview, but felt that there was a
 
 196 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 barrier of ice between ber and her beloved brother. Instead of 
 the sweet affectionate intercourse which had always subsisted 
 between them, there was evidently something to be concealed. 
 
 He seemed generally silent and abstracted. At night, the 
 lamp was burning in his room until very late, and Edith's 
 heart sank within her at the sound of the measured footsteps 
 pacing the floor, long after the midnight hour. The good 
 sister redoubled her kind attentions, but although Frank 
 seemed often subdued by her tenderness, there was no nearer 
 approach to confidence, and sometimes the pride of her heart 
 rose up against him, accusing him of ingratitude. Added to 
 these trials, her power over Blanche and Adele was on the 
 decrease. As they advanced towards womanhood, the exceed- 
 ing beauty of Blanche and the fascinations of Adele were 
 strong temptations to worldliness ; and the father, proud of 
 his children, was anxious that they should both shine in the 
 circles of fashion. His views of education were, therefore, all 
 in conformity with these plans. 
 
 At the close of the first year of mourning, Mr. Clifford 
 called Edith aside, and said, " I do not altogether approve of 
 your plans of education for your sisters. You must remember, 
 Edith, that they are Ravenswoods as well as Cliffords, and are 
 entitled to the very best society; it is, therefore, my intention 
 to educate them for that elevated position. The exceeding 
 loveliness of Blanche, and the sparkling vivacity and grace 
 of Adele, must not be hidden in the shade ; they must be 
 highly accomplished. I have, therefore, engaged a dancing- 
 master, to give them private lessons. He will come up twice 
 a week. When they have completed their education, it is my 
 intention that they shall spend their first winter in New 
 York." 
 
 Edith's heart sank as she listened to these words, and she 
 mildly replied, "Dear father, is this such an education as 
 mother would have approved ? You know what she most 
 desired was that they should be sincere Christians." 
 
 " You are aware, Edith, that I never wholly approved of 
 dear mother's views on these subjects; but while she lived, I
 
 BANISHED. 197 
 
 did not interfere with her. Now I think that I ought to carry 
 out niy own views." 
 
 " I know my duty, as a daughter, dear father, too well to 
 oppose your authority, but I am grieved to see them brought 
 up only for this fleeting world." 
 
 The young girls were delighted with the prospect of a 
 dancing-master, for both were very fond of the amusement. 
 Edith walked serenely on, in her consistent path of piety; 
 careful about all her Christian duties, setting a holy example 
 to all about her, and letting her light shine, not so much by 
 obtrusive words as by her daily life. 
 
 The mercy-seat was to her a blessed refuge, for there she 
 could bring all her l6ved ones, there she lit her daily lamp, 
 there she obtained all her supplies of divine grace ; and while 
 she maintained intercourse with heaven, she diffused its 
 peaceful light around her footsteps. Wider and wider be- 
 came the distance between Edith and her father ; for as her 
 " light shone brighter and brighter until the perfect day," his 
 feet stumbled more and more over the dark mountains of 
 unbelief. 
 
 She was well aware that her mother's loss had left a dreary 
 void in her father's heart, which would be filled with some- 
 thing. What should it be ? was the question often asked herself. 
 
 When she found him visiting New York during the winter 
 more frequently, especially when any great star was perform- 
 ing, and often inviting very gay companions to his house, she 
 feared that the world would gain entire possession of his 
 heart. Late in the winter he went down to the city to witness 
 some theatrical performance. The next day at the breakfast- 
 table, he said, " Edith, I saw a very fine play last night. I 
 wish that you would be a little more like other girls. You 
 are entirely too fastidious about these amusements. What 
 objection can you have to a good play with a fine moral ? 
 Will you not accompany me on Thursday evening? I think, 
 with so many daughters, I might sometimes have a companion 
 in public." 
 
 "Dear father, will you not excuse me?" replied Edith.
 
 198 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 "With my feeling, I could not conscientiously co cntenance the 
 theatre ; it is one of the vanities of the world, which I re- 
 nounced at the season of confirmation." 
 
 " Why, Edith, I saw Mr. White, and Mr. and Mrs. Linnard 
 there, and they are all members of church." 
 
 "And what did you really think of them, father? Did you 
 respect them, when you met them there ?" 
 
 " Well, to be candid, Edith, I did not feel much respect for 
 them." 
 
 "Then, dear father, you will never ask me again, will you ?" 
 said Edith, as rising, she laid her head affectionately on his 
 shoulder, pressed her lips to his cheek, and said, "Anything 
 that does not violate my obligations to God, I am willing to 
 do; any personal sacrifice I am willing to make." 
 
 "You are a dear, good child, Edith, and shall never be 
 compelled to do anything against your convictions of duty ; 
 but remember, that I think you are sometimes mistaken. You 
 must not, therefore, interfere with your sisters, when I wish 
 them to accompany me. What say you, girls ? will you go 
 with me?" 
 
 "Gladly, dear father," answered the twins. "I cannot see 
 any great harm," replied Adele, " for we are not members of 
 church, and are not trammelled by its rigid rules." 
 
 "They are not rigid, dear Adele," replied Edith. "I would 
 not, if I might, frequent these places, for the service of God 
 has higher joys than these to offer." 
 
 All inwardly respected the principles which guided hei 
 conduct. It had its influence, though yet unseen. In all 
 things where her duty to God was not infringed upon, she 
 was the respectful, self-denying daughter, the kind and faithful 
 sister. The seeds of love, so patiently sown by her gentle 
 hand, were germinating deep down in the soul of human 
 hearts ; and though now it might be said of her, she goeth 
 forth and weepeth, bearing precious seed, "yet she doubtless 
 shall come again with rejoicing, bringing her sheaves with 
 her," when the reaping-time shall come, and she shall humbly 
 lay them down at Jesus' feet.
 
 BANISHED. 199 
 
 Kalph visited them occasionally, and was always openly 
 welcomed by Edith, ami secretly by Madge ; for although she 
 professed great independence, she could not wholly shake off 
 the power of thai influence which she endeavored to resist. 
 
 In one of his visits he appeared depressed, and sought an 
 opportunity of conversing alone with Edith. Entering the 
 library, he found her seated there, engaged in her daily read- 
 ings. Drawing his chair near, lie said, kindly, but sadly, 
 
 " Miss Clifford, I do not wish to distress you, but I fear that 
 Frank is sadly astray; he has formed some acquaintances that 
 are of no advantage to him. I know that he belongs to a 
 spouting club, aud am aware that he attends upon the theatre 
 very frequently. I went one evening to the club. Several 
 ladies were present. When I entered, I found Frank in close 
 attendance upon a very lovely young lady, whom I afterwards 
 learned was Miss Austin. From what I saw, I should judge 
 that they are deeply interested in each other. 
 
 " The room was fitted up for private theatricals, and several 
 young gentlemen joined in the performance; but none with so 
 much success as Frank. They were all in stage costume. 
 Frank took a difficult part. He performed admirably. He 
 has uncommon talent. 
 
 " The company applauded enthusiastically, and I saw that 
 the young man was greatly exhilarated. I fear, my friend, 
 that he is in a dangerous position, and thought it best to ac- 
 quaint his sister, whose influence over him is so powerful." 
 
 Edith listened with a downcast countenance, and raising her 
 tearful eyes, she thanked Ralph, saying that she had " long 
 feared that something was wrong, and it was better to know 
 the truth." 
 
 " Did you say anything to him, Mr. Cameron ?" asked 
 Edith. 
 
 " I did, but he repelled me impatiently, and said, ' that he 
 was old enough to judge for himself.' He is very enthusiastic, 
 and what he undertakes he will persevere in. He has no taste 
 for business, and I am nearly certain will never pursue the 
 vocation of a merchant."
 
 200 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 " I always feared the consequence of father's course," replied 
 Edith ; " for, knowing his great desire for a professional life, I 
 have trembled, lest dissatisfaction with his situation should lead 
 him to some desperate step." 
 
 " You will be cautious, dear Miss Clifford, how you approach 
 him, for being well assured that his course will grieve his family, 
 and not being wholly satisfied himself, he will naturally be 
 restive under restraint; nothing but kindness can ever influence 
 him." 
 
 " I am under very solemn vows, Mr. Cameron, never to for- 
 sake him, and, by God's help, I never will. It is not hard to 
 be kind to Frank, he has such a warm and generous nature." 
 
 " Cast down, but not destroyed," Edith committed this great 
 care also to him who cared for her more than a brother, and 
 knowing the precious value of divine sympathy, she " went 
 and told Jesus." The words of one of her favorite hymns came 
 to her memory with comforting assurance : 
 
 " Did ever trouble yet befall, 
 And he refuse to hear thy call? 
 And has he not his promise passed, 
 That thou slialt overcome at last?" 
 
 In one of her evening walks on the banks of the river, she 
 thought that she perceived a familiar form far up the shore. 
 It looked like Frank, but she was not sure. He was pacing up 
 and down the bank, as if in a very agitated state. When she 
 drew near, her doubts gave way to certainty, it was Frank. 
 Hurrying on, she found him seated on a rock, where they had 
 often sat together, with his face covered in his hands. Quietly 
 placing herself by his side, she drew his head down upon her 
 shoulder, and parting the masses of dark, disordered hair from 
 his forehead, she imprinted thereon a sister's warm kiss, saying, 
 " Dear Frank, how can you hide your troubles from me ? Who 
 so ready to sympathize with you as your sister ?" 
 
 He turned his face around suddenly and said, " Sister, you 
 ought not to wish to know my troubles ; I fear that they will 
 break your heart. Let me bear them alone, Edith ; they are
 
 BANISHED. 201 
 
 of ray own making." She was shocked at his bloodshot eyes 
 and wild haggard expression of countenance. 
 
 " Where did you come from, Frank ?" inquired his sister. 
 
 " I came from New York in the afternoon boat, and thought 
 that perhaps a walk upon the calm river-shore would compose 
 my troubled thoughts." 
 
 " Will you not confide in me, Frank? It would relieve you, 
 and be infinitely better for your sister than suspense." 
 
 " O, sister, you know not what you ask." 
 
 "I think I know some of your troubles, Frank." 
 
 " I cannot endure my business any longer ; such a dull, 
 grovelling, plodding life will kill me." Kising suddenly from 
 his seat, he extended his arms frantically, while his flushed 
 cheek and glowing eye betrayed the violence of his emotions, 
 and said, "Sister, I seek for fame. I have talents, and I am 
 sure of success. I have chosen the stage for my profession. I 
 know what you would say, but I need not associate with the 
 lower orders of the calling ; but, as a star, I would endeavor to 
 dignify the profession." He threw himself on Edith's shoulder, 
 and wept hot tears of long-suppressed agony. 
 
 Finding that his sister was about to speak, he said, " Edith, 
 you need not persuade me, my mind is made up. I will never 
 be a muck-rake, grovelling after money. It is too late for any 
 other profession now ; besides, the stage is my first choice." 
 
 " O, brother ! brother ! what would our mother say ? Her 
 only son. her darling boy, the object of all her solicitude and 
 her fervent prayers, devoting his life to the calling of an 
 actor." 
 
 " I need not be vicious, Edith ; I can select my companions 
 even there. I am encouraged by my friends, and my choice is 
 made." 
 
 " Who are your friends, Frank ?" 
 
 " I have many in New York ; but, Edith, I have one who 
 will cling to me, though all others should forsake me. Eveleen, 
 my own Eveleen, cheers me on." 
 
 "Oh, Frank, beware! You surely have not tangled the fate 
 of that sweet young girl with yours ?"
 
 202 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 " Sister, how could I help it ? She is so lovely, so unselfish 
 her heart is so pure ; and, though surrounded by every earthly 
 luxury, Eveleen Austin loves your poor brother with a woman's 
 .self-forgetting affection." 
 
 " Frank, I fear that you have been dishonorable." 
 
 " I have not, sister. I have been allowed by her parents to 
 accompany her everywhere. They have seen our attachment, 
 and, although nothing definite has passed, I am sure that they 
 know and approve our love." 
 
 " But, Frank, do you think that they would commend this 
 step?" His eyes fell at this question, for the same thought had 
 given him much uneasiness. " Are you committed at all iu 
 this new step of your life ?" 
 
 " Yes, dear sister, I have entered into an engagement with 
 a New York manager, and am to make my first appearance on 
 the tenth of next month." 
 
 " Does our father know it, Frank ?" 
 
 " No, sister," replied the young man, " but I wish you to tell 
 him this evening." 
 
 " Oh, Frank, how can you crush all his hopes? I fear that 
 you will break his heart." 
 
 " Why, sister, he has encouraged my fondness for the stage, 
 and I have so often heard him express his admiration of certain 
 performers, not only as such, but as worthy men, that I could 
 not suppose that he would greatly object to his son's following 
 that profession." 
 
 Edith looked at her romantic brother with pitying love, for, 
 young as she was, she knew that he was chasing an ignis 
 fatuus, and laying up stores of misery in the days that were yet 
 to come. 
 
 All her arguments were in vain. Remembering her promise 
 to her mother, she said, " Under all circumstances, Frank, 
 remember, that in your sister you have an unfailing friend. 
 I cannot believe that this infatuation will long continue. I 
 cannot think that our mother's prayers will remain unan- 
 swered." 
 
 After some further confidential conversation, they joined the
 
 BANISHED. 203 
 
 family circle, but both with feelings of deep depression. Edith, 
 with a trembling heart, sought an interview with her father; 
 and having reached the library, she said, " Dear father, I have 
 sad news to communicate." 
 
 "What is it, my child? Do not keep me long in suspense; 
 does it concern Frank ?" 
 
 "It does, father. He is so entirely disgusted with his busi- 
 ness that he has directed me to tell you that he can endure the 
 drudgery no longer. He has resigned his situation with 
 Mr. Austin." 
 
 Turning towards Edith, with an angry countenance, he re- 
 plied, " And what does he propose in place of such an oppor- 
 tunity for advancement?" 
 
 " He is going on the stage." 
 
 Starting to his feet, he exclaimed in a tone of extreme 
 anger, "What do you say? On the stage! A Clifford and a 
 Ravenswood a common actor ! It cannot be thought of." 
 
 "He seems very determined, father. He has some very 
 injudicious friends, who urge him on, applauding his talents, 
 and predicting great success." 
 
 "He is under age, Edith, and I will forbid his appear- 
 ance, under penalty of the legal prosecution of any of the 
 managers." 
 
 " Do not be harsh, dear father ; it will do no good, it will 
 drive him headlong to ruin." 
 
 " I will give him all my views, Edith, and if he perseveres, 
 he is no child of mine." 
 
 Walking up and down the floor in an agony of mind, while 
 he clenched his hands over his head, he exclaimed, " Fool 
 that I was ! could I not have seen that Frank was not a boy 
 to be encouraged in his love of the theatre ! Go send him to 
 me, Edith." 
 
 She advanced once more. " Father, for my sake, for dear 
 mother's sake, do not be harsh !" and leaving the room, she 
 sent her brother to the library, saying, " Be respectful, Frank ; 
 you will have a dreadful scene. Do not forget that it is 
 our father."
 
 204 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 When the young man entered, Mr. Clifford pointed silently 
 to a seat on the other side of the table at which he was sit- 
 ting. Not trusting himself to speak, for some minutes he sat 
 perfectly quiet, tapping his foot quickly on the floor; at last, 
 with suppressed emotion, he said, "Well sir, you are reward- 
 ing your father in a remarkable manner for all his care 
 of you ; an honorable profession you have chosen! A Clif- 
 ford ! a Ravenswood ! and an orly son, herding with com- 
 mon actors." 
 
 Rising suddenly to his feet, hia anger could no longer be 
 kept in check ; the veins swelled in his temples, his eyes 
 flashed fire, and crossing the room rapidly towards the young 
 man, with clenched fists, he said, " Do you know that such 
 a thing was never heard of? You will be the first to dis- 
 grace your family ; but mark my words, it shall not be. If 
 you are such a fool as not to be able to take care of your 
 own interests, I will do it for you. You are under age, and 
 I will notify every stage manager in New York to beware of 
 the course which they pursue ; they dare not proceed any further." 
 
 Frank sat in silence under this burst of passion, but nerv- 
 ing himself to meet the storm, he replied, " Father, I have 
 always expressed my aversion to mercantile pursuits. I have 
 repeatedly urged my desire for a profession. The law was my 
 choice; that you have denied me. I have discovered that I 
 have talents for the stage, and believe that, if I choose, I can 
 impart dignity even to that profession. I need not associate 
 with the common herd. There have been many in England 
 who have been highly respected, and why should it not be so 
 in my case ?" 
 
 With an averted face, Mr. Clifford listened to his son, then 
 turning round, he said, with a sneer, " You'll soon find out 
 your position as a common actor : you will be shunned by your 
 former associates, and will sink to the level of the members of 
 your profession. But it shall not be. While I have any 
 control over you, it shall be exercised ; and mark my words, 
 Frank Clifford, if you persevere, you are no son of mine, but 
 an exile from your father's house."
 
 BANISHED. 205 
 
 " Is this your determination, father ? Now, hear mine ; I 
 am resolved to try my fortune. I am seeking for fame, and I 
 will have it. I do not wish to pain you, but I must be re- 
 leased from my present thraldom." 
 
 " Go, then, you have chosen your lot ; not one cent shall you 
 have from me. O ! the bitterness of the ingratitude of a 
 thankless child." 
 
 " Father, can you cast me off without one word of kindness ? 
 "Will you not, for my mother's sake, say farewell ?" 
 
 The workings of his countenance betrayed the feelings which 
 that name awakened, and, turning round, with a blanched 
 cheek, he extended his hand, and said, " Farewell, Frank, you 
 have crushed every hope. This is but the beginning of the 
 misery which you have caused me. While you continue 
 rebellious, you must be an exile ; but for your mother's sake, 
 farewell." 
 
 For a moment Frank grasped the extended hand, then 
 gazed around the old library with an expression of despair, 
 pressed his hands wildly upon his bursting temples, and, with 
 an unsteady step, tottered from the room. Seeking the solitude 
 of his own room, he paced the floor, in deep distress. Edith, 
 who had heard the library door close, and the heavy step which 
 travelled back and forth in her brother's room, quickly followed 
 him. Knocking at the door, a hollow voice from within said, 
 " Who is there ?" 
 
 " 'Tis your sister Edith ; open the door, dear Frank." 
 
 It was soon unclosed, and the first glance at her brother's 
 countenance disclosed the result of that interview. She 
 opened her arms to receive her brother, who, bowing his head 
 upon her shoulder, was completely unmanned, as he said, 
 " Nothing is left to me but Eveleen and you, my sister, my 
 faithful Edith. I am an exile from my father's house. I take 
 my departure at once. I cannot sleep under this roof another 
 night ; it would suffocate me ; but, ere I go, I must see Miss 
 Arnold and my sisters." 
 
 In a few minutes Edith acquainted them with the sad in- 
 telligence. They all entered his room in silent consterna-
 
 206 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 tion. All the latent tenderness in the heart of Madge Clif- 
 ford was awakened. "Oh, Brother Frank, you will not leave 
 us; you cannot break our hearts. Think, think of our dear 
 mother! what would she say?" Blanche threw herself, Avith a 
 burst of tender weeping, into his arms ; and Adele, the 
 merry, sportive companion of all his mischievous gambols, in 
 a transport of grief, exclaimed, " Oh, Frank ! how can you 
 live without your sisters? How can you dare our father's 
 displeasure?" 
 
 "Do not kill me, dear girls. I need all the fortitude which 
 I can summon, to sustain me, for my mind is made up. Fare- 
 well, farewell !" and he kissed each dear sister again and 
 again. 
 
 "Shall we never see you, dear Frank? Will you never 
 come here any more?" sobbed Blanche. 
 
 " I am banished from my father's house, and cannot cross 
 the threshold ever again. 
 
 A burst of passionate weeping followed the last adieu. 
 Turning to Miss Arnold, he said, " Farewell, my friend, my 
 mother's friend ; you will not forget the Frank of younger 
 days." 
 
 " I shall not forget you, Frank. I shall look for your re- 
 turn ; it will not be long. A prayer-hearing God will remem- 
 ber the supplications of your sainted mother." 
 
 "Now, Edith, take me to Lilly and Emily; let me look at 
 them once more;" and crossing the entry, they entered the 
 room of the slumbering children. Stooping over, he kissed 
 each sleeping child, and, with a trembling step, said, "Now to 
 mother's room." 
 
 They walked on in silence, entered, and locked the door. 
 Frank stood a moment, in the centre of the room, surveying 
 each familiar object, especially the sweet miniature which hung 
 by the side of her dressing-table ; then walking reverently up 
 to the little table where her devotional books were kept, he 
 found several there still; her work-box, and the little vase 
 which contained her flowers, stood in their accustomed place. 
 Edith stood by his side, and whispered, " This is the very spot
 
 BANISHED. 207 
 
 where she used always to pray ; let us bow down, once moie, 
 together." 
 
 Kneeling before the little table, she threw her arm around 
 her brother, and in earnest, fervent supplication, prayed for the 
 prodigal son, about to leave his father's house. The young 
 man bowed down, in speechless emotion, and Edith felt, as she 
 arose from that posture, that though clouds and darkness were 
 round about her path, the sun was still shining behind these 
 vapors, and would yet appear, through the rending heavens, to 
 light her path once more. 
 
 Frank next descended to the kitchen, and said, " Good-bye, 
 dear nurse ; I shall not see you any more, but I must thunk 
 you for your kiuduess to your little boy." 
 
 " What do you mean, Master Frank ? Where are you 
 going?" 
 
 " Going forever, nurse. Sister Edith will tell you why." 
 
 The faithful old creature, burying her face in her clean white 
 apron, burst into a flood of tears, as she said, " Wherever you 
 go, do not forget your mother's God. Oh, may his blessing rest 
 upon you, and bring you back again to your father's house." 
 
 " Where is Uncle Peter?" asked Frank. 
 
 " He is out in the stable," answered the old woman. 
 
 Walking out alone, Frank called to the old man, " I have 
 been looking for you, Uncle Peter, to bid you good-bye. I ara 
 banished from my father's house, forever, and I must say fare- 
 well to my faithful old friend." 
 
 "Oh, Massa Frank! what do you mean? what have you 
 done? You will break you sister's heart if you have gone 
 astray." 
 
 " I will try to do right, Uncle Peter, though I cannot com- 
 ply with all my father's wishes. I am going out into the 'wide, 
 wide world,' all alone, and I knoAV that you will pray for your 
 boy. I am going to be something great, Uncle Peter, but I 
 cannot tell you all now. Be kind to my father ; take good 
 care of my dear sisters ; don't forget Lady Jane., Carlos I 
 shall take with me ; it is all that I have left of dear old 
 Raveiiswood."
 
 208 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 " 0, Massa Frank, it is better to be good than to be great. 
 Don't follow anything that you can't ask the good Heavenly 
 Father to bless." 
 
 "Now, Uncle Peter, saddle one of your best horses, and 
 bring him round to the front ; I must be off to-night." 
 
 The old servant seized his hand, and kissing it affectionately, 
 showered a flood of tears upon it, and Frank returned once 
 more to the house. 
 
 " One more request, dear Edith : is there no likeness of my 
 mother that can be spared ?" 
 
 "O yes, dear brother, you can have mine; it has also some 
 of her hair ; I can easily get another from some that are in the 
 house ;" and going to her room, she brought a perfect likeness 
 of their beloved parent and placed it in his hand. He received 
 it with reverence, and Edith's hopes were stronger than her 
 fears, when she witnessed the deep emotion with which he 
 gazed upon his mother's picture. In a short time his trunks 
 were packed, ready to send next day. The horse being at the 
 door, he embraced silently each dear member of the family who 
 stood in the hall, and mounting his horse, slowly pursued his 
 way down the dark avenue. It was a cold and cheerless night. 
 The wind whistled shrilly around the elms of Kavenswood; 
 the winter moon struggled through masses of dark clouds ; and 
 the scene without was in gloomy harmony with the heart of 
 Frank Clifford. 
 
 Reining his horse for a few minutes, he sat in the saddle 
 bidding a sad farewell to the home of his ancestors. He 
 thought of the days of childhood, when he sported so merrily 
 among the green trees of his early home. He glanced towards 
 the Hudson, and the few scattered moonbeams that played 
 fitfully upon its cold surface, brought back in mournful eehoes 
 the joyful tones of voices which he might never hear again, and 
 which had so merrily carolled their sweet melodies in their 
 boat excursions on the beautiful river. Pie thought of the 
 home-circle within those honored walls. He recalled the look, 
 the voice, the teachings of his mother. Her dying words 
 seemed repeated once more, in tones of deeper sadness. The
 
 BANISHED. 209 
 
 beloved school-room, and the kind and gifted governess of his 
 early days ; the sweet sisters, whom he had so loved to tease ; 
 Kdith, whom he almost venerated ; dear little blind Lilly, who 
 to tenderly loved " Brother Frank ;" little prattling Emily ; 
 the good old servants, his horse, his dog, all the haunts of his 
 early days, came over his spirit with overwhelming tenderness. 
 These were now as dreams of the past. While he gazed, the 
 cold moon hid herself behind the dark clouds, enveloping the 
 landscape in a thick veil of darkness. A deeper gloom over- 
 spread his heart, and giving a slight touch of the whip to his 
 horse, in a very few minutes he had left the charmed circle of 
 his home forever. 
 
 Now, thoughts of the future stirred up the very depths of 
 his heart, but although he saw before him many high hills to 
 climb, and troubled streams to buffet, still the sanguine hopes 
 of youth prevailed ; and in the distance he saw the temple of 
 fame, towards which he was rushing impetuously, with hot 
 speed, regardless of the difficulties of the way. 
 
 A cloud had fallen upon the family hearth at Ravenswood ; 
 for Frank's warm, impulsive heart had endeared him tenderly 
 to every member of the household ; and then he was an only 
 brother, and none could fill the vacancy which he had left. 
 
 From a lonely chamber, a stricken, disappointed heart had 
 watched the departure of his son from the parental roof. He 
 had seen him mount his horse which conveyed him from his 
 home, and when he reined his steed to take a last farewell, the 
 yearning of the father's heart almost impelled him to raise the 
 window, and to utter the call of his heart, " Frank, my son, my 
 only son, come back !" but pride gained the mastery, and turn- 
 ing resolutely from the window, all night long he paced the 
 gloomy chamber, bewailing his son's rebellion. On the next 
 day, he was unable to leave his room ; and when he did, the 
 name of Frank Clifford was a forbidden sound in the halls of 
 Ravenswood. 
 
 14
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 DISAPPOINTED HOPES. 
 
 HE likeness of Frank was still in Edith's room, 
 smiling and joyous, as in days of yore, but his 
 flute, with which he used so often to accompany 
 his sisters, was silent ; his place vacant at the 
 family table ; and when his trunks were seen leaving 
 the house, next day, a fresh burst of weeping fol- 
 lowed the last mementoes of a beloved brother. 
 
 " Though rough and thorny be the road, 
 It leads thee home apace to God ; 
 Then count thy present trjnls small, 
 For heaven will make amends for all," 
 
 So thought Edith, as she stood, next morning, looking at 
 the wagon which removed her brother's property from his 
 home. " I have prayed to be made holy," thought she ; " all 
 the trials which befall me are under the direction of a Heavenly 
 Father. This is the way in which I am to be taught patience. 
 'Tribulation worketh patience; and patience experience; and 
 experience, hope ; and hope maketh not ashamed.' ' Even so, 
 Father, for so it seemed good in thy sight.' 
 
 '"Trials must and will befall; 
 
 But, with humble faith, to see 
 Love inscribed upon them all, 
 This is happiness to me.' " 
 
 Repeating these words, in a low tone, she felt a comfort of 
 210
 
 DISAPPOINTED HOPES. 211 
 
 the sweet promise of the gospel, and committing her dear father 
 and brother wholly to God, she could pursue her path of duty 
 with serene and cheerful trust in the unseen hand. 
 
 She argued thus. " All the members of this dear household 
 have been the subject of earnest, believing prayer, from the 
 first day of their birth. God is true. He hath promised to 
 answer faithful prayer. ' What things soever ye desire, when 
 ye pray, believe that ye receive them, and ye shall have them.' 
 How certain are the Divine promises ! God does not only say, 
 we shall have in the future, but we have them now," thought 
 Edith. " Are not these prayers in accordance with the will of 
 God ? Then these promises are mine. God may withhold the 
 manifestation of their fulfilment, to try my faith; but still I 
 1 ave the blessed assurance, I believe it, Frank will be a Chris- 
 tian yet." With a smile upon her face, she descended to the 
 family circle, and endeavored to cheer the sad spirits around 
 the domestic hearth. 
 
 As soon as her father was able, she saw him depart for New 
 York, with a very stern expression of countenance. "I may 
 not be at home for several days, Edith," said he, " but I will 
 not write to you ; do not be uneasy." With these words he 
 sadly took leave of his family. 
 
 When Frank reached the metropolis, he went immediately 
 to Mr. Austin, and acquainted him with his decision. He was 
 thunderstruck at the surprise which was manifested. 
 
 " Are you aware, my young friend, of all the difficulties in 
 your way ?" asked Mr. Austin. 
 
 " I suppose, sir, that every profession has its trials at the 
 outset, but I feel strong enough to overcome them all." 
 
 "There is another serious matter, Frank," answered Mr. 
 Austin. " I suppose that you are fully aware that you will lose 
 caste in good society if you become a tragedian." 
 
 " I cannot see why, my dear sir. If I lead a moral, upright 
 life, performing all the duties of a good citizen, I think I am as 
 well entitled to confidence and respect as if I were a mer- 
 chant." 
 
 " You will not find it so ; there is an odium attached to the
 
 212 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 name of an actor, for, generally speaking, they are a low, 
 worthless class, wholly unsuitable, as associates, for Frank Clif- 
 ford." 
 
 " If I prove a successful aspirant, and maintain a high char- 
 acter for purity and virtue, may I not elevate the class?" 
 answered the sanguine youth. 
 
 " These are very pretty pictures, Frank, but not one will be 
 realized. If you are successful, you will have what you are 
 seeking, fame; but the very persons that applaud you in 
 public will close their drawing-rooms against Frank Clifford, the 
 actor. Mark my words: even I, much as I esteem you, could not 
 think of seeing you, upon the same terms, in my family. You 
 will be welcome at my counting-room, but, as an associate for my 
 daughters, I never could brave public opinion enough for that, 
 nor could I expose them to the risk of intimacy with a young 
 and flattered tragedien." 
 
 During this conversation Frank's countenance fell, for he 
 had fully calculated upon Mr. Austin's sympathy. He knew 
 of his intimacy with Forrest, but when he recalled the terms 
 upon which they associated, he remembered that he never 
 mingled with the female members of the family, and was only 
 invited to the house to the gentlemen's parties. 
 
 His heart sank within him at the prospect of separation 
 from Eveleen, but even that hope he could resign for the pre- 
 sent, looking to the bright future which he pictured, when, as 
 the successful tragedian, he might offer her a home worthy of 
 her acceptance. 
 
 "When he met the young girl, in the evening, she soon per- 
 ceived that a deep shadow clouded his usually sunny brow, 
 and seating herself at the piano, she sought to draw him 
 out of his moody silence by the sweet strains of her lovely 
 voice. 
 
 She chose some of her most touching melodies, which they 
 had often enjoyed together. It had been his custom to stand 
 by her side, turning over the leaves of her music, but now, 
 she found that he sat in a distant corner of the room, and 
 when she turned to look at him, she perceived that he was sit-
 
 DISAPPOINTED HOPES. 213 
 
 ting with his face covered in his hands Rising from the piano, 
 she advanced, with a subdued and gentle step, towards the 
 young man, and said, " What ails you, Mr. Clifford ? You 
 are in trouble." 
 
 "Come with me, Miss Austin, to the conservatory;" and 
 he led the way to a small room, at the end of the range of 
 parlors. Seating himself by Eveleen, he said, " I have much 
 to tell you ; this is probably our last interview, and you must 
 know all. I have acquainted my father with my decision : 
 he has disowned me ; I am banished from the paternal roof. 
 Edith, my sister, is faithful and devoted ; she will never for- 
 sake me. I have also told your father ; he discourages me 
 entirely, and says, that 'although I may visit him at his count- 
 ing-room, an actor cannot be a proper associate for his daugh- 
 ters. I had not calculated upon this. Now, I have nothing 
 left ; no friend but Edith and my sisters. Eveleen, our sweet 
 dream is over ; we must part." 
 
 While Frank was speaking, lower and lower drooped the 
 young girl's head, until, bowed upon the arm of the sofa, she 
 wept convulsively and long. 
 
 " Do you think, Frank, that I, your own Eveleen, will for- 
 sake you in the day of your adversity ?" Raising her head, 
 and proudly throwing back the luxuriant ringlets which shaded 
 her lovely face, an expression of joy almost beamed in her 
 expressive eyes, as she continued, "I am proud of you, Frank. 
 I shall see the day when your name will stand enrolled in the 
 annals of fame, and do you think that, for a mere prejudice, I 
 shall forsake you ? No, no ; you do not know your Eveleen f 
 if you can imagine for one moment that aught but death can 
 part thee and me ; that is, Frank, so long as you maintain a 
 character for purity, integrity, and moral worth. Cast off by 
 all but thee, and only thee, to bear the burden of life, I ask 
 no higher destiny." 
 
 " Oh, Eveleen ! you wring my heart ; such devotion, such 
 noble forgetfulness of self, is not for me. I cannot, I dare not 
 accept the precious sacrifice ; I should despise myself if I 
 did."
 
 214 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 " What do you mean, Frank ?" asked the young girl. 
 
 " I mean. Eveleen, that I must not seek your dear society. 
 If I cannot openly visit you at your father's house, it must 
 not be clandestinely ; we must wait for brighter days." 
 
 "And do you really mean to leave me all alone? And are 
 you going to meet the world, and endure all the trials of your 
 lot, without an earthly comforter?" 
 
 " Oh, Eveleen ! Eveleen ! do not tempt me any farther ; I 
 am but human." 
 
 The romantic devotion of the sweet young girl almost over- 
 powered the better judgment of Frank Clifford ; but so far, he 
 remained proof against her tender expostulations. Under the 
 influence of a religious education, Avhat might this young girl 
 have been ? But here we behold her guided by false views. 
 Instead of using her power to restrain her friend from paths of 
 folly and irreligion, actually encouraging him to persevere, and 
 holding out the sweet reward of her love at last. Woe to the 
 mother who could sow such seeds ! 
 
 " They may forbid your visits, Frank ; they may shut me 
 up for fear that we may meet, but they will never change my 
 heart, or wring from me a renunciation of my dearest earthly 
 hopes." 
 
 "I shall see you again, Eveleen, for it may be some weeks 
 ere all is arranged ; until I am a banished man, I shall see you 
 as often as I can." 
 
 The arrival of company in the front parlor warned them 
 to leave their retirement; but as Eveleen arose, some sweet 
 blossoms from the conservatory fell from her hair, and Frank 
 stooping, picked them up, and pressing them to his lips, 
 placed them safely in the button-hole of his coat, while 
 Eveleen's soft eyes danced with delight at this little act of 
 tenderness. 
 
 Meanwhile, Mr. Clifford was busily engaged in his mission 
 to New York. Going round to all the public places, he tore 
 down every placard which announced his son's debut ; then 
 calling on the managers of all the theatres, he warned them, 
 on the penalty of prosecution, not to engage his son's services
 
 DISAPPOINTED HOPES. 215 
 
 while a minor; consequently, Frank was disappointed. But, 
 determined not to be defeated, he made preparations to join a 
 strolling company that were going into a country town in the 
 interior of Pennsylvania. 
 
 On the night before his departure, lie called at Mr. Austin's, 
 and was kindly received : as, knowing of Mr. Clifford's reso- 
 lute course, Mr. Austin supposed that all was at an end. But 
 he had miscalculated the strength of Frank's character. Ere 
 leaving for the evening, he contrived to lead Eveleen into the 
 small room, and sitting out of sight of her family, he commu- 
 nicated the news of his departure. 
 
 She could with difficulty conceal her emotion. A few 
 hurried words of farewell, a first respectful kiss, imprinted 
 frantically upon her forehead, and Frank was gone. Plead- 
 ing headache, Eveleen rushed to her room, and there opened 
 the flood-gates of her grief. Opening her bureau-drawer, she 
 took out the dear picture of the one she loved, and pressing it 
 to her lips, gazed long upon its speaking features. From that 
 evening she drooped ; her interest in all her usual pursuits 
 declined visibly; her eye lost its brilliancy, her cheek its 
 bloom, her step its lightness. Her family were distressed at 
 the change, for she was a darling idol at home. Her mother, 
 who had watched her carefully, guessed her secret, and pitied 
 her infatuation. Mr. Austin was not so sharp-sighted. 
 
 After Frank had been absent some months, Mr. Austin, 
 seated at the breakfast-table one morning, picked up one of 
 the morning papers, and glancing hastily over it, said, " What 
 have we here? The first appearance of a young man, of high 
 family connections, at the Broadway Theatre, in the character 
 of Hamlet. Known to a large circle in New York, it will 
 afford his friends much pleasure to hear that Mr. Clifford 
 makes his debut on Thursday evening. We predict for him a 
 brilliant course." 
 
 Mrs. Austin stole a glance at Eveleen. First flushing crim- 
 son, then ashy pale, she observed her falling, and crossed the 
 room just in time to receive her fainting form in her arms. 
 Laying her gently on a sofa, the usual restoratives were ap-
 
 216 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 plied, without success, for a long time ; at length, she languidly 
 opened her eyes, and said, " Take me, mother, to my own room, 
 and leave me there ; I shall soon be better." 
 
 Sadly the mother saw her drooping flower carried by her 
 father up-stairs, her fair head leaning over his shoulder, and 
 her luxuriant hair falling in long ringlets over her slender 
 figure. When she was laid upon the bed, Mrs. Austin locked 
 the door, and, with a mother's tenderness, seated herself by 
 her side. 
 
 " Don't stay, mother ; if I could sleep awhile I should soon 
 feel better." 
 
 " No, my dear ; I shall not leave you, Eveleen. Look at 
 your mother, and tell me, dearest, is there not some mental 
 anguish preying upon you ?" 
 
 Eveleen turned her face to the wall and moaned piteously, 
 " Mother, I can bear it ; don't ask me such a question." 
 
 " Eveleen, I know your secret ; you have long loved Frank 
 Clifford. Ever since he left us you have been pining, and I 
 cannot see my child fading so hopelessly." 
 
 Eveleen, turning suddenly around, looked at her mother's 
 face, and seeing nothing there but pitying love, threw herself 
 upon her bosom, and murmured, " Mother, dear mother, you 
 will not despise me for loving him, will you? Oh, do not 
 blame him ; we are neither of us to blame, but he least. How 
 could it be otherwise? How could we be thrown so much 
 together, and not learn to love? But, mother, we are under no 
 engagement; we only love each other, that is all, and hope- 
 lessly, dear mother. Frank will not see me clandestinely. 
 He still hopes for better days. He hopes that when his fame 
 is established you may not scorn him always." 
 
 The mother's heart was overpowered by this touching appeal, 
 but she replied, " Eveleen, try to banish his image from your 
 heart ; your father will never listen to such a thing, so long as* 
 he is on the stage." 
 
 " I know it, dear mother, but I cannot cease to love him 
 He is not a common young man ; he has no vices, and I don't 
 see why people should despise his profession."
 
 DISAPPOINTED HOPES. 217 
 
 Seeing the excited state of the young girl, her mother said 
 no more at present, but inwardly resolved that nothing should 
 induce her to sacrifice her child to a mere stage performer, 
 though he were one of the most brilliant stars. 
 
 When the father was acquainted with the facts, he angrily 
 reproached Frank for his abuse of their hospitality, and 
 mourned bitterly over the ruin of his daughter's happiness. 
 Lavishing upon Eveleen every indulgence, he hoped, by re- 
 doubled kindness, to banish the remembrance of Frank Clif- 
 ford ; but he had not measured the depth of a woman's love if 
 he thought that toys could efface memories lasting as life. 
 Eveleen, knowing Mr. Clifford's resolute course, wondered how 
 Frank could now appear upon the New York boards. The 
 truth was, that finding he had joined a company of strolling 
 pluyers, he had left him to his fate. 
 
 Curious to know how Frank would be received, Mr. Austin 
 went among the crowd to witness his first appearance. It was 
 pronounced by all the critics to be a great success for one so 
 yuung, although many feared that his voice had not sufficient 
 power for strong passions. 
 
 Eveleen watched the papers eagerly, and read in her own 
 room, with a burning cheek and glistening eye, the accounts of 
 lii< success. She longed to see him on his next appearance, 
 and wondered how she could bring about her earnest desire. 
 Not accustomed to very rigid ideas of principle, she thought 
 over the matter, and was busy in planning how she could ac- 
 complish her end. 
 
 She had some intimate friends living not far from her who 
 frequented the theatre ; she was nearly certain that they would 
 go to see Frank. Asking permission to spend the day with 
 them, her mother was pleased to see her go out. To her great 
 joy, she found that the family were all going, and never 
 having been denied these amusements, she made one of the 
 party. 
 
 It may be well imagined with what eager tumultuous delight 
 she witnessed his second performance of Hamlet. She rejoiced 
 in his success. The plaudits of the house awoke deep echoes
 
 218 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 of joy iu her young heart. Their box was near the stage 
 She had brought a bouquet, which she determined, if possible, 
 to throw upon the stage. At the close of the second act, he 
 passed near her box. Raising his eyes suddenly, he recognized 
 Eveleen ; a flush of joy passed over his features. The 
 bouquet was quickly thrown, and Eveleen was made happy for 
 that evening by seeing the quickness with which he caught the 
 flowers, and sent back a bright smile as he hastily kissed his 
 hand to the young girl, receiving the same sweet token of 
 recognition in return. On entering his room, he found some- 
 thing tied around the bouquet. Unwinding the string, a strip 
 of paper fell out, on which was written, "From Eveleen, 
 unchanged." 
 
 The pure devotion of the young girl touched his heart, but 
 his principles were yet too upright to seek her society. Hope 
 painted a picture in the future, when sweet Eveleen Austin 
 should be the partner of all his success and prosperity. Many 
 were deeply interested in the young man, and, true to their 
 views of Christian duty, sought to win him back to paths of 
 respectability and honor. One morning, a message came up to 
 his room that a gentleman wished to see him, and descending, 
 he found his good pastor, Mr. Berkely, in the parlor. 
 
 Advancing, he kindly took the young man's hand, and said, 
 " Dear Frank, I cannot see you departing so far from the 
 teachings of your early days, without making an effort to 
 reclaim you. I cannot tell you with what pain I have heard 
 the intelligence, that Mrs. Clifford's only and cherished son had 
 chosen such a lot as yours." 
 
 Frank listened attentively, bu| replied, " Mr. Berkely, I do 
 not see that it follows, necessarily, that I must be less upright 
 and moral, because I have chosen the stage." 
 
 " I have no doubt that you think so now," replied the pastor; 
 " but remember, that ' evil communications corrupt good man- 
 ners/ and you cannot associate with the vile, as you will be 
 compelled to, and not be injured: besides, my son, nothing 
 ought to be pursued on which you cannot ask God's blessing ; 
 and you will not pretend to say that you can bend your knee,
 
 DISAPPOINTED HOPES. 219 
 
 and ask that blessing, before you go to your nightly business ; 
 you cannot dream that the glory of God is promoted thereby." 
 
 Frank listened seriously, but his mind was still averse to 
 this mode of reasoning ; inclination held the reins and guided 
 his footsteps. 
 
 " Will you, my son, recall, for one moment, the circumstances 
 of your mother's death-bed ? Do you recollect how she charged 
 me to look after her children, and counsel them when they 
 were led astray ?" 
 
 A tear glistened in his eye, as he listened to this appeal, but 
 he replied, " I remember it all, dear sir ; I never can forget my 
 mother's teaching : that, I think, will be a talisman, even in 
 this calling, to keep me free from moral taint." 
 
 " Then, do you not feel it a dreadful thing to be under a 
 father's frown ? You know not what a blow you have inflicted. 
 Your father is a changed man : a whitened head, a faltering 
 step, a dimmed eye, and a benumbed intellect, all testify what 
 he has suffered ; then, cut off, as you are, from your father's 
 house, your sisters' hearts are bleeding at the estrangement. 
 Can I not persuade you to return ?" 
 
 " Not now, my friend. My prospects, so far, are bright. I 
 wish to convince you all that an actor can be a good man and 
 an honor to his profession." 
 
 Mr. Berkely, seeing that further remonstrance was in vain, 
 sorrowfully took his leave, saying, " Should dark days come, 
 my son, remember your mother's friend, your early pastor. 
 Come to me, freely. I expect you, Frank, for daily you are 
 borne upon my heart before a throne of grace." 
 
 The door closed upon the faithful shepherd, and Frank shut 
 himself in his room, thinking deeply upon the pastor's words. 
 The truth was, that he could not forget, wholly, the instructions 
 of his early days. His mother's nursery-hymns and prayers, 
 her Sabbath and her fireside teachings, her sweet example and 
 her holy love, spread, all unconsciously, a shield before him, in 
 many an hour of temptation. 
 
 Ralph Cameron had not forgotten him : he constantly visited 
 the friend of his youth. College friendship and Christian prin-
 
 220 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 ciples impelled him forward. He uttered no reproaches, 
 listened calmly to all of Frank's romantic anticipations ; always 
 called for him, on Sabbath days, to take him to the house of 
 God; for, strange to say, these early habits were never wholly 
 relinquished, and it was a singular sight, to many who witnessed 
 his stage performances, to see him weekly in the house of God, 
 by the side of Kalph Cameron. Common spectators were not, 
 perhaps, aware of the power of an early religious education ; 
 they did not know with what impressive calls the silvery chimes 
 of Sabbath-bells banished, for a while, the bustle and excite- 
 ment of a public life, and brought back the quiet skies, the 
 green lanes, the music of the village bells, the sweet organ, the 
 tender tones of a departed mother, and the solemn teachings of 
 his early pastor. The city bells never called in vain ; for the 
 services of the sanctuary brought back his home at Ravens- 
 wood : and even that domestic association was unspeakably 
 valuable to the misguided youth, for it kept him within reach 
 of holy influences. He corresponded, constantly, with Edith, 
 but had never received one line, not even a message, from his 
 father, and he felt the bitterness of banishment from the 
 paternal roof. 
 
 After he had been for some time following his profession, he 
 was sitting in his room, one day, when a knock came 'to his 
 chamber-door. On opening it, what was his surprise to see 
 Aunt Priscilla. "Come in, aunt," said the young man, al- 
 though he was not much pleased to see the old lady. Taking 
 her seat, she spread her handkerchief on her lap, placed her 
 spectacles quietly upon her nose, and commenced rocking her- 
 self, and tapping her foot quickly upon the floor. Frank re- 
 garded all this as preparations for a serious lecture, and, with 
 his old expression of arch humor on his face, he awaited the 
 delivery. 
 
 " I'spose that I'm not a welcome visitor, Frank, but ye see 
 I had to come, to speak my mind about your awful life. 
 You're breakin' your father's heart, and killing yer sister 
 Edith, by yer graceless conduct." 
 
 " Why, Aunt Priscilla, I am not following any vicious ways."
 
 DISAPPOINTED HOPES. 221 
 
 " Why, what do you call the play-house? I call it Satan's 
 synagogue. I think it's awful to go there, and then to be one 
 of the players, I wonder yer mother's sperit doesn't follow ye 
 every night." 
 
 "Why, aunty, I don't have anything to do with the other 
 members of the theatre, only in the way of business." 
 
 " Well, even to be on the same stage, and actin' with sich a 
 set of drinkin', swearin', rantipole men, is aAvful, in the sight 
 of all good men and woman ; and mark my words, Frank, ye 
 can't touch pitch without bein' blackened." 
 
 " I am sorry to make you all so unhappy, but I could not 
 be a merchant, and, with my talents, I may be a great per- 
 former." 
 
 " Oh, if ye could jist see yer poor father! I hardly knowed 
 him agin. He never smiles. He walks about his place with 
 his eyes down on the ground. His back is bowed like an old 
 man, and his step is onstiddy. We're all afraid that he'll have 
 a stroke, if he keeps on in the same way." 
 
 Frank was deeply affected by this account, for his affec- 
 tionate heart yearned for his father and his home ; but he was 
 by no means disposed to listen to the advice of those whom he 
 ho termed mistaken friends. Aunt Priscilla wiped her eyes 
 with her brown silk handkerchief, took an extra pinch of snuff, 
 then seizing her blue cotton umbrella, bade Frank good-bye, 
 sadly afraid that he was wholly given up to the evil one. 
 
 Edith longed to see her brother. Many were the dreary 
 hours which she spent at Ravenswood, ever since his sunny 
 smile and joyous laugh had been banished. But her unwaver- 
 ing trust in God sustained her, and letters from Gerald cheered 
 her with the joyful news that she might now look forward to a 
 speedy return. One evening, after the lamps were lighted, she 
 was sitting alone in the library. She had been reading, and 
 was leaning thoughtfully upon the table, ruminating deeply 
 upon the past. Thoughts of her absent brother always visited 
 her at this hour, and she often wondered when she should see 
 his dear face again. Suddenly, she thought she heard a quick 
 tap at the window. She raised her head and listened again ;
 
 222 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 the tap was repeated more loudly. She arose, and putting 
 aside the heavy curtain, she was almost certain that she saw 
 the face of a man gazing earnestly into the room. Alarmed, 
 she was about retreating, but another tap came, and she heard 
 distinctly, close to the window, " Hist ! hist ! Edith, sister 
 Edith, it is I." Raising the window, she recognized her 
 beloved brother. Pale and agitated, he seized her hand, and 
 pressing it to his lips, said, "Dear sister, I must see you. Will 
 you not come down to the rock ! I have a great deal to say." 
 
 " Wait a moment, dear Frank," said the excited girl, "I will 
 be with you presently." Hastily throwing on a hood and 
 cloak, she joined her brother, and quickly reached the familiar 
 seat on the shore. He pressed her closely to his heart, and 
 said, " Dear sister, how glad I am to see you. Tell me all 
 about home. How is father ?" 
 
 " Oh, Frank ! ever since that fatal night he has never been 
 the same; the excitement of that scene was too much for him. 
 We fear that he has had a slight paralysis, for he has never 
 taken much interest in his usual pursuits since then. He will be, 
 for days together, shut up in the library, neglects his farm, and 
 seems always depressed. We never dare mention your name." 
 
 Frank listened sadly to this intelligence, and replied, "Sister, 
 I have felt the sentence of banishment a bitter trial, but I 
 think that it was unjust. I have had other trials. When 
 father forbade my appearance in New York, I was determined 
 to persevere, so I joined a company of strolling players. I 
 thought that I was among gentlemen, but I found out my 
 mistake. They cheated me out of my share of money ; their 
 profligacy disgusted me, and I returned to New York heart- 
 sick. When I found that the interdict was removed, I had 
 hoped that father would relent, but I have since discovered 
 that indifference to my fate was the motive that prompted the 
 action. I have been encouraged in my maiden efforts, but I 
 will own, sister, that the future does not appear so bright; 
 there are very slow stepping-stones over which I must travel. 
 I appear next week in a new character-, that of Richard III. 
 It is the most difficult which I have ever attempted."
 
 DISAPPOINTED HOPES. 223 
 
 " Brother," said Edith, as she laid her hand gently on his 
 arm, "there is one thing which I wish you to remember, and 
 it is this : at the very hour when you appear upon the stage, 
 I shall be in my mother's room, praying for my dear brother's 
 return to his God and his home. Will you think of it, dear 
 Frank?" 
 
 For a moment he could not speak, but at last he replied, 
 " It would be hard, Edith, to forget such a solemn and loving 
 request. If it were not for you, my sister, I should be driven 
 to despair. You know not what a talisman your love has been 
 to me." 
 
 After an hour spent in affectionate conversation, Frank 
 conducted Edith to the house. Arriving before the library- 
 windows, he saw several figures in the room. Drawing nearer, 
 he perceived Blanche seated with Adele before a table, playing 
 at some game, and Madge, on the steps, taking down some 
 volumes from a high shelf. 
 
 "How lovely Blanche is!" said Frank; "and there is dear, 
 merry Adele, bright as ever ; and odd, eccentric Madge, queer 
 as ever. I couldn't find it in my heart to tease her now, Edith. 
 Can't I speak a word to them before I go ?" 
 
 Edith advanced, and knocking at the window, she saw that 
 they were at first startled, but when she raised it slowly, and 
 showed who was there, surprise took the place of fear. 
 " Come here, Madge," whispered Edith, " here is our dear 
 brother." 
 
 Clasping her hands in joyful surprise, she turned round, 
 and exclaimed, " Frank is here !" All three ran hastily out, 
 and, clasped in their brother's arms, a joyful welcome burst 
 from each. 
 
 " Dear, dear Frank," said Adele, " how glad I am I" and 
 she clung around her brother's neck, while Blanche seized his 
 hand, imprinting warm kisses upon it, and Madge manifested 
 her joy in a more quiet manner. Raising the sash of the 
 glass door, Adele drew Frank hastily into the room, "I 
 must see you, if it is only for a minute," said the excited 
 girl ; " but, dear brother, you are pale, your eyes are hollow ;
 
 224 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 you are not happy, Frank. Oh ! brother, brother, come 
 back!" 
 
 " I can stay but one minute, dear girls ; I must not be seen 
 here." A noise of approaching footsteps coming up the avenue 
 warned him to depart. "Farewell, dear sisters! Don't forget 
 me." A hasty embrace, and, in another minute, he was gone. 
 
 Edith's heart was cheered by even this short visit, for she 
 thought that, though he wished to conceal it, he was beginning 
 to weary of his new life ; and, with stronger faith and brighter 
 hopes, she left him in the hand of her Redeemer. On the 
 following Friday he made his appearance in the character of 
 Richard III. A mumber of his friends, even some essentially 
 worldly, were conscious of what a great sacrifice the young 
 man had made. They had heard of the distress at home, of 
 the disappointment of the father, the grief of sisters. They 
 knew much of his private worth ; and, moreover, their fears 
 led them to believe that the want of deep compass of voice 
 would be a serious hindrance to advancement in his profession 
 to the rank of a star ; therefore they concluded to bring his 
 connection with the stage to a close. They knew his proud, 
 sensitive nature, and that he would never brook a repulse. In 
 one of the most difficult parts of the character his voice failed 
 entirely. At the moment, the thought of Edith's solemn ap- 
 peal, the kneeling sister in his mother's room, the fervent 
 prayers of that beloved parent, her dying words, came sud- 
 denly before him and unmanned him. On the failure of his 
 voice, his recollection left him ; words would not come. He 
 stood confounded. Slight hisses, commenced by friends, as- 
 sailed him. An attempt to encourage was useless ; the hisses 
 were redoubled, until, in agony of grief and shame, he rushed 
 from the stage. 
 
 Stung to the soul, he shut himself up for days. He would 
 see no one, until at last, Ralph gained admittance. 
 
 " My friend, I congratulate you," said Ralph. " I regard 
 this final failure as the interference of a gracious Providence 
 in your behalf. When the mortification has passed away, you 
 will thank God for it yet."
 
 DISAPPOINTED HOPES. 225 
 
 " Do not talk so, Ralph," said the poor yo.ith ; " I can never 
 show myself again in this community. I shall be pointed out 
 as a degraded man." 
 
 "Do you know, Frank, that your friends hissed you off ? 
 they were so entirely convinced that you ought not to be so 
 sacrificed." 
 
 " Will you see that such a statement is made in the public 
 papers?" answered Frank. 
 
 " I will, gladly," replied Ralph. "I am thankful, and be- 
 lieve that Edith's prayers have thus been answered." 
 
 Longing for his sister's sympathy, he resolved to seek her 
 counsel; but ere he started for Ravenswood, late in the after- 
 noon he strolled alone to the Battery. Seated on one of the 
 stools, the sight of the placid bay calmed his troubled spirit. 
 While seated there, in sad abstraction from surrounding 
 objects, he did not for some minutes observe the figures of two 
 young ladies who were passing near him. They were in close 
 conversation, and were walking backward and forward on the 
 path near where he was seated. Raising his eyes for a moment, 
 he encountered those of Eveleen Austin, who was walking with 
 her sister. 
 
 His first impulse was to arise, and hasten towards her ; but 
 the second thought, that he was now a disgraced and fallen 
 aspirant, held him back. He bowed sadly to the young girls. 
 The disappointed look with which Eveleen returned his salu- 
 tation almost overcame his resolution, for he had not seen the 
 sweet girl for some months. Seeing her move away despair- 
 ingly, he arose timidly, and, when they turned back again, he 
 advanced, extended his hand, and said, " Can Miss Austin 
 deign to notice such a fallen man?" 
 
 She raised her eyes, swimming in tears, as she replied, " I 
 shall never look upon you as a fallen man, Mr. Clifford, so 
 long as you are free from vice. Misfortunes may assail the 
 most excellent. It is worth that I esteem." 
 
 "Thank you, dear Eveleen, for those balmy words; you 
 know not how they soothe my spirit." 
 
 " You may always count upon my sympathy, so long as you 
 15
 
 226 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 are virtuous, Frank. I must say that I \\as deeply indignant 
 at the conduct of your friends last Friday night." 
 
 "There is -an end of that dreara, Eveleen. I know not yet 
 vliat I shall do. I shall seek my sister, and ask her advice. 
 I shall never try the stage again." 
 
 " Will you tell your parents that you have seen me, 
 Eveleen ?" answered Frank ; " I will never stoop to see you 
 clandestinely." 
 
 " I will comply with your request," answered Eveleen. 
 Walking up to her own door with the young girls, he took his 
 leave, cheered by the sweet words that fell from her lips. 
 
 Edith had heard of her brother's defeat, and, though sorry 
 for his mortification, was filled with high hopes for the future. 
 She was not much surprised on hearing the tap at the library- 
 window, which had at first so much alarmed her. Obeying 
 the summons hastily, she repaired to the lawn, where she was 
 received in the arms of her beloved brother. " I am a poor, 
 forlorn man, Edith," replied Frank. "I have none left but 
 you, and Ralph, and Eveleen. I know not where to turn. 
 All the future is dark and dismal. Do you know, sister, that 
 your words haunted me on that night ? My mother's prayers 
 her dying accents rang in my ears ; they unmanned me. 
 I forgot everything. I almost believe, Edith, that your 
 prayers prevailed that night." 
 
 " Thank God, dear Frank, for anything that released you 
 from such a destiny. I do not despair of the future. After 
 the first disappointment is over, you will see the wisdom of 
 all." 
 
 " Will my father see me?" answered Frank. 
 
 "I will not ask him yet; he feels the mortification too 
 keenly ; but I think he will, after a while." 
 
 After taking leave of Edith, the young man was walking 
 slowly down the shore, when he met Uncle Peter. 
 
 "Dear Massa Frank, is that your face, at last?" said the 
 good old servant. " The good Heavenly Father hasn't for- 
 gotten you ; he sends troubles, Massa Frank, to bring us to 
 himself. I 'spect to see you a preacher, some day, yet. If
 
 DISAPPOINTED HOPES. 227 
 
 you wants public speaking, go speak for your Master, but 
 don't sarve de devil, by playin' in his synagogue. I was 
 right glad when I heerd what had happened to you in t^he big 
 city. Don't take it too much to heart, good will come on 
 it yet." 
 
 " It was very hard to bear, Uncle Peter," answered Frank. 
 
 " I 'spose 'twas a great cross, but I thought I could e'en 
 a'most hear dear missis rejoicin' up in heaven, at the good 
 news." 
 
 Turning away, as he wiped a tear from his eye, he shook the 
 old man's hand, and said, " You are a kind old friend, ^Uncle 
 Peter; good-bye." 
 
 " God bless you, massa Frank : you'll be here agin, in your 
 father's old hall. Massa has a soft heart under a rough 
 shell." 
 
 Edith perceived a manifest change in her father, after 
 Frank's disappointment. Aware of his peculiar temper, she 
 forbore any remarks concerning her brother, but her hopes 
 were sanguine. She wrote to Ralph, begging him to interest 
 himself, by obtaining some employment. His answer assured 
 her of his deep sympathy, and she felt certain that he would 
 soon be provided for. With increasing faith in all God's 
 promises, she saw the first faint beams of the sun of hope 
 tinting the mountain-tops of difficulty in her brother's des- 
 tiny, and she felt that she could patiently wait for the fuller 
 blaze of the noonday, flooding his path with light from 
 heaven.
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 MISGUIDED MADGE. 
 
 NGELS of peace fanned their gentle wings 
 m around Edith's pillow ; dreams of happiness 
 visited her sleeping hours ; hope whispered its 
 sweet messages to her heart, and she walked, for 
 a while, on the borders of " Immanuel's laud." 
 At peace with heaven, her prospects at home 
 f were cheering. Frank was released from his 
 
 degradation, Madge seemed more gentle and im- 
 pressible, and Gerald, dear Gerald, was expected daily. 
 These sunbeams drew her nearer to heaven, and floods of 
 gratitude shed their halo of light around her whole aspect. 
 Her countenance, usually so placid, beamed with the blessed- 
 ness of nearer communion with the skies, and all who looked 
 upon her felt that, if the beauty of the soul, shining out of 
 eyes and lips and illumining the whole face, constituted real 
 loveliness, Edith was beautiful. She had resumed her harp, 
 and devoted a portion of each day to practice. The deep and 
 solemn music of the old composers suited the tone of her 
 spirit ; although, to please her father, she studied much of the 
 music of the day. Her voice was delightful, and, when 
 poured out in strains of touching melody, entranced the 
 hearers. 
 
 One summer evening she had taken her seat by her harp in 
 the drawing-room. Her form was tall and commanding, and 
 228
 
 MISGUIDED MADGE. 229 
 
 the attitude which she assumed displayed the grace and 
 dignity of her figure. Sweeping her fingers over the instru- 
 ment, the room was filled with sweetest melody. Under 
 the inspiration of the moment, her fine dark eyes were 
 turned upward; masses of shining hair, dark as a raven's 
 wing, encircled her classic head. As strain after strain 
 warbled from her sweet lips, she was not aware of the 
 approach of a carriage driving up the avenue, nor of the 
 footsteps which halted before the open window reaching 
 down to the lawn. Stopping a moment to rest her fingers, 
 she turned suddenly, facing the window. With one long 
 gaze of bewildered ,joy, she recognized the smiling face. 
 Clasping her hands, she exclaimed, " Dear Gerald, have you 
 come at last!" 
 
 Crossing the room rapidly, he grasped the small hands, 
 and said, " Thank God, dearest, safe at home at last. I have 
 just arrived. I heard the music, I knew the dear voice, and 
 could not deny myself the pleasure of listening unobserved. 
 
 How greatly you have improved, Edith. You certainly 
 have grown, and your voice is perfection." 
 
 " Do not flatter me, Gerald ; there is enough in the heart to 
 tempt to vanity, do not let words from Christian lips feed the 
 baneful passion." 
 
 He led Edith to a seat on the sofa, where some gentle 
 tears relieved her full heart. An hour's intercourse of sweet 
 thoughts and pure affeotion almost repaid for the pains of 
 absence. 
 
 " Where is Josephine ?" 
 
 " She is at home," answered Gerald ; " but more eccentric 
 than ever. Added to all her ridiculous notions about ' woman's 
 wrongs and woman's rights ' her head is filled with French 
 philosophy. She became acquainted with many distinguished 
 French women ; she attended their soirees, listened to their 
 lectures, and has figured largely herself on many public occa- 
 sions. She is so full of the doctrines of the Socialists, that I 
 should not be surprised if she attempts to form an institution 
 after the model of what she has seen in France. She has
 
 230 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 often declared that Christianity is a great failure, and that she 
 has discovered the remedy for all social evils. She has con- 
 siderable talent for sculpture, and has cultivated it while at 
 Rome; she really has brought home some very fine specimens 
 of her work." 
 
 While they were conversing, Gerald observed two young 
 ladies coming up the avenue. At first, he did not recognize 
 them, for two years had made a great change in their ap- 
 pearance. When he had last seen them, he remembered them 
 as young and unformed girls. He heard Adele's merry voice 
 chatting away as of yore. 
 
 " Blanche, do you ever think of the Percys? I really would 
 like to see Clara and May very much. I think they are long 
 in paying us the promised visit. I suppose that Lionel has 
 forgotten the water-nymph." 
 
 " You don't make me believe that, Adele," replied Blanche. 
 "I think I have seen a cunning little postcript at the foot of 
 Clara's letters ; but I tell you, Adele, I should be dreadfully 
 afraid of his dignity." 
 
 " But who have we here?" said Adele. " There is a gentle- 
 man in the drawing-room, Blanche." 
 
 By this time they had reached the hall-door, and Gerald, 
 coming out, was taken completely by surprise at the lovely 
 figure which presented herself before him. Gerald was at all 
 times a passionate, admirer of beauty, and for a moment stood 
 enraptured. She had grown considerably. Her figure was 
 one of matchless symmetry. Every movement was graceful. 
 Her little foot peeped out from under her long dress in all its 
 fairy dimensions, and in one dimpled hand she carried her 
 flat, decorated with wild flowers. Her deep blue eyes were 
 shaded by long, dark, curling lashes ; around her mouth 
 played troops of bewitching dimples. Every feature was 
 faultless. Her charming complexion was heightened by 
 exercise, and a profusion of golden-brown hair hung over a 
 snowy neck and shoulders in graceful ringlets. The expres- 
 sion of her face was inclined to the pensive rather than the 
 gay, and there was about her whole manner that dependent
 
 MISGUIDED MADGE. 231 
 
 caressing gentleness which is so attractive in a young and 
 lovely woman. 
 
 "And this is Blanche, I suppose?" said Gerald, as he re- 
 spectfully took her hand. The young girl blushed at the 
 evident admiration which she had excited. " Is this young 
 lady mischievous Adele? I think I see some of the old 
 merriment sparkling about her still." 
 
 " These are our little twins, Gerald," said Edith ; " they 
 make me feel quite old. A very short time since they were 
 little girls ; now you see we are compelled to treat them as 
 young ladies." 
 
 " You have no idea, Gerald, how wonderfully we have im- 
 proved," said Adele. "We have been taught to speak 
 French, to dance, to play, to sing, to draw, thought I cannot 
 pretend to much proficiency in the latter, Blanche excels in 
 that; then, good sister Edith would not allow us to neglect 
 household accomplishments, so we can make pies, and cakes, 
 and jellies; we know exactly how a house ought to be kept; 
 we can sew and knit, and I am sure that I can talk and 
 laugh ; indeed, Gerald, you must respect us highly," dropping 
 a mock courtesy, " for we are highly accomplished young ladies, 
 and ready to make our debut next winter." 
 
 Gerald laughed, as he replied, "You are sportive, merry 
 Adele yet, I can see that." He was much pleased with the 
 change in Madge, who had lost much of her bashfulness ; and, 
 although no beauty, was a pleasing, graceful little creature, 
 with the most remarkable eyes that ever sparkled in a youthful 
 face. 
 
 After supper, Gerald whispered to Edith, "Shall we not 
 seek our old trysting-place? How often have my thoughts 
 wandered to the old elm tree." Edith, soon equipped for a Avalk, 
 joined Gerald on the lawn, and they rambled with slow steps 
 down the familiar avenue. When they reached the spot, 
 seated by the side of the one she loved, Edith was, for the 
 moment, perfectly happy. 
 
 " You remember your promise, dearest," said Gerald, " the 
 night before I left America?"
 
 232 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 " I do, Gerald, but it seems like something in the far-off dis- 
 tance that I dare scarcely think of." 
 
 ' And why not, Edith ? How long am I to wait for its ful- 
 filment ?" 
 
 "Can you ask me, Gerald ? You know ray promise to my 
 dying mother, that, so long as my sisters need my presence, I 
 will never leave them ; and does not dear, blind Lilly, and 
 little Emily need my care ? Could I forsake them when they 
 are so young ? They cling to me as fondly as to a mother, and 
 I shall be neglecting a most solemn duty to forsake them now." 
 
 Gerald's countenance fell, as he said, "And how long, Edith, 
 would you think it your duty to make me wait?" 
 
 "I know not, Gerald," replied Edith, her eyes swimming in 
 tears. " I scarcely think that I ought to hold you to such a 
 long engagement. If you wish for a release it is yours, Gerald, 
 but I dare not forsake my sisters." 
 
 "Not so, Edith, but I think that you have very romantic 
 ideas of duty. Blanche and Adele are old enough to take 
 charge of your father's family." 
 
 " But they did not promise, Gerald," said Edith, as she fixed 
 her earnest eyes upon his face, " and I did." 
 
 After conversing for some time upon the subject, the late- 
 ness of the hour warned them to return; and a deep shadow 
 fell upon Edith's heart as she left the old familiar seat. Gerald 
 often remonstrated with her, but could not change her views of 
 duty, or stifle the pleadings of a mother's love. 
 
 As soon as possible, Madge paid a visit to Josephine, and 
 was much charmed with the description of what she had seen 
 and heard while abroad. On entering her studio, the young 
 girl's respect was much increased by the display which Josephine 
 made of her sculpture. She had some very beautiful specimens 
 of her talent, and enlarged eloquently upon the number of 
 female artists that she had met abroad. 
 
 " I wish that you could have been with me in Paris, Madge," 
 said Josephine. "I could have introduced you to some of the 
 greatest women in the world. There was Madame La Porte* 
 the great philosopher ; and Madame Fontaine, a great chemist ;
 
 MISGUIDED MADGE. 233 
 
 Madame Leisseur, a profound politician; Madame Lu Moulin, 
 a great historian ; Madame Chapron, a great physician ; and 
 Madame De Bellak, a celebrated surgeon. I was invited 
 weekly to their saloons, where J met some of the most brilliant 
 minds in Europe. I have listened to lectures from these ladies 
 more profound than I have ever heard from men ; and really, I 
 do not see how I can endure the tame society that I shall meet 
 with in America. Then, these ladies are all Socialists, and are 
 full of grand ideas of reforming society. Christianity is a great 
 failure, and I really think, Madge, that I will devote my talents 
 to the same noble end." 
 
 Although Madge was duly impressed by the flash of Joseph- 
 ine's eloquence, from the power of early instruction some very 
 old-fashioned questions would arise in her mind, and she won- 
 dered whether there were no excellent wives, mothers, or sisters 
 to be found in those literary circles. If the women of a nation 
 were all to be philosophers, historians, politicians, lawyers, or 
 physicians, she could not but ask, what would become of the 
 youth of the land ? These were mental problems that would 
 occasionally agitate the brain even of Madge Clifford. But 
 like a young enthusiast, she was led away by Josephine's repre. 
 sentations, and agreed to the plan of coming over daily to 
 pursue a course of study, under her direction, that would fit her 
 for enlarged usefulness in the theatre of the world. When 
 Edith saw that Madge was so much engrossed by her new pur- 
 suits as to neglect her home duties, at first she kindly remon- 
 strated, and laid before her the consequences to female char- 
 acter of such inattentions, and bogged her not to abuse the 
 talents, which God had given her, for unwomanly pursuits. 
 
 " Why, Edith, if I should take your advice, what should I be 
 good for?" said Madge. " For nothing but to bake puddings, 
 hem handkerchiefs, mend stockings, visit old women, and teach 
 ragged, dirty children." 
 
 " Well, my sister, are not these feminine employments to be 
 attended to ? I do not wish you, dear Madge, to be a house- 
 hold drudge, but I do want you to be a true-hearted woman ; 
 intellectual, if you please, to the highest degree of cultivation,
 
 234 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 but qualified to make a home happy, in being able to direct all 
 the nameless workings*of a well-ordered household." 
 
 " I do not think, sister, with my aspirations, that I could 
 ever be contented in such a humble, retired sphere ; that will 
 do very well for tame, ordinary women, but for a highly gifted 
 genius, it never could be intended that she should hide her 
 talents in the shade." 
 
 " Where did you get such ideas from, Madge? Surely, not 
 from our dear mother," answered Edith. " Compare her char- 
 acter with Josephine's, When did you ever see our parent 
 going about her house until twelve o'clock in the day, with 
 tangled hair, slipshod shoes, and an old shawl thrown over 
 her shoulders? She always found time for all her duties: for 
 her children, for the cultivation of her mind,-^for she always 
 had some useful course of daily reading, for benevolence, for 
 friendship, but never neglected the proprieties of life. Hers 
 was a perfectly symmetrical character ; and I never can bear to 
 gee you, Madge, pass by such a model, to follow a female so 
 greatly perverted as Josephine Fortescue." 
 
 " We shall never agree, Edith," said Madge, " and you must 
 allow me to judge for myself; I am old enough, and am deter- 
 mined to devote myself to literary and philanthropic pursuits." 
 
 " I do not object to either," said Edith, " but I would not 
 have them under Josephine's direction. I think, that in a 
 well-ordered mind, they could be pursued without neglecting 
 any home duty. I had a friend who visited England, and had 
 letters of introduction to the family of Mrs. Wilson, formerly 
 Caroline Fry. She said that she had never visited a more 
 charming home, or saw a specimen of more perfect housekeep- 
 ing, than in the family of that interesting lady. I should not 
 object to see you such a literary character; but remember, that 
 Mrs. Wilson was a consistent, devoted Christian, and bent her 
 gentle neck to 'the yoke of Christ.'" 
 
 Madge, with her usual self-will, persevered in her devotion 
 to Josephine, and spent all her mornings at Oak Hall. When 
 Miss Fortescue undertook the editing of a paper, entitled 
 " Woman's Advocate," she enlisted the talents of Madge Clif-
 
 MISGUIDED MADG.3. 235 
 
 ford as one of the chief contributors. Articles from her pen 
 excited much attention; and, flattered by* Miss Fortescue, she 
 wandered still farther away from the paths of modest humility. 
 
 First she wrote on abolitionism, then on priestcraft, on man's 
 oppression, on woman's wrongs, and woman's talents. Stepping 
 still farther on, she advocated the doctrines of the Socialists ; 
 then Edith became still more alarmed. Aware of the wild 
 extremes to which they had gone, she felt as if the very citadel 
 of her sister's principles was in danger. She remonstrated with 
 Madge, then she appealed to her father. Having a peculiar 
 dislike for all that was masculine, Mr. Clifford positively for- 
 bade the continuance of such a course ; but, led on by Joseph- 
 ine, and supposing herself persecuted, she became more and 
 more determined. 
 
 While the Fortescues were in Europe, Madge had been much 
 more regular in her attendance upon the house of God ; since 
 th >ir return, her visits had gradually declined, until she was 
 seen no more in her father's pew. Edith wrote to Ralph, and 
 begged him to exert his influence ; but Madge was entrenched 
 behind a fortification of arrogance, self-conceit, unwomanly 
 prejudice, and extreme ignorance on vital points. She resented 
 his interference as an encroachment upon her rights, did not 
 answer his first letter, and returned his second unopened ; but 
 not without some pangs, for she could never shake off the 
 controlling power of the character of Ralph Cameron : she 
 feared, and therefore she avoided it. She became sullen at 
 home, neglected her duties, avoided Edith, and treated her 
 father with marked disrespect. 
 
 One morning, missing the wilful girl at the breakfast-table, 
 Mr. Clifford inquired, " Where is Madge?" 
 
 " She stayed at Josephine's all night," replied Edith. 
 
 Her father frowned, and asked, " How long is this intimacy 
 to continue? I have expressed my disapprobation repeatedly, 
 but it appears all in vain." 
 
 " I regret it, dear father ; but I have remonstrated, and 
 represented the consequence of yielding to Josephine's guidance, 
 but she seems determined."
 
 236 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 When she made her appearance at the dinner-table, she 
 scarcely noticed her* father, and was extremely sullen and dis- 
 agreeable. In the afternoon, Edith observed her preparing to 
 go out ; she seemed still moody and silent. 
 
 "Where are you going, Madge?" asked Edith. 
 
 " What right have you to know, Edith ? I do not choose to 
 be questioned about my movements." 
 
 "I have the right which our mother gave me, Madge, and 
 fear that you are doing something wrong." 
 
 " I am going to New York with Miss Fortescue ; she will 
 lecture to-night, and I wish to hear her. I may be gone for 
 several days.'* 
 
 "Are you going without father's consent? I fear, Madge, 
 that there is great trouble before you." 
 
 " I am not going to be treated like a child. If I cannot be 
 independent here, I will make myself so soon." 
 
 Putting on her bonnet and shawl, with haughty step, she left 
 the house. Mr. Clifford was greatly displeased, and resolved 
 upon his course. When Madge returned which she did not 
 do for several days he received her with coldness, and re- 
 quested her presence in the library, after tea. When she 
 entered, it was with a haughty, defiant manner. "Sit down, 
 Madge, I have much to say," said Mr. Clifford. "Your con- 
 duct is exceedingly offensive to me, and I have sent to have a 
 conversation with you. I have been greatly mortified at the 
 ridicule which you are incurring, by your foolish essays in your 
 ' Woman's Advocate.' What do you propose by this un- 
 womanly conduct?" 
 
 " Why, father, I do not mean to pursue the tame course of a 
 common, humdrum woman. I know that I have more talents 
 than ordinary, and I do not mean to bury them in obscurity." 
 
 "Do you mean also to follow Josephine's public course?" 
 asked her father, with suppressed anger. 
 
 "I am preparing for public efforts, and will devote my life 
 to deeds of philanthropy, so that I may leave behind me a 
 name among the distinguished of my sex," answered Madge. 
 
 " And do you really suppose that I will countenance your
 
 MISGUIDED MADGE 237 
 
 folly, or allow a daughter, dwelling unoer my roof, to make 
 such a fool of herself?" 
 
 Her color rose, and her bright eyes glanced with anger, as 
 she replied, " We are not born to be the slaves of men, 
 either fathers, husbands, or brothers; and, if I cannot pursue 
 the bent of my inclination under my father's roof, I can easily 
 seek another." 
 
 With these defiant, wicked words, the misguided young girl 
 proudly left the room. From that day, her gloom increased ; 
 she seemed wholly estranged from her family, and spent most 
 of her time with Josephine. Her father was cold and haughty, 
 Edith kind and forbearing as usual, Blanche indifferent, and 
 Adele disposed to ridicule the follies of her sister, frequently 
 styling her the " Professor." She was rapidly maturing her 
 future plans, having fully determined, when the proper time 
 arrived, to leave her father's house. Her preparations were 
 slowly made, for fear of detection ; and often, in the shades of 
 evening, a little boy was seen waiting at the stile that divided 
 the estates of Kavenswood and Oak Hall, and Madge, as she 
 had opportunity, gradually conveyed her clothes away in band- 
 boxes ; as a woods lay between, the journey could always be 
 performed unobserved. 
 
 When passing her mother's room, sometimes her heart mis- 
 gave her, for there was a sweet, tender voice that whispered 
 yet, in solemn tones, from that consecrated spot ; but she re- 
 garded this as a female weakness, which she must learn to 
 overcome, if she would be a great woman. Having removed 
 nearly all, the last evening had arrived. Standing, for the 
 last time in her bed-room, she could not but be impressed 
 with the importance of the step she was about to take. She 
 remembered her mother's picture, but she scarcely had the 
 courage to open the little desk which contained it; but sum- 
 moning all her resolution, she unlocked the desk, and removed 
 the picture. She imagined that the tender eyes followed her 
 reproachfully ; and her powerful imagination almost heard the 
 words which those silent lips would speak. 
 
 Everything tended to increase her depression. Edith, ob-
 
 238 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 serving her sister's sadness, had been unusually kind. She 
 feared that Madge was not well, and following her to her 
 room, asked if she could do anything for her. Madge was 
 lying on the bed, with her face buried in the spread ; her sister 
 bent over her anxiously, and said, " Have you a headache, 
 dear ? Let me bathe your temples," and, taking some cologne, 
 she gently smoothed back her hair, and bathed the forehead 
 and temples of the suffering girl. Her conscience reproached 
 her bitterly for the part that she was acting, and when Edith 
 stooped over to kiss her, she could scarcely refrain from throw- 
 ing her arms around her, confessing all, and giving up her 
 dark rebellion; but she thought of Josephine's sneers, and the 
 evil spirit prevailed. 
 
 " I am not sick, Edith, I am tired," said Madge ; " if you 
 will leave me alone, I shall soon feel better." 
 
 As her sister turned away, sadly, Madge cast one sorrowful 
 glance towards the dear, faithful friend, whom she might never 
 see again. All Edith's kindness passed in solemn review before 
 her ; all her own perverseness and ingratitude ; and, for one 
 moment, her resolution failed : but stifling the thought with a 
 strong exercise of her firm will, she arose, to make her final 
 preparations. 
 
 " The way of the transgressor is hard." Madge had not yet 
 fully learned the solemn lesson. She looked out of the Avindow : 
 it was a dark, cheerless night ; the wind whistled sadly around 
 the house, and a fine, drizzling rain added to the gloom. 
 Throwing on her hat and cloak, she left the chamber. She 
 shuddered, as she passed hei mother's room. It was very late 
 and a faint light burned in the entry ; the house was silent as 
 the grave. Her excited imagination quickened every sense. 
 As her trembling steps moved hastily along, she thought she 
 heard her name, " Madge, Madge." She started, and listened 
 intently. As she approached the staircase, some dry branches 
 struck against the window : it sounded drearily, in the deep 
 stillness. Her heart beat violently. So intense were her 
 emotions, that she thought she heard her name again, in lower, 
 deeper tones, " Madge ! Madge !" She knew that it was but an
 
 MISGUIDED MADGE. 239 
 
 imaginary voice, but it drove her hurriedly down the staircase, 
 to a small side door, which opened ou the lawn. She seized 
 the key, which hung near the door, with a trembling hand un- 
 locked it, and, in a minute, found herself in the dark woods. 
 Her guide was waiting for her, at the stile, and, in a tumult of 
 bewildered'feeling, she flew, rather than ran, through the lonely 
 iorest. 
 
 The trees sighed, and the wind moaned around her dismally. 
 The drizzling rain made her shiver with the cold, as she felt as 
 if the woods were peopled with evil spirits, whispering and 
 hissing in her ears. When she reached the Hall, the carriage 
 was in waiting; her trunks were all strapped ready. Josephine 
 w-as inside, looking for her anxiously. Hurriedly, she slipped 
 in, and her first salutation was, "Now, Madge, for freedom and 
 for fame ! No more tame, sleepy life, among the old oaks, for 
 us ; the wide world is before us, and we shall make ottj. mark." 
 
 There was still too much of the passionate nature of woman 
 sleeping in that young heart, to be much comforted, in this hour 
 of desertion, by these vain, boasting words. " Out on the wide 
 Avilderness of the world," thought Madge, and the thought 
 oppressed her. She quickly took her seat by the side of 
 Josephine, who, hearing her sigh deeply, as she took her last 
 look of Ravenswood, said, " Madge, if you ever expect to be a 
 great woman, you must learn to discipline your feelings. You 
 have been badly treated by your father, and I do not see why 
 you should waste a thought upon peple who do not appreciate 
 your fine abilities." 
 
 " I must own, Josephine, that my heart almost misgave me, 
 as I passed my mother's room. I could not but remember her 
 early teachings, and I almost fancied that I heard her once 
 more calling, 'Madge, Madge!'" 
 
 " You must get over these childish fancies, Madge. Your 
 mother was a good sort of a patient nurse, but she was priest- 
 ridden, and that will never do for you." 
 
 "Do not speak so, Josephine," answered Madge. "Mother 
 had some week prejudices, but I cannot bear to hear her spoken 
 of contemptuously."
 
 240 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 " I am glad, Madge, that you have escaped from Ralph 
 Cameron. I have often thought what a fool you were to allow 
 him to dictate to you about your conduct. He is a sweet speci- 
 men of the ' lords of creation.' If ever he marries, his wife 
 will be ruled with a high hand, mark my words." 
 
 Madge winced somewhat under these remarks, for feelings 
 of the deepest respect were still maintained for the young 
 man; and she could not but think with pain of Ralph's sor- 
 row and displeasure at her last daring step. Intending to 
 leave for a distant State, they pursued their journey rapidly, 
 and, at the end of the two weeks, had reached their place of 
 destination. 
 
 It was a new settlement, where numbers, holding the same 
 sentiments, had preceded them. They were received in a flat- 
 tering manner by the head of the institution, especially Madge, 
 who was regarded as a great acquisition ; coming, as she did, 
 from the midst of refined ease and elegance. Miss Grimshawe, 
 Josephine's friend, presided at the head. " We are glad to 
 welcome you among us," said that lady ; " you have acted 
 nohly ; few would have had the strength to leave such a home, 
 surrounded by all the soft attractions of wealth, to come among 
 us struggling disciples of a new faith ; but we are determined 
 to teach men that we are their equals. We shall send out a 
 
 stirring trumpet from the shades of N . We are all bound 
 
 very closely together, and you will find the ties of a common 
 humanity much stronger than the shackles of priestcraft. We 
 all have our duties to perform: you may teach, for in our com- 
 munity we have a number of children, whom we wish trained 
 in our liberal principles ; you will have leisure for writing, and 
 will make yourself famous, yet." 
 
 Madge soon found herself placed in a novel situation : sur- 
 rounded by females from different parts of the Union, fitting 
 themselves for distinguished posts, when the day for the eman- 
 cipation of woman had fully come. Some were studying medi- 
 cine, others law, political economy, &c. In order to prepare for 
 public speaking, they gave weekly lectures, which were open to 
 all from the neighboring towns.
 
 MISGUIDED MADGE. 241 
 
 The vanity of Madge Clifford was fully gratified, at the 
 admiration excited by her splendid reading of Shakespeare. 
 At first, when appearing before a promiscuous multitude of 
 male and female, her woman's heart beat wildly, but she learned 
 too soon to strangle these feelings, as unworthy weakness, and 
 was rapidly losing the soft bloom of diffidence, always so charm- 
 ing in a young female, and substituting in its place unwomanly 
 confidence, which she styled self-possession. 
 
 She had changed her name, for fear of detection, and Miss 
 Crawford was rapidly becoming a great favorite. Applause 
 followed all her efforts. Her articles for the press displayed 
 remarkable talent, and her young head was filled with vain 
 imaginations. But could she be happy in such a promiscuous 
 family ? for she was compelled to mingle, daily, with women of 
 coarse and vulgar manners, who seemed to think the polish and 
 refinement to which she had always been accustomed, as quite 
 unworthy of great minds. Unused to the drudgery of teach- 
 ing, and not impelled by any high motive, she found it a weari- 
 some occupation. Her woman's heart asked for love, its 
 natural aliment, and here she received none. Feeding only 
 upon the ashes of an unsanctified ambition, the cravings of her 
 moral nature were all unsatisfied. 
 
 The power of a religious character hung around her still. 
 When the Sabbath came, with its holy associations, she missed 
 the soothing peace of her home at Ravenswood. When the 
 Bible was undervalued, in her presence, something within 
 shrank from the daring impiety, and the blessed segis of a 
 mother's prayers and influence shielded her yet, although 
 unseen. 
 
 Her youth, her rank and talents, all bespoke for her great 
 admiration, and plaudits were heaped upon her whenever she 
 appeared in public. This distinction did not precisely suit her 
 disinterested friend, Miss Fortescue, for she always claimed 
 pre-eminence wherever she moved, and could not, and would 
 not, tamely take a second place. Madge had left home without 
 money; Josephine had assumed all the expense of her journey, 
 and regarding herself as her benefactress, she made large 
 16
 
 242 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 demands upon her time, her talents, and her service. These 
 exactions became daily more and more oppressive, and Madge 
 began to think that the picture of independence, which she 
 had so brightly colored in the future, on nearer approach, was 
 overcast with dark and dismal shadows. 
 
 We will take an extract from her journal, after an absence 
 of six weeks from her home : 
 
 " Escaped, at last, from thraldom, I am now free to pursue 
 my own plans. In the future, I see a bright temple of fame, 
 to which I am hastening. Let commonplace women seek their 
 happiness in the tame retirement of home, in subjection to the 
 tyrant, man ; but give me freedom, to expand my intellect, to 
 exercise my talents, and to win a name, that will go down to 
 posterity. When I have reached the summit of my hopes. I 
 will gather around me the choice spirits of the world, who will 
 come to worship at the shrine of their young priestess." 
 
 "But it is hard to shake off the trammels of early education. 
 I cannot go to bed without my evening prayer; I cannot rise. 
 in the morning without some thoughts connected with my earl;, 
 home. When the Sabbath conies, unconsciously I sigh for its 
 sweet peace, although I am ashamed to let it be seen how 
 powerful are these longings. What often appeared to me so 
 tedious, when under the rules of my home, now returns to me, 
 in sweet contrast to the utter disregard of all sacred obligations. 
 Which can be right? 
 
 " Wednesday evening. I gave my first reading of Othello, to- 
 night. When appearing, for the first time, before a promiscu- 
 ous audience, for a few minutes my heart beat wildly and my 
 brain swam ; but summoning resolution, I commenced, and as I 
 became interested, I forgot the assembly, and the warm 
 applause almost intoxicated me. I returned home, fully repaid 
 for the effort. What would Edith say ? What would Ralph 
 think? Josephine did not appear much delighted with my 
 success. 
 
 "Friday. I wish that I could discharge my debt to Joseph- 
 ine; she seems to think that I can never repay the obligation 
 which I owe to ter. From early in the morning until late at
 
 MISGUIDED MADGE, 243 
 
 night she is calling upon me to perform countless services, that 
 wear upon me so heavily, that I find I have but exchanged 
 natural subjection to those whom I ought to love and rever- 
 ence, for assumed servitude to one who has no claims upon me 
 but such as I have made for myself. Am I in the path of 
 duty ? O, how dark all seems around me ! I fear that I can 
 never come up to Josephine's ideas of a strong-minded woman. 
 My heart is craving for love, and there is none around me ; the 
 atmosphere is filled with icebergs, which freeze my very heart. 
 The women are made of steel, sharp, hard, repelling. No 
 Sabbath, no fireside, no Bible, no God. Can I be happy with- 
 out these? Will fame, for I enjoy it, compensate for these 
 privations? Can I live without the sunlight of affection? 
 
 "Sunday evening. I stole away this evening to church. 
 Josephine did not know it ; but how different the services all 
 appeared to me ! At home, how listless, how inattentive, I 
 used to be! How often I neglected these holy privileges? 
 To-night, they came over my spirit with a sweet, subduing 
 power ; they brought back home, mother, sisters, friends. But 
 I fear that I have greatly offended God. I fear that I have 
 wandered too far from the paths of holiness ever to be re- 
 claimed." 
 
 After an absence of six months, we find the following ex- 
 tract : 
 
 " Tuesday. Disinterested benevolence! I have heard a great 
 deal of it among these dreamers, but when they are planning 
 any great work, all appear to vie with each other in having the 
 pre-eminence : all are watching the papers, greedily devouring 
 all that is said of their great performances. How different 
 from my ideas of disinterested benevolence ! ' Let every one 
 please his neighbor for his good to edification.' ' Look not 
 every man on his own things, but on the things of others.' 
 ' For even Christ pleased not himself.' How different these 
 holy, unselfish precepts of Christianity, from the chimeras of 
 self-styled philanthropists ! 
 
 "Thursday. Last night, I passed a house where I heard a 
 lady playing one of Edith's beautiful songs. I listened. My
 
 244 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 heart was bursting. Shall I ever see my sister again ? 0, what 
 a poor mistaken dreamer I have been ! There is nothing here 
 to satisfy me. How can I go home? I have no money. 
 Josephine would ridicule me; she will not help me. What 
 shall I do? I will seek the good pastor of the village church. 
 
 "Friday, I have seen Mr. Harper. O, how kind he was ! 
 He reminded me of dear Mr. Berkely. I told him my whole 
 story. He sympathized with me, and gave me much Christian 
 council. He advised me to go home. How can I ever reach 
 there ? I have no means ; perhaps he can tell me how to earn 
 some. O Kalph ! where are you now ? I wait, I wait for you. 
 
 " Sunday evening. Mr. Harper invites me to his house ; 
 promises to interest himself to obtain some pupils for me, by 
 which I can obtain money enough to take me home. But how 
 shall I tell Josephine? It must be done to-night. I can 
 endure this life no longer. 
 
 "Monday evening. I have performed the dreadful task. 
 Josephine was not surprised ; as she says that she has long seen 
 that I am in no way fitted for her high vocation. She treated me 
 with profound contempt, and told me that I need expect no 
 help from her. I would not take it. She has been most unkind 
 and selfish, with all her boasted philanthropy. I have seen it 
 only in public speeches and boasting articles in the press ; but 
 for private, gentle, unobtrusive acts I have looked and watched 
 in vain. How different from the teachings of our blessed 
 Saviour ! I have incurred the contempt of the whole institu- 
 tion ! Well, be it so ; I have escaped from their influence, and 
 I am willing to bear it." 
 
 Madge soon found herself at home, under the hospitable 
 roof of good Mr. Harper. With real Christian sympathy, he 
 obtained employment for her in the families of two of his 
 parishioners, and she commenced her labors with feelings of 
 heartfelt gratitude ; but in a short time, so great had been her 
 anxiety and fatigue, that symptoms of a low, wasting fever 
 appeared, and the poor girl sank under accumulated trials. 
 The pastor's wife was kind as a loving mother ; day and night 
 she was unremitting in her care of the sad young stran^or,
 
 MISGUIDED MADGE. 245 
 
 whom she feared would pass away, far from home. In her 
 wanderings, Madge rambled about Edith, ar.d Frank, and 
 Ralph ; the names of her family circle were continually on her 
 lips, and so piteous were her meanings, that Mrs. Harper's 
 most tender feelings were awakened in her behalf. They 
 strongly suspected that all was not right, but in the present 
 state of affairs could ascertain nothing. 
 
 We will leave her for awhile, and retrace our steps to her 
 astounded household, on the next morning after her departure. 
 When the time for worship arrived, Madge did not appear; 
 but that was not unusual. Breakfast was served, but still no 
 signs of the young girl. Edith sent to her room : she was not 
 there ; the bed had not been slept in ; her wardrobe and 
 bureau were emptied. On her dressing-table lay a few lines, 
 addressed to her sister : 
 
 " DEAR EDITH, I can endure my life of subjection no 
 longer. I go to seek for independence and for fame. You 
 need not inquire for me. I shall be far away, in a very short 
 time. May you be happy ! You will not miss me much, for 
 I have always felt as if I were one alone, and not welcome in 
 my father's house. Your sister, 
 
 " MADGE." 
 
 With a blanched cheek, Edith laid the note before her 
 father. He read it carefully. "She will repent this step, 
 Edith, mark my words. She was always a perverse and strong- 
 willed child. Perhaps some rough contact with the world may 
 do her good, and bring her to her senses." 
 
 " What shall we do ?" asked Edith. 
 
 " Our first step will be to inquire at Oak Hall," replied her 
 father ; " Josephine has something to do with this." 
 
 Edith immediately walked over to the Hall. On inquiring 
 for Miss Fortescue, she was told that she had gone on a long 
 journey, having set off late at night, and taken a great quan- 
 tity of baggage with her. 
 
 " Had she any companion ?" asked Edith.
 
 246 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 "I am not sure," replied the servant; "but I think that 
 there was a lady in the carriage with her, who d,d not wish to 
 be seen." 
 
 " Did she leave any message ?" 
 
 " She simply said, ' Tell my brother that I may be gone for 
 many years,'" replied the man. 
 
 When Edith saw Gerald, he was equally surprised, for he 
 had not the least idea of his sister's movements ; but both con- 
 cluded that Madge was her companion. Inquiries were instantly 
 set on foot, but they had taken every precaution to prevent 
 discovery, having changed their names, and stopping at obscure 
 hotels, where they could not possibly be traced. Edith, in her 
 distress, wrote to Ralph, and begged his co-operation in her 
 endeavors to trace the poor misguided girl. 
 
 He came instantly to Ravenswood, and although at first dis- 
 tressed, he said, " Do not make yourself unhappy, Miss Clifford ; 
 I think that this last step will work its own cure. She is a 
 young enthusiastic dreamer. None of her visions will be real- 
 ized. She will suffer great disappointments when brought into 
 close contact with these fanatics. Finding no rest for the sole 
 of her foot on the dreary waters on which she has embarked, 
 like Noah's weary dove, she will be driven back to her home, 
 to wander no more." For months Ralph was busy in making 
 all the inquiries which he could possibly institute, but without 
 success. He began to be discouraged. He feared, he knew 
 not what. Sickness, desertion, death, passed before him ; but 
 he committed her daily to God, and looked and waited for an 
 answer of peace. In his business transactions he frequently 
 met with persons from abroad. Dining one day with a gentle- 
 man from the far distant "West, he was conversing freely about 
 his home. 
 
 "By-the-way, Mr. Cameron, there is a singular institution 
 lately started among us, which has seriously alarmed the sober- 
 minded of our village. A company of strong-minded women 
 have established an institution upon the principles of the 
 Socialists, where they educate women for the learned profes- 
 sions, and children in their own ruinous principles. Within
 
 MISGUIDED MADGE. 247 
 
 the last few months there has been a very interesting young 
 lady added to the establishment, who has excited great atten- 
 tion by her splendid readings of Shakespeare, and by articles 
 contributed to the press. She is no beauty, but such eyes I 
 never beheld; they are luminous with the fire of genius; but 
 there is that about her which has convinced all who have seen or 
 heard her, that she was never intended for a strong-minded 
 woman. A graceful gentle step, a rich musical voice, whose 
 tones, in the pathetic characters which she chooses, thrills the 
 very depths of the soul. There is, moreover, a refinement in 
 her whole air and appearance, that places her far above the 
 coarse spirits by which she is surrounded." 
 
 Ralph listened with intense interest, and said, " What is her 
 name?" 
 
 " Margaret Crawford," replied the stranger ; " though we are 
 sometimes inclined to think that is not her true name. But, 
 poor girl, hers has been a very sad lot. She was disappointed, 
 and badly treated among her associates. Her spirits sank, and 
 she became so unhappy, as to seek a refuge in the house of our 
 good pastor, Mr. Harper. Like a good Samaritan, he interested 
 himself, and obtained some pupils for her; but when I left 
 P , under her heavy trials, she had sunk into a low, ner- 
 vous fever, and was dangerously ill. Forsaken entirely by 
 the philanthropists, the good pastor and his excellent wife were 
 as kind to her as her own parents ; but when I left, it was feared 
 that she would never rally." 
 
 Ralph bowed his head upon his hands, and on asking a 
 minute description of her person, he was nearly certain that 
 the suffering young stranger was their long-lost Madge.
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 COMING OUT. 
 
 YES! dear father, that will be charming!" 
 said Blanche, as- she laid her soft cheek 
 caressingly against her father's face. "We'll 
 have our coming out ball on our eighteenth 
 birthday ; that will be next month ; shall we 
 not, dear father?" 
 
 "We'll see, my dear: but what will Sister 
 Edith say?" answered her father. 
 
 " O, we know that she will not approve of it ; but then she 
 is a member of church, and we are not. Just let us have this ; 
 she won't oppose you, father, for sister is too respectful and 
 obedient for that. Now, if you will only consent, I promise to 
 read the papers for you, to copy your writing, and to play 
 chess all the winter evenings with you. 
 
 " You know how to bewitch father, Blanche. I suppose it 
 will have to be so ; but you must let me have something to say 
 about your drees for the occasion, as I have a surprise in store 
 for you." 
 
 " You may have the whole choice, father, only give your 
 consent for the ball." 
 
 " Well, then, you may send out your invitations ; and tell 
 
 me what you want ;" and away flew Blanche to seek Adele. 
 
 Throwing her arms around her sister, she exclaimed in an 
 
 ecstacy, " Only think, Adele, we are to have a coming out 
 
 248
 
 COMING OUT. 249 
 
 ball on our eighteenth birthday. We'll have 1/ie two parlors 
 and conservatory thrown into one room ; the library aud 
 dining-room will be fitted up for the supper; father's room 
 for the gentlemen's dressing-room, and the blue room for the 
 ladies. We are to have hired music, and waiters from 
 New York. We'll have some colored lamps on the trees in 
 the avenue and out in the garden. The boats will be nicely 
 prepared for the evening, for the weather will be pleasant 
 enough in September to wander about the grounds or to 
 sail upon the river. Then we'll invite the neighboring 
 gentry, the Lindsays, the Irviues, the Scotts, the Arlingtons, 
 and all our New York friends. Won't we have a nice time, 
 Dellie?" 
 
 Adele, though so full of life and animation, was much more 
 thoughtful than Blanche, and she stood awhile wondering 
 what dear mother would have said to the entertainment ; then, 
 being really affectionate, she did not feel quite comfortable in 
 taking part in anything so much opposed to the wishes of 
 Sister Edith, who was really the acknowledged mistress of 
 the family. 
 
 "I think, Blanche, before we lay our plans, we had better 
 ask Edith's advice," at length said Adele. 
 
 " Well, if we do, all our pleasure will be overthrown ; she'll 
 never consent," said Blanche, pouting. 
 
 " Let us go and ask her," said Adele. Hurrying off to 
 Edith's room, they knocked at her door. 
 
 " Who is there ?" said the voice within. 
 
 " 'Tis Blanche and Adele," said the latter : " we have some- 
 thing very important to ask." 
 
 Edith opened the door, and bade them enter. Seeing 
 their eager look, she smilingly said, " What mighty request 
 have you to make? I sfe an imploring look on both your 
 faces." 
 
 "Well, sister," said Blanche, as she threw her arm ca- 
 ressingly around Edith, "you see we are young ladies now; 
 we shall be eighteen next month, and father thinks that we 
 ought to take our place in society. He has consented that
 
 250 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 we should give a ball on that night, and we have come to 
 ask your consent. You won't refuse us, will you, sister 
 dear?" 
 
 Edith looked gravely on her beautiful sister, and did not 
 wonder that, with all her attractions, she should wish to 
 mingle with the amusements of the gay world ; but she re- 
 plied, " You know my views, my dear sisters, about these 
 frivolities. I have renounced them all, and I have no taste 
 for them; but for you, I have no right to exercise authority, 
 I simply give advice. You will find these vain things but 
 hollow mockery of real happiness. I fear these fascinations 
 for you both, and would bid you look higher for your enjoy- 
 ments than to the giddy scenes of a ball-room. But this is 
 my father's house : he has a right to say what shall be done 
 here. If he has given his consent, I have no more to say, 
 only this, and she encircled each sweet girl with either arm, 
 I hope, my dear girls, that you will not allow these silken 
 fetters of pleasure to entangle the feet that ought to be walk- 
 ing heavenward." 
 
 These affectionate words, dropped so lovingly and wisely by 
 the wayside, fell like gentle dew upon the young beings whom 
 she so fondly loved, and left an impression far more powerful 
 than all the sharp repoofs and bitter denunciations of a harsh, 
 censorious spirit. 
 
 In her perplexity, Edith went to Miss Arnold. " What 
 ought I to do, my friend ?" said Edith. " Should I say that I 
 will not consent to this ball ?" 
 
 " I would not advise you to do so, my child," replied Miss 
 Arnold, "for this is your father's house; he has entire con- 
 trol of it, and has a right to say what shall be done here. 
 Exert your influence to lead your sisters to higher pursuits ; 
 but if this ball is to take place, be courteous to your sisters' 
 guests ; and though you do not join in the frivolous pleasures 
 of the evening, you may watch over them, keep them from im- 
 proprieties, and hope for better things. 
 
 Blanche reported matters as they really stood to her 
 father, and the ball was agreed upon On the evening of
 
 COMING OUT. 251 
 
 the same day, the twins were seated on the piazza, discuss- 
 ing, in an animated manner, their intended pleasure. Sud- 
 denly Adele raised her eyes. " Look there, Blanche ! I do 
 declare, there comes the old gig ! What shall we do with 
 Aunt Priscilla ? Of all people in the world, she is the least 
 welcome." 
 
 " Sure enough, Adele," answered Blanche, " here comes the 
 old lady, with Snip, and Uncle Toby, and Poll, as I live! 
 What shall we do with her on the night of the ball ?" 
 
 " I don't believe that she will show herself on that occasion, 
 for you know that she thinks balls very wicked," replied 
 Adele. 
 
 " Yes, I know that ; but her curiosity is boundless, and, mark 
 my words, she'll be there," answered Blanche. 
 
 By this time she had reached the piazza. " Well, girls, how 
 do you do ! It's been a long time since I seed you. How's our 
 Edith ?" 
 
 From respect to their father, they received her politely, and 
 aided her to dismount. In a few days the old lady observed 
 the preparations for the expected ball. 
 
 "Well, deary me, Edith, the dead are soon forgotten," said 
 the old lady. " Who would have believed that Mary Clifford's 
 daughters would have spent their time in such a vain, ungodly 
 way ?" 
 
 " I could not help it, dear aunt," replied Edith ; "they know 
 my feelings ; but father thinks that they ought to be indulged." 
 
 The old lady bemoaned the folly, taking heavy pinches of 
 snuff for a long time; and at last, bidding Edith good-night, 
 dismissed her from her room. The twins were busily occupied 
 in making their preparations for two weeks before the eventful 
 evening. Edith was surprised to see the interest which Gerald 
 appeared to take in all the arrangements. He was in the habit 
 of coming up to Oak Hall always on Saturday, staying until 
 Monday ; now, in order to aid the young girls, on the week 
 before the ball he came on Friday, and was busily occupied in 
 making rich wreaths of laurel, which were to be mixed with 
 flowers on the day of the ball, and hung in festoons around the
 
 252 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 rooms. There was a great abundance of early fall flowers in 
 the garden and conservatory, and the young girls drew largely 
 upon their luxuriant profusion. Edith could have wished all 
 this energy to have been better directed, for she knew that dis- 
 appointment waits on all merely earthly pleasures ; but while 
 she felt no interest in these scenes of gayety, she considered it 
 a duty to see that all was properly prepared for her sisters' 
 guests, knowing that a sullen, gloomy face of disapproval, 
 might disgust them with her views of duty. At length the 
 day arrived. Gerald had been busy, for two days previous, in 
 hanging the festoons, and lending his exquisite taste to the decora- 
 tions. Edith admired the beauty of the rooms, but was 
 rendered uncomfortable by the entire engrossing of Gerald's 
 time, in his devotion to Blanche's orders and counter-orders, 
 running to bring flowers, mounting high ladders, and almost 
 risking his neck in his efforts to oblige the whimsical young 
 lady. 
 
 The birthnight was a bright moonlight evening, in the middle 
 of September. Blanche and Adele had been all day on the 
 tiptoe of expectation, and when they presented themselves 
 before their sister, attired for the ball, Edith thought that she 
 had never looked on anything half so lovely as the beautiful 
 creatures who glided into the room, ere descending to the parlor. 
 Both were dressed in soft, silver muslin, which their father had 
 imported especially for them. The material was very fine and 
 thin, hung in graceful folds around the perfect form of Blanche 
 Clifford. She wore pearl ornaments, and a wreath of fresh 
 rose-buds adorned her hair. The gossamer robe was particu- 
 larly adapted to her delicate beauty, and she glided about the 
 room like something purely spiritual. Adele was dressed in the 
 same manner, with the exception of her ornaments, which were 
 rubies instead of pearls, and scarlet geranium instead of rose- 
 buds, which peculiarly suited her rich olive complexion and 
 bright black eyes. 
 
 When Gerald stood at the foot of the stairs to escort Blanche 
 into the room, for a moment he seemed bewildered by the beauti- 
 ful vision, and conducted her in silent admiration to the head
 
 COMING OUT. 253 
 
 of the room, where she was to receive her guests. So much was he 
 engrossed by the contemplation of her beauty, that he had 
 nearly forgotten his duty to Edith, who was expecting him at 
 the head of the staircase. Suddenly remembering how long he 
 had kept her waiting, he excused himself; and a shade, very 
 much resembling disappointment, passed over his face as he 
 saw the pale, dignified figure, clad in a robe of plain India 
 muslin, with a few natural white flowers in her raven tresses, 
 and who greeted him with a cold and freezing manner, while 
 she extended the tip of her gloved fingers, barely touching his 
 arm. He could not but contrast her with the glowing, be- 
 witching creature whom he had just left, and sighed for 
 what ? 
 
 The scene was one of enchantment. The flowers, the daz- 
 zling lights, the youth and beauty there assembled, were all 
 bewildering. No wonder that the young creature who burst 
 upon the world for the first time, in all her youthful loveliness, 
 should have been intoxicated. She could not but be aware of 
 the expressions of admiration whispered all around her. The 
 centre of all eyes, her hand was sought in every dance by eager 
 aspirants for the honor; and Edith, observing that several 
 young ladies were joining in the waltz, whispered to her sister, 
 " Do not waltz with gentlemen ; your father disapproves of it, 
 and dear mother has often expressed her aversion." 
 
 " You need not fear," answered Adele, " I would not, under 
 any consideration, so far forget my dignity." Just then a very 
 fashionable-looking young gentleman advanced to Blanche, 
 and before Edith could utter another word of warning, she was 
 whirling around the room, encircled by the arm of an entire 
 stranger. 
 
 Early in the evening, as the company were assembling, what 
 was the astonishment of the sisters to see Aunt Priscilla enter- 
 ing the room, attired in the drab-colored wedding-dress which 
 she had so often described, made in the fashion of i'orty years 
 ago, narrow skirt, short-waisted, and standing alone. She wore 
 also a very full white muslin apro.i, which was formerly consid- 
 ered an important appendage to full dress; the sleeved were
 
 254 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 short, and on her thin arms were drawn long white silk mitts ; 
 her cap was of the usual kind, high-crowned, and decorated 
 with a profusion of yellow ribbon ; high-heeled slippers, and a 
 very large old-fashioned fan completed her custom. We had 
 almost forgotten a large bunch of flowers, which she always 
 wore in the bosom of her dress on grand occasions. Her curi- 
 osity had overcome her scruples, and she walked about the 
 rooms scanning the dresses, throwing up her eyes and hands in 
 mute astonishment; but on coming near a very fashionably 
 dressed lady, she exclaimed, " Goody gracious ! Did I ever 
 see sich hoops ! They're squeezin' me on every side." 
 
 Passing near a lady whose neck was very much exposed, she 
 said, loud enough to be heard, " Edith, do go speak to that 
 young woman ; she's forgotten to dress herself. I wonder how 
 her mother could let her come in such a trim ? I raly believe 
 she's got no shoulder-straps on at all." Finding that her niece 
 did not notice her remark, before Edith could interfere she ran 
 after her, and throwing a large pocket handkerchief over her 
 neck said, " Young woman, as there are so many men in the 
 room, I guess you'd better kiver up your neck ; you look scan- 
 dalous." The offended belle threw the handkerchief angrily 
 upon the floor, and made her way into a distant part of another 
 room. 
 
 Passing by another, whose dress was very conspicuous, Aunt 
 Priscilla stood close to her, and deliberately placing her specta- 
 cles over her nose, eyed the young lady from head to foot, and 
 taking her dress in her hand, she said, " Well, sure, this must 
 have cost a heap of money." Taking the arm of her com- 
 panion, the astonished young lady moved off in high displea- 
 sure. 
 
 When the dancing commenced, Aunt Priscilla was horrified. 
 With eyes thrown up, and uplifted hands, she sat rocking to 
 and fro and taking large pinches of snuff, as was her custom 
 when under deep exercise of mind. 
 
 "Why, Edith, dear, they're jist all the world like a set of 
 mountebanks; I never seed sich behavior in my horn i^-rt 
 When I was a young gal, and Jedediah came a coin-tin' ..i -, 'no.
 
 COMING OUT. 255 
 
 always sot on one side of the fire-place, and me on t'other: he 
 never corned any nigher; but jist look at those gals! Old 
 woman as I am, I'm a'most ashamed to set in the same room. 
 And there's Blanche! Who is that man with his arm around 
 her waist, spinning her round for all the world jist like a top?" 
 
 " Why, aunty, this it all contrary to rny desire. I am just 
 looking for Blanche, and I shall use my influence to stop it." 
 Coming again in sight of her sister, she encountered Gerald, 
 regarding Blanche with an unusual expression of anger upon 
 his countenance. 
 
 "Edith, can you bear that?" said Gerald, greatly excited. 
 " It is too much to see that lovely creature waltzing with that 
 young libertine." 
 
 "This is just what I wish to say to you, Gerald; can't you 
 contrive to speak to Blanche ?" 
 
 "I shall remain near her, and will use all my influence, 
 that is, if I have any." 
 
 Edith hurried away with a heavy weight upon her heart ; 
 and why ? 
 
 Exhausted by her exertions, Blanche threw herself upon a 
 lounge near Gerald, who, walking hastily towards her, took 
 her arm and begged her to walk with him. Conveying her to 
 a small side-room, greatly excited, he said, " Blanche, do not 
 waltz; I can't bear it; or rather," changing his tone, 
 " your sister requests it. It is not proper for such a young girl 
 to waltz with a stranger." 
 
 " Well, then, I promise you not to waltz again ; but why 
 don't you dance, Gerald ?" answered Blanche. 
 
 " Because I never learned," replied the young man. 
 
 "Well, can't I teach you?" said Blanche, with the most 
 bewitching smile. " You have only to walk two or three times 
 with the set, and you will know all about it. Won't you stand 
 up with me in the next set? If you don't, I'll waltz, Gerald," 
 said Blanche, archly, shaking her little fan. To prevent such 
 a thing Gerald consented ; and what was Edith's surprise to see 
 him with the giddy dancers, and following the movements of 
 Blanche as if entirely bewildered Wherever Blanche moved,
 
 256 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 Gerald was near, and seemed for awhile tc have forgotten that 
 there was such a person in the room as Edith, until the march 
 struck up for supper, when he hastily sought for her, and 
 presenting her his arm, conveyed her in silence to the supper- 
 table. 
 
 Meanwhile, Aunt Priscilla had excited much laughter among 
 the fashionable guests. Her singular costume, eccentric man- 
 ners and odd expression mortified her nieces not a little ; and 
 Edith was pained when she heard the following conversation. 
 Miss Lindsay, running up to Blanche, said : " Who is that old 
 quiz going about the room shaking her bony finger at the com- 
 pany?" 
 
 " O, she is an old woman who comes to see us sometimes. 
 She used to nurse my father when he was a little boy, and 
 thinks herself, on that account, a privileged character ; but I 
 did not dream that she would push herself in among us to- 
 night." 
 
 Her sister was grieved at this fresh manifestation of Blanche's 
 weakness, in denying the relationship of her good, though 
 odd, old relative. 
 
 When asked, by one of the guests, who she was, Edith 
 replied, " This is a very eccentric old aunt of ours, whom we 
 respect for her real worth, though she does sometimes annoy 
 us by her oddities." 
 
 Tired of the scene, Aunt Priscilla went up to Edith and 
 said, " My dear, you'll have to excuse me now ; Snip is not 
 very well. I must go give him some medicine. I should like 
 to give you some more of my company, but I can't." And by 
 ten o'clock the old lady disappeared, shaking her head and 
 taking extra pinches of snuif, in disapproval of the whole 
 scene. 
 
 After supper, pleading a bad headache, Edith retired to her 
 room, to commune with her own heart ere she sought her couch. 
 She reviewed all the events of the evening, and was greatly 
 disturbed by the conduct of her betrothed. She endeavored 
 to still the rising disquietude of her heart, but it was all in 
 vain ; she could not blind herself to what she had seen, and
 
 COMING OUT. 257 
 
 prayed for guidance in the path of duty. She mourned over 
 the worldiness of the scene, for her sisters had been completely 
 intoxicated with admiration. They had mingled, she feared, 
 with characters whom she would not wish for their intimates ; 
 and she saw before her path hills of difficulty. It had been a 
 trying evening to Edith. Madge, wanderer from her father's 
 roof, her fate unknown ; Frank, still in a state of banishment : 
 these scenes of gayety had no charms for her, and she realized 
 the need of a stronger arm and more sympathizing heart than 
 could be found in mere humanity. She found it all in her 
 Redeemer. She retired to her rest, and while the sounds of 
 music were prolonged 'late in the night, and the revellers were 
 still unwilling to depart, Edith's last thoughts were hopeful 
 and serene, and her dreams brought back the loved and lost. 
 
 After she left the room, Gerald yielded himself once more 
 to the fascinations of Blanche. The evening was mild and 
 balmy. A September moon illumined the landscape and 
 danced upon the waters of the Hudson, inviting those fond of 
 the amusement to an excursion on the river. 
 
 "Come, Blanche," said Gerald, "let us make up a party 
 for the river, it is a charming evening for a row ; invite some 
 of your young friends, and we'll leave the warm rooms for the 
 cool Hudson." 
 
 Accordingly, Blanche, Adele, and several others, accom- 
 panied Gerald to the shore, and seating themselves gaily in the 
 boat, were soon pushed off into the river. They spent an hour 
 delightfully, rowing about, while the young ladies lent enchant- 
 ment to the scene, by the melody of their sweet voices floating 
 on the midnight air. Blanche was greatly excited, and Adele 
 mischievously amused herself by rocking the boat to and fro, 
 to the great terror of the city girls. Blanche was somewhat 
 alarmed, for, being of a more timid nature than frolicsome 
 Adele, she was afraid of an upset. Seated in the bow of the. 
 boat, Gerald seemed entirely engrossed in endeavoring to quiet 
 her fears; wholly captivated by her fascinations, he appeared 
 quite bewildered, and almost forgot the relations between him- 
 self and Edith, when Blanche suddenly cried out, " Oh ! Bro- 
 17
 
 258 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 ther Gerald, do stop Adele; she will upset us yet!" This 
 appellation, which she often used in addressing the young man, 
 sounded unpleasantly at this time, and he began to take his heart 
 to task for the feeling. Withdrawing himself suddenly from 
 her side, he took his seat in a distant part of the boat, and 
 during the rest of the excursion was moody and silent. 
 
 Blanche, taking his arm when they landed, said, " Why, 
 Brother Gerald, what is the matter? What makes you so 
 cross ? Have I offended you ?" 
 
 " You have, not, Blanche ; but let us hurry into the house ; 
 the dew is falling, and you may catch cold." 
 
 When the bewilderment of the evening was over, and Gerald 
 found himself alone in his room, a review of the evening was by 
 no means satisfactory. Pie saw that he had neglected Edith, 
 and his conscience reproached him bitterly. "But who could 
 help it," thought he, " in the presence of such a bewitching 
 creature as Blanche Clifford ?" Certainly, it might have been 
 answered, " Not weak Gerald Fortescue." But, desiring to 
 pursue an honorable course, the next day he avoided the young 
 girl, was particularly kind and attentive to Edith, and on tak- 
 ing leave of her for New York with the same old tenderness of 
 former years, her woman's heart was satisfied, and she banished 
 her jealous fears as unworthy of her. 
 
 The reaction of the next day after the ball abundantly 
 proved the unhealthy nature of such excitement; for neither 
 Blanche nor Adele could settle themselves to any sober occu- 
 pation, but after sleeping until a very late hour, they wan- 
 dered about from room to room, listless and yawning, in search 
 of some new excitement. Blanche Clifford had created a great 
 sensation in her first appearance in the gay world. All were 
 enraptured with her beauty, and charmed with Adele's spark- 
 ling wit and vivacity. Invitations poured in upon them. Mr. 
 Clifford was gratified, and encouraged them to accept all from 
 families whom he approved. ^** 
 
 On the following week, an invitation from Mrs. Lindsay to 
 a party of tableaux perfectly intoxicated the young girls, and 
 for several days they were busily engaged in their preparation.;
 
 COMING OUT. 2-39 
 
 for the evening. Everything was arranged in perfection, and 
 great enjoyment was anticipated. Whea the party had as- 
 sembled, the folding-doors were thrown open, and the first pic- 
 ture that presented itself was " Night and Morning." Night 
 was represented by a tall, stately girl, with a pale face, and 
 masses of rich, dark hair, arrayed in a black robe, spangled 
 with silver star, and a crescent resting upon her forehead ; she 
 stood with eyes uplifted, and an expression of melancholy 
 thought rested upon her countenance. Morning was perso- 
 nated by Blanche, attired in a thin, gossamer robe, floating 
 around her like a cloud ; over her shoulders was suspended a 
 wreath of flowers, and her beautiful hair was gathered in a 
 Grecian knot, from which hung a profusion of rich curls, 
 fastened by a bunch of flowers, whose delicate blossoms hung 
 gracefully over her neck and shoulders. She stood on one foot, 
 leaning forward, as though about to take flight, while in her 
 hands she carried a basket of flowers, which she was scattering 
 over the earth. 
 
 A burst of admiration greeted this beautiful picture, and 
 Gerald stood, in speechless delight, quite abstracted from the 
 company, for some minutes after the curtain had fallen. Next 
 came a gipsy encampment, in which Adele represented, very 
 effectively, a gipsy girl, and Blanche, a young girl having her 
 fortune told by the old gipsy. " Taking the Veil," was the 
 subject of three pictures : Blanche, in the first, as the bride of 
 heaven, was again the chief object of attraction ; in the second, 
 submitting to the cutting off" of her beautiful hair ; and in the 
 third, laid in a coffin, she represented the cloistered nun, dead 
 to the world. Her beauty was the theme of every tongue, and 
 she seemed perfectly intoxicated by the flattery which she 
 received. Gerald's love of the beautiful again led him into 
 the sphere of her attractions, and Blanche was pleased to re- 
 ceive the attention of such a distinguished, interesting-looking 
 person, not reflecting how her sister might be pained by her 
 thoughtless conduct. 
 
 As the fall advanced, preparations were made for the young 
 girls' promised visit to New York. Edith dreaded the tempta-
 
 260 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 tions of the great city, but her father was determined, and she 
 could only trust and pray. She was, however, made more 
 unhappy than she chose to acknowledge by Gerald's manifest 
 admiration of Blanche ; not that she feared his truth and 
 honor, for she was too noble for that, but she was troubled 
 by this exhibition of the power which beauty held over her 
 betrothed husband. 
 
 She suffered in silence ; for she was by nature too proud to 
 acknowledge her weakness. Her manner towards Blanche 
 became chilled, and to Gerald, sometimes even haughty. A 
 cloud rested upon her spirit; communion with heaven was inter- 
 rupted, and the wings of her soul were borne down heavily by 
 these weights of earthly care and disappointment. 
 
 When Edith saw her sisters departing for New York, she 
 could only commit them to the care of her mother's God, for 
 she feared that they would be surrounded by an atmosphere of 
 folly. She had observed with sorrow, that Gerald daily became 
 more remiss in his religious duties, neglecting the communion 
 of the saints, and conforming more and more to the gay world; 
 therefore she could no longer look to him for Christian influ- 
 ence over her beloved sisters. 
 
 But in the midst of these trials, her heart was cheered by 
 good news from Frank. Ralph had succeeded in obtaining a 
 situation for him as clerk in a bank, and determining to break 
 off from, all his old associates, he made the village where Mr. 
 Berkely lived his home ; for there he could enjoy the society of 
 the good pastor and be free from the temptations of a city life. 
 The facility of communication was so constant that he could 
 always be in the city in time for business. Edith constantly 
 corresponded with her brother, and blessed God for the serious 
 tone which pervaded his letters ; but she could not yet urge his 
 return home, for her father's mortification was still too keen to 
 venture upon the subject. On Sunday she always saw Frank, 
 for he was constant in his attendance upon the sanctuary. 
 One Sunday, after service, Mr. Berkely, with a smiling aspect, 
 summoned Edith to the vestry-room. When seated, he ad- 
 dressed her kiiidly, saying, " My dear child, I think that I
 
 COMING OUT. 261 
 
 have good news to communicate ; I have sanguine hopes of 
 your dear brother, Edith. He is one of our most faithful 
 worshippers and earnest inquirers after truth. The good seed 
 sown so faithfully, and watched so prayerfully, is taking root, 
 and, I doubt not, will bring forth fruit to perfection. I see 
 the blade, I look for the ear, and then the full corn in the ear ; 
 let us never forget to pray, my child, and God will give us his 
 blessing." The good sister listened with a glistening eye, and 
 with a full heart blessed God for these mercy drops. Anxious 
 to see Frank, she accepted the pastor's invitation to return 
 with him to dinner, where she was rejoiced to be folded once 
 more in the arms of her cherished brother. 
 
 After the second service, the brother and sister walked to 
 the old churchyard where reposed the remains of their mother. 
 It was towards evening when they reached the spot. Seated 
 on a rustic settee, near the consecrated grave, Frank said 
 solemnly, " I thought, dear sister, that this was a fitting place 
 to communicate all that I have to say." Taking Edith's 
 hand, which he held fondly in his own, he continued, " ! 
 how many anxious hours have I caused you, dear Edith. 
 When I look upon the past, I wonder at the forbearance of 
 our Heavenly Father ; how have I provoked him to leave 
 me to myself ! But your prayers, dear sister, have prevailed 
 at last." 
 
 Edith listened with a glowing cheek and swimming eyes, as 
 she laid her head upon her brother's shoulder, and said, " Dear 
 Frank, our mother's prayers are answered at last." 
 
 "You know not, dear Edith, what a powerful influence your 
 warnings and your prayers have had on me. When cast off 
 so harshly by my father, my impetuous nature would have 
 hurried me on to ruin ; but your love, your faithful fulfilment 
 of the sister's vow, followed me everywhere. I felt, while that 
 was left to me, I was not wholly forsaken. I really believe 
 the remembrance of your words, on the night when I was 
 driven from the stage, came upon me with such power, tluit it 
 drove all other recollections from my mind, and caused the 
 failure which then produced such anguish. I rushed to my
 
 262 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 room in an agony of grief and mortification. Locking my 
 door, I gazed upon my mother's picture. Edith, it looked 
 upon me so lovingly and tenderly, and I almost fancied that 
 I saw it smile mournfully, for I knew how she would have 
 felt in the hour of my misery, and I longed, Edith, for one 
 hour's communion with the sweet spirit. At that moment, I 
 felt the beauty of Cowper's exquisite lines : 
 
 '" Oh, that those lips had language ! Life has passed 
 With me but roughly, since I heard thee last. 
 Those lips are thine thy own sweet smile I see, 
 The same, that oft in childhood solaced me; 
 Voice only fails, else how distinct they say, 
 " Grieve not, my child ; chase all thy fears away !" ' 
 
 "In that hour of desertion, the scales of passion and error 
 began to fall from my eyes. I saw what a precipice I had 
 escaped ; and all that I desire now is, that I may become a 
 real child of God. Here, by our mother's grave, will you pray 
 that I may be led in the way everlasting ?" 
 
 Laying her hand upon her brother's head, Edith raised her 
 voice in earnest supplication to a throne of heavenly grace. 
 
 The cool breeze sighed mournfully among the old trees, that 
 bent over the dead ; and when Edith raised her eyes to heaven, 
 there was the evening star, her mother's star, shining down 
 upon the solemn scene, reminding her of a spirit that, in the 
 better land, rejoiced with the angels over a sinner that re- 
 penteth. Taking leave of Frank, with feelings too deep for 
 utterance, her ride home was cheered by the thoughts of all 
 that he had heard, and she thanked God for the grace which 
 had enabled her to keep her solemn vow. Here were some of 
 the fruits of her sacrifice ; more were yet in store. 
 
 But Frank was not so happy. He had concealed one 
 wrong, misguided step, which had deeply involved the hap- 
 piness of one he loved, and he almost feared to pain Edith by 
 the disclosure ; but the longer he reflected, the more clearly 
 he saw his duty, and at last wrote the following : 
 
 "DEAREST EDITH: Since our interview, I have been
 
 COMING OJT. 263 
 
 deeply troubled at the thought of one wrong act, which I 
 concealed from you; but I find that my conscience cannot 
 be appeased but by a full disclosure. You know, dear sister, 
 how fondly I love Eveleen Austin, and how devoted she has 
 been, through my darkest days of trial and degradation. 
 She has clung to me through all. When Ralph obtained my 
 present situation, I felt that I had a right to ask for her 
 hand. I sought her father. He rejected my suite with 
 scorn, and asked how I dare, a clerk in a bank, aspire to 
 the hand of his daughter? I answered, proudly, that I was 
 his equal now, for, by the labor of my own hands, I was 
 ready and able to support Eveleen, not in affluence, but in 
 comfort, and we wanted no more. But, sister, he scorned 
 me, and said that he had other views for her. Stung to the 
 quick, I said, ' Should Eveleen be persecuted, she has a pro- 
 tector in me ; and I do not conceal the fact, that I will save 
 her from all suffering.' Many weeks had not elapsed before 
 I received a letter from Eveleen, breathing the deepest 
 anguish, and saying that her father insisted on her accept- 
 ing the hand of a man of wealth, worldly and unprincipled, 
 whom she deeply abhorred. The more that she refused, the 
 more bitter was his persecution. I was agonized. I wrote 
 an answer, urging immediate marriage. Edith, I was wrong, 
 but I could not bear to see her miserable. We were mar- 
 ried privately, and I feel that I ought now to claim my 
 bride, I am able to support her. But how shall I inform 
 her father ? I have made up my mind to do so, ere I close 
 this letter. 
 
 " Since I wrote the lines above, I have informed Mr. Aus- 
 tin of all. I had not despatched my letters but two hours, 
 before a carriage drove up to the bank, and Eveleen, pale 
 and terrified, but nearly motionless, in the back seat, beck- 
 oned me to come to her. Bursting into tears, she said, 
 ' Frank, I am a disowned and banished daughter ! I have 
 none left but you. My father says that he has abandoned me 
 to my fate.' 
 
 "I shall take a cottage near Mr. Berkely, and there we
 
 264 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 shall pass our lives together until better days arrive. Do 
 not blame rue, Edith. I have done nothing clandestinely. 
 I told Mr. Austin that I would save her from persecution ; 
 and I trust that I can make her happy. "Will you look for 
 a home for us? We are boarding in New York until our 
 house is ready. There, in the retirement of the country, 
 loving and comforting each other, I trust that we shall find 
 peace. Affectionately, your brother, 
 
 " FRANK." 
 
 Edith read the letter seriously, for she feared that sore trials 
 were in the way of her brother and his gentle wife : but she 
 busied herself in looking for a suitable home for the young 
 pair. In caring for her dear brother she forgot many of her 
 own personal griefs. 
 
 But a new trial awaited her. Lilly's peculiar affliction 
 made it necessary that she should be sent away from home 
 to be educated. This had been Mrs. Clifford's request ; and 
 now that she was old enough, Edith took great pains in 
 
 making inquiries ; and, selecting the institution at P , 
 
 she prepared to send her away under the care of a faithful 
 and tried servant, Ellen Moor, the niece of old nurse. 
 Lilly was greatly distressed at the thought of leaving her 
 own sweet home and her dear sister; but on being told it 
 was mamma's wish, she had no more to say. On the night 
 before her departure, Edith, as usual, retired with the chil- 
 dren to their room. Placing her arm affectionately around 
 Lilly, who leaned her head upon her sister's shoulder, she said, 
 " It grieves me, dear, to send you from me ; but you cannot be 
 properly educated at home, and I am sure that you will wish to 
 be of some use in the world. There you can be taught to read 
 and write, and to sew, to knit, and to do many more useful 
 things. Ellen is a good, kind girl, and will take the best 
 care of you. You will soon learn to w r rite, and then you can 
 send letters every week, and I will never neglect my little Lilly." 
 
 " Sister, I shall miss Emily so much, and though I cannot 
 see dear Ravenswood, I can think how the trees look when I
 
 COMING OUT. 265 
 
 hear the leaves rustle, and how the flowers look when I smell 
 them. I shall miss good Uncle Peter, and dear old nurse, and 
 my little cat, and my birds ; there will be nothing so sweet 
 there. But what shall I do without good Mr. Berkely ? No 
 one will lay his hands upon my head, and bless the little 
 blind girl so kindly. Indeed, sister, a word from our dear 
 pastor goes down into my heart, and does me good for days 
 afterwards. When he talks to me about the dear Saviour, I 
 wonder how anybody can help loving Jesus, and the dear pas- 
 tor for Jesus' sake." 
 
 Edith folded her sweet sister in her arms, and bending her 
 knee, committed her blind child to her Father in heaven, with 
 renewed faith, as she looked upward and remembered his 
 covenanted faithfulness to dear Frank. " May I not hope," 
 whispered she to her heart, " that though perhaps long with- 
 held, Madge, dear, wilful, wandering Madge, thoughtless 
 Blanche, open, truthful Adele, sweet little Emily, and my 
 beloved father, will all be brought home at last to ope 
 Saviour, one heaven, one home?" The hope cheered her spirit 
 and nerved her for parting with dear Lilly. Taking her on 
 
 to P , in company with her father and servant, Edith saw 
 
 her comfortably placed in a neat little chamber ; and in her 
 interview with the principal felt well assured that she was 
 leaving her in the care of wise, judicious, and kind friends. 
 Lilly was comforted with the thought that five or six hours' 
 journey could, at any time, bring them together again ; and 
 being a pious, sensible child, she submitted, more willingly than 
 Edith had anticipated, to the separation. 
 
 " Remember, Lilly," were her sister's parting words, 
 " when evening comes I shall always be with Emily praying 
 for my darling Lilly ; you will not forget us then, love, will you ?" 
 
 " Never. Ellen will tell me when the evening star shines 
 in the sky, and then I shall think of you and dear mamma." 
 
 " At Christmas we shall send for you, Lilly ; the time will 
 fly rapidly. Good-bye, dearest," and with one more affection- 
 ate kiss, Edith was gone, and the blind child was alone with 
 her nurse.
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 WOODBINE COTTAGE. 
 
 DEEPER clouds gathered around the path of 
 Frank Clifford. His father, who had almost 
 resolved to recall his son, when he heard of his 
 imprudent marriage was deeply displeased, and 
 his increasing moodiness and frequent absence from 
 his family led Edith to fear that the day of recon- 
 ciliation was farther off. 
 
 A new object of interest, however, engrossed 
 much of her time. Having succeeded in obtaining a neat 
 little cottage on the banks of the Hudson, she was busily 
 occupied in receiving the simple furniture which was sent up 
 daily from New York. When the last touch was given, she 
 looked around upon the results of her labor with peculiar at- 
 isfaction. The tasteful little cottage was an attractive feature 
 in the landscape, standing, as it did, embowered in green trees, 
 at the head of a grassy lawn, which sloped down to the river's 
 brink, and around which bloomed every variety of beautiful 
 flowers. Over the lattice-work that covered the front porch 
 was trained a profusion of woodbine, which led Edith to name 
 the sweet spot Woodbine Cottage. The furniture was very 
 simple, but arranged to the best advantage by Edith's skilful 
 hand. The windows of the little parlor, which reached the 
 lawn, were shaded by thin muslin curtains; and Edith, out of 
 the allowance regularly given her by Aunt Priscilla, was able 
 266
 
 WOODBINE COTTAGE. 267 
 
 to add many little articles of taste, which Frank could not 
 purchase. Some pretty vases for flowers, a neat little book- 
 case furnished with valuable books, and two very pretty, com- 
 fortable, fancy chairs were added as the sister's gift. A handy 
 housemaid was hired, and Edith saw that a nice meal was 
 prepared in the neat little dining-room, ready to receive the 
 young pair on the first evening of their arrival ; for the kind 
 sister had stipulated that neither should see the little home 
 until all was completed. Towards evering, the boat which 
 brought up the evening passengers, passed directly in front of 
 the pleasant, picturesque spot. 
 
 Frank, who was pacing the deck with Eveleen, called her 
 attention to the shore. "Look, dear," said the young wife, 
 " what a darling little nest that is! Howl should like just 
 such a home! What beautiful trees ! What a smooth, velvet 
 lawn ! How exquisite that little porch looks, with its wood- 
 bine arbor! And, Frank, look there! What a sweet-looking 
 lady ! What a noble air she has ! She seems to be watching 
 us very earnestly ! Why, Frank, she is waving her handker- 
 chief, I do believe !" and turning round to look at her hus- 
 band's face, she saw there a very meaning smile. " 0, Frank, 
 I do believe that is our home, and that is our sister Edith ! Is 
 it not so ?" said Eveleeu. 
 
 " It is, my love, you have rightly guessed ; and this is all 
 the home I have to offer to the petted Eveleen Austin." 
 
 " Don't say so, Frank, it is perfectly charming," said the 
 sweet girl. 
 
 Soon the boat was brought to the pier, not far from their 
 home. Landing speedily, with their baggage, they proceeded, 
 arm-in-arm, down the shore, to their cottage home. Edith, 
 who had been anxiously expecting them, ran hastily down the 
 lawn to meet the expected travellers. The little gate was 
 quickly opened, and her arms outspread to receive the young 
 bride, as she kissed her affectionately and said, " Welcome, my 
 Bister, to your humble home." 
 
 Eveleen raised her blue eyes to Edith's face, almost with 
 reverence, as she replied, ' I know what you have been to
 
 268 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 Frank, be the same to me ; we are a young pair very much 
 alone in the world, with none to care for us but each other, and 
 our sister Edith ;" and her sweet eyes filled with tears as she 
 caressingly took Edith's arm, and walked to the house. 
 Throwing off her hat, when she reached the porch, her luxu- 
 riant hair fell over her neck in rich profusion, and as she 
 looked around her with an expression of innocent delight, 
 Edith thought that she had never seen a being more lovely 
 than her brother's gentle wife, and wondered not that he should 
 love her ; but she sighed as she observed the extreme delicacy 
 of her complexion, and the blue veins which coursed so dis- 
 tinctly under the transparent skin. 
 
 Edith conducted her to her pretty chamber, and as she 
 clapped her little hands, enraptured with all that she saw, 
 her sister was richly repaid, when Eveleen threw her arms 
 again around her neck, and said, "Thank you, thank you, 
 dear, sweet sister ! what a neat little dressing-bureau ! and 
 such a jewel of a wash-stand ! and what a pretty carpet !" 
 Then, flying to the window, she gazed out upon the charm- 
 ing prospect. " Just think, Edith, of looking, all the time, 
 at such a beautiful view ! I would not go back to New 
 York for all the grand palaces in the Fifth Avenue." Then, 
 turning to the dressing-bureau, she quickly made her simple 
 toilet, exchanging her travelling dress for a neat white 
 robe, and twisting her beautiful curls around her little fin- 
 gers, and placing a few flowers in her luxuriant hair, said 
 smilingly, " Frank likes to see flowers in my hair, and I try 
 to do everything to please him ; he is all the world to me, 
 Edith;" and down she tripped, like a little humming-bird, 
 and, running out to the dining-room, she glided around the 
 table, with movements light and graceful as a fairy. 
 "Now, Frank, is not this tea-set charming? white and gilt; 
 then that pretty little urn, and a cream-jug, and sugar-bowl. 
 Frank, I know you did not order silver, and, you know, we 
 runaways had no profusion of silver wedding-presents ; 
 where in the world did they come from? Now I know," 
 looking at Edith's blushing face ; " you bought them, darling.
 
 WOODBINE COTTAGE. 269 
 
 O, how kind you are !" and away she flew again, to heap ca- 
 resses upon Frank's dear sister. " Now, Edith, is it not a 
 dreadful pity that Eveleen Austin should be such a little fool? 
 There, if I had married the great Mr. Peyton, I should have 
 thousands of dollars worth of silver spread upon my centre- 
 table, to show my envious guests. I should have a splendid 
 house on the Fifth Avenue, a magnificent carriage and pair, 
 real Cashmere shawls, splendid jewelry, point lace, and real 
 diamonds. But, Edith," lowering her gentle voice to a sad 
 whisper, " I should have had no love. My heart would 
 have withered, and it would soon have been said of Eveleen 
 Austin, ' Ashes to aslies, dust to dust.' But now I have a 
 simple cottage, far away from noise, and heat, and fashion," 
 and, looking affectionately at her husband, " and I have a 
 wealth of love and worth in the noble heart that loves me;" 
 and, rising, she confidingly placed her arm in her husband's, 
 who led her to the table, and placing her at its head, said, 
 " Now, fairy, let me see how you will do the honors of the 
 table." 
 
 " I don't know much, Frank, but I can learn everything, 
 for your sake." And, seating herself gaily at the table, she 
 praised the ripe strawberries and rich cream, the nice bread 
 and butter, the fragrant tea, and wondered if she should be 
 able to have so nice a meal when Edith was gone. After 
 tea, taking her husband's arm, she proceeded to the kitchen, 
 and asked Edith the use of everything ; then, out to the 
 poultry yard, where, seating herself on a low stool, with all 
 the playfulness of a child, she tried to catch the little chick- 
 ens, and said, laughingly, " Edith, won't it be fine fun to see 
 Eveleen Austin, with her neat white apron, and basket in 
 hand, feeding her poultry ? Would not the belles be 
 shocked?" Edith was charmed with the simplicity and 
 warm-heartedness of her interesting sister, and could not 
 but admire the devotion which had transformed this clrld 
 of fashion into the loving, domestic wife. Prophesying 
 much happiness for her brother, she turned with them to go 
 into the house. Edith whispered a word to Frank, who
 
 270 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 said, " Evy, dear, we are now the heads of a family, and I 
 wish to have God's blessing on our house ; it is my desire to 
 recognize God as the ruler here, and therefore, if you have no 
 objection, we will have family worship, morning and evening. 
 It was my mother's custom, and I cannot think a family pro- 
 perly ordered without it." 
 
 Evy smiled, and said, " Do just as you please, dear Frank, 
 though I think it seems a little Puritanical. I have never 
 been accustomed to anything but the worship of God in his 
 own house, but you are the master here, and all your rules 
 shall be respected." 
 
 So Frank Clifford opened the Bible, read a portion, and, 
 from a well-arranged form, conducted family worship in his 
 own house. It required some self-denial to do so, but, be- 
 ginning to consider duty before inclination, he manfully 
 pursued the path of obedience. 
 
 Next day, Eveleen, knowing that Frank was fond of an 
 omelette, ordered one for breakfast ; but her servant not being 
 able to make one, and being anxious to make some trial of her 
 skill, she stepped out of her room, and in her neat morning- 
 wrapper and white apron, undertook the weighty task. 
 Having a book to consult, she was full of the idea of trying 
 without consulting Edith, intending to surprise both her 
 husband and sister. She toiled over her work, burnt her poor 
 little hands, scorched her face, and when she had accomplished 
 her task, rang her bell, and took her seat with an air of 
 pretty triumph at the table. But she was afraid all was not 
 right, for it looked too solid and heavy. When she offered a 
 piece to her husband, she waited anxiously to hear his 
 remarks. 
 
 "Why, fairy, what is this?" said Frank. "It is very 
 tough ; there is too much flour in it." 
 
 Evy's eyes filled with tears, and she said, " I'm so sorry, 
 Frank ; I thought I was making such a nice omelette, and 
 now it's all a failure ; but it is the first I ever made, the next 
 will be better." 
 
 "Don't cry, fairy," said her husband; " if I had known
 
 WOODBINE COTTAGE. 271 
 
 that you made it I should not have said one word. You 
 deserve a great deal of credit for your effort, and if you 
 will only stoop to ask a little advice, you will soon learn." 
 Edith informed her what had been her mistake, and prom- 
 ised to show her all about it, and to furnish her with many 
 valuable recipes. 
 
 When she saw them completely settled in their little 
 home, Edith returned to Ravenswood, happy in seeing her 
 brother united to a being so lovely and devoted, and hoped 
 that the day would come when both should be restored to their 
 parents' love. Eveleen was a happy wife, though the thoughts 
 of home and mother sometimes cast a shadow over her sunny 
 brow ; yet was her devotion to her husband the more absorb- 
 ing in consequence of this estrangement. Daily, she busied 
 herself about her household arrangements. She was rapidly 
 improving, under Edith's tuition, and bid fair to become an 
 excellent housekeeper. Blanche and Adele had returned from 
 the city, having spent a very gay winter, and now frequently 
 visited their interesting sister, and counted it quite a treat to be 
 invited to tea at Woodbine Cottage. 
 
 Eveleen's sponge-cake, Eveleen's tea, and Eveleen's pre- 
 serves, were the nicest ever spread upon a table, and Frank 
 was a proud husband when he heard the praises of his dar- 
 ling wife. The twins were still supremely devoted to plea- 
 sure. Blanche attracted many admirers, and Adele was the 
 life of every circle where she moved. But had they quite 
 forgotten God ? It is feared that self and the world had 
 entire possession of their young hearts ; for, although for 
 fashion's sake, and from the force of early habits, they still 
 frequented the house of God, their interests were wholly 
 engrossed in the amusements and frivolous pursuits of a false 
 and fleeting world. Gerald did not seem to like the numerous 
 admirers that flitted around Blanche, and Edith was disturbed 
 by these fresh exhibitions; but, whenever he had been guilty 
 of any act for which his conscience condemned him, his re- 
 newed devotion to Edith silenced her fears, and completely 
 deceived her.
 
 272 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 Frank's interest in serious things appeared to increase. 
 Eveleen observed that he was more deeply engaged in read- 
 ing the Bible, and spent much time in the retirement of his 
 room. She generally contrived to have all her housekeep- 
 ing regulated, and herself dressed, against she expected her 
 husband. Seated on her little porch, generally in a simple 
 white dress, she was ready to watch for the approach of the 
 evening boat, and as soon as she saw a white handkerchief 
 waving from the deck, kissing her hand, away she flew, and 
 throwing on her large flat and silk mantle, her graceful figure 
 might daily be seen, with rapid step, hastening up the shore, 
 to meet her husband. Leaning on his arm, with her sweet face 
 upturned to his loving gaze, she would lead him into the 
 house, run up stairs with him, hand his loose wrapper and 
 slippers, brush his hair lovingly, and then would say, sweetly, 
 " Now, dear, do you want to be alone ?" 
 
 " Yes, a little while, fairy ; I will be with you soon.'"' 
 
 Pleasant were the hours spent together, after these seasons 
 of refreshment in the presence of his Heavenly Father. 
 
 Mr. Berkely often visited them at their cottage, and was 
 deeply interested in the young pair. He was frequently alone 
 with Frank, for an hour at a time, and there was evidently 
 something on his mind which depressed and troubled him. 
 He was devoted to his class in the Sunday-school, and em- 
 ployed much of his time, on Saturday afternoons, in visiting 
 them at their homes. 
 
 Mr. Clifford began to ask questions about Frank, and Edith 
 was delighted to speak of his improved character, of his lovely 
 wife, his pleasant home, and his present appearance of deep 
 interest in the things of God. She hoped that the day was not 
 far distant when her dear brother would be recalled to her 
 father's bosom ; but she wisely forbore urging it. A notice 
 had been given for confirmation. Frank heard it with solemn 
 feelings. He had long desired to dedicate himself openly to 
 God, for he trusted that he had given himself to his service, 
 and longed to identify himself with the Redeemer's flock. 
 Walking home quietly from church, Frank turned at length
 
 WOODBINE COTTAGE. 273 
 
 to Eveleen, and said, " Evy, dear, I wish to tell you that it is 
 my intention to be confirmed. I believe that I possess the 
 spiritual qualifications for the rite, and I regard it as a solemn 
 duty to devote myself to God's service." 
 
 "I suppose that it is all right, Frank," said Eveleen; "but, 
 dear, I hope you are not going to be a Methodist." 
 
 " What do you mean, Evy?" 
 
 " I mean, that I hope you are not going to think it a sin to 
 smile, and sing psalms all day ; I think, Frank, it would be so 
 gloomy." 
 
 Frank smiled at the foolish notions of his little wife, but 
 making allowances for her education, he said, " I think, 
 Eveleen, if any one should be cheerful, it should be the Chris- 
 tian : not full of levity and thoughtless mirth, but serene, 
 joyous, peaceful. I have learned, Evy, that it is a solenm 
 thing to live. 
 
 " ' Life is real, life is earnest, 
 
 And the grave is not its goal. 
 
 "Dust thou art, to dustreturnest," 
 
 Was not spoken of the soul.' " 
 
 " Well, dear Frank," replied Eveleen, " I think that you 
 are good enough now, but you must do your duty; I shall 
 never interfere." 
 
 " I wish, dear Evy, that you felt more interest in serious 
 things, personally," replied her husband. 
 
 " Remember, dear husband, that I was never brought up 
 religiously, as you have been, and that makes a great differ- 
 ence." 
 
 " Yes, dear, I know it does ; it is an unspeakable privilege 
 to have had a holy mother, and I have realized its blessing ; 
 but, dear Evy, there is a great need in every human heart, and 
 that is, the need of pardon, through a Saviour's blood." 
 
 " Why, Frank, what have I done? I do not break any of 
 the commandments. I try to be kind, and gentle, and loving ; 
 I pray every morning and evening ; I go to church : what else 
 must I do?" 
 
 " We must remember, dearest, that GxTs estimate of our
 
 274 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 character is very different from our own. He tries us by the 
 spirituality of his holy law, which does not excuse a single 
 omission. You will allow, dear Evy, that by that holy stand- 
 ard, all are guilty before God." 
 
 " I have always looked upon our Heavenly Father as a God 
 of mercy, Frank, who will not be extreme to mark our short- 
 comings." 
 
 " So he is, Evy ; but his mercy is extended to us through 
 Jesus Christ alone, and we receive it by an act of trusting faith 
 in his holy promises." 
 
 Many such conversations passed between the young pair, 
 nor Avere they all in vain. The good pastor was a faithful 
 guide to the young man, lending him suitable books, visiting, 
 counselling, and praying with him. Light gradually dawned 
 upon his path. He was enabled to embrace the promises, to 
 realize his interest in the death of his Redeemer, and finally 
 gave his name as a candidate for confirmation. Ere partaking 
 of that solemn rite, he wrote to Eveleen's father, and his own, 
 begging forgiveness for their act of disobedience ; but, as yet, 
 no forgiveness came. Mrs. Austin longed to fold her child to 
 her heart, but the father was inexorable ; his pride had been 
 too deeply wounded. 
 
 When the day of confirmation arrived, no more earnest 
 heart, or interesting person, knelt at the altar, than Frank 
 Clifford ; and many a heartfelt prayer went up before the 
 mercy-seat, that he might be kept in the way everlasting. It 
 may well be imagined with what feelings of unspeakable joy 
 Edith looked upon her beloved brother, once so far astray, 
 now brought back to the fold of God. Here was the visible 
 answer to her supplications, here the fruits of that early Chris- 
 tian training, which had followed his young footsteps all the 
 days of his life. When the Bishop laid his hands upon his 
 head, and uttered the affecting prayer of the beautiful service, 
 Edith's faith was strengthened, and she hoped that all her 
 dear ones would at last be brought safely home into the evei'- 
 lasting kingdom. Eveleen looked on with a tearful counte- 
 nance, for the solemnity of the scene impressed her heart, and
 
 WOODBINE COTTAGE. 275 
 
 when she took her husband's arm on her return home, she 
 realized painfully that there was one subject in which they 
 had no mutual interest. Perhaps they were treading different 
 paths. What if his should be to heaven, and hers away from 
 God? The thought sank deep into her heart, and imparted a 
 shade to her sweet countenance. Ere Frank partook of the 
 communion, he wrote once more to his father a full, frank, 
 humble confession of all his faults, and an earnest prayer to 
 be taken once more to his bosom. Ever since the confirma- 
 tion, Edith had observed a great change in her father ; he had 
 been touched more than he acknowledged, by the open pro- 
 fession of his son ; and ' now she observed that her brothpr's 
 picture was restored to its place in the drawing-room, and that 
 her father seemed pensive and deeply ruminating. 
 
 After tea, seated on the piazza, her father took his seat by 
 her side. "Edith," said he, "will you tell me something 
 about Frank's wife?" Her heart gave a bound of joy, for only 
 once before had his name passed her father's lips. 
 
 " She is all, dear father, that you could wish : one of the 
 loveliest and most devoted of little wives. Though educated 
 in the midst of affluence, she is the most cheerful and notable 
 little housekeeper that you can imagine. I am sure if you 
 knew her that you would love her; and then, during all 
 Frank's trials she has comforted him, and upheld him so 
 sweetly, never once complaining ; but, like a bright sunbeam, 
 bidding him to be hopeful, submitting to privations, and per- 
 forming services that her delicate hands had never touched 
 before." 
 
 "Edith, I can hold out no longer. I received such an 
 humble, frank letter, from your brother, that I long to assure 
 him of my forgiveness, and to take them both to my heart. 
 You know, dear, that on Thursday next will be the anniversary 
 of my wedding-day, which, during your dear mother's lifetime, 
 we always observed. Would not that be a suitable time to 
 have our family reunion? Since her death, I have still ob- 
 served it, but it has been in the silence of my chamber, re- 
 viewing all the past."
 
 276 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 Edith threw her arms around her father's neck, with her 
 heart too full for utterance for some minutes. At last she said, 
 " Dear father, how happy would this have made my dear 
 mother; and darling Frank only needs this to restore his 
 peace. He deserves our confidence ; he is greatly changed : so 
 attentive to business, so loving and devoted at home, so con- 
 scientious and faithful, as a Christian ; you would scarcely 
 know your wild, impulsive boy." 
 
 The father's eyes glistened, as he listened to the praises of 
 his son, and he replied, solemnly, " Edith, you are nobly 
 redeeming your vow to your dying mother. If you had for- 
 saken him, as I have done, where might he have been now ? 
 But faithfully you have clung to him. I have watched your 
 devotion, dearest. I see the lofty principle. You have \von 
 your brother back to paths of peace. Madge will come too ; I 
 feel it; and, Edith, your father, too. What would you say if 
 I should tell you that you may hope to see him walking in 
 paths of holiness. The atmosphere of Ravenswood, so purified 
 by the sainted spirit that dwelt here so long, is full of holy 
 associations and links which bind to heaven." Edith listened 
 with all the feelings of her deep nature stirred to their very 
 depths. 
 
 " Oh, father, how shall I thank God for all his goodness ! 
 How unworthy am I of the least of his mercies !" 
 
 " The longer I live, Edith, the more powerful becomes your 
 mother's influence. If I go into my room, there are her table 
 and books of devotion. Her sweet picture smiles on me, Edith, 
 and seems to reproach me, when I neglect my Bible or daily 
 prayer. If I go into the library, there is the chair on which 
 she used to sit in our family unions; in the sitting-room, there 
 is the Bible in which she used to read, in family worship ; in 
 the garden, the flowers which she used to love ; in the house of 
 God, the Prayer-book which she valued ; by the wayside, the 
 poor whom she loved to bless ; in the parish school, the little 
 children whom she ministered to so kindly. Often, as I pass 
 along, I hear the little curly-headed prattlers blessing the 
 memory of my sainted Mary."
 
 WOODBINE COTTAGE. 277 
 
 Edith felt, as she listened to her father, the power of woman's 
 influence as she had never done before, and hastened to sum- 
 mon her brother and his wife to his childhood's home. 
 
 Anxious to make the occasion one of great rejoicing, Mr- 
 Clifford wrote to Mr. Austin, begging forgiveness for his offend- 
 ing daughter, stating all that he knew about their course, announc- 
 ing his intention of restoring to his son all his rights, and 
 inviting Eveleen's parents to meet them all at Ravenswood. 
 Mr. Austin was too proud to yield, although his heart longed 
 for a sight of his own Eveleen ; but he left his wife free to do 
 as she pleased, and the mother's heart flew to meet her long- 
 lost child. Eveleen had frequently written to her mother, 
 begging forgiveness; and it was a singular fact, that on the 
 very day when Mr. Clifford's letter arrived, another touching 
 epistle came from Eveleen, which Mrs. Austin instantly an- 
 swered, assuring her of full and free forgiveness, but saying 
 nothing about the contents of Mr. Clifford's letter. It was 
 arranged that Mrs. Austin should meet her daughter at Ravens- 
 wood, on the anniversary day; but neither knew of the delight- 
 ful surprise in store for them. 
 
 Frank regarded the recall as another token of God's un- 
 merited goodness. It reached him the day before the reunion, 
 and ran thus : 
 
 " Come, dear Frank, dear Eveleen, your father longs to wel- 
 come you to your home once more. Mr. Berkely has had a 
 great deal to do with this result ; what a dear, faithful friend 
 he is ! We shall expect you at four o'clock. 
 
 " From your own EDITH." 
 
 Eveleen flew to her husband, in an ecstacy of delight, saying, 
 " Oh, Frank, won't it be a happy day ! Home again to Ravens- 
 wood ! Banished no more ! And then, on your mother's 
 wedding-day !" Then, bursting into tears, she sobbed out, 
 " Oh ! if I could only hope to be restored to my parents' love 
 once more ! But, I must wait patiently." Wiping her eyes, 
 she resolved that nothing should dim the happiness of Frank's 
 return. Soon recovering her spirits, for his sake, she chatted
 
 278 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 away, with all the sweet simplicity of a guileless, affectionate 
 child. Next morning she was up with the lark. Frank 
 promised to come home sooner than usual, and she busied 
 herself all day, wondering how Mr. Clifford looked, and what 
 she should say, and how she should behave to her new father. 
 At an early hour, dressed in a white muslin, Frank's favorite, 
 with some natural flowers in her beautiful hair, radiant with 
 delight, though trembling and blushing with vague apprehen- 
 sions of she knew not what, she presented herself before her 
 husband, and entering a carriage, they were driven rapidly to 
 Ravenswood. As they came in sight of the noble mansion, 
 Frank's emotions were visible, and Eveleen's expressions of 
 rapture were voluble as usual ; but as they drew near, the depth 
 of their feelings silenced both ; and when they approached the 
 door, they perceived a group standing on the piazza ready to 
 welcome them. 
 
 Descending from their carriage, Frank tenderly supported 
 the trembling form o f his sweet wife ; and leading her to his 
 father, Mr. Clifford first embraced his son in unutterable joy, 
 " My son ! my long-lost son !" 
 
 " My dear, dear father !" burst simultaneously from their 
 lips ; then, laying his hand solemnly on Eveleen's head, he 
 said, slowly, "God bless my daughter my Eveleen!" and she, 
 in tearful silence, kissed the hand reverently, and replied, 
 "Love me, for Frank's sake, will you not, dear father?" 
 
 Edith received her brother with all the deep emotion of 
 which her fervent nature was capable. Frank was nearly un- 
 manned by the warm affection with which his younger sisters 
 embraced him and welcomed him home once more. His feelings 
 were deeply touched, on seeing good old nurse standing in the 
 hall, wiping away the tears with her white apron; and old 
 Uncle Peter, throwing up the whites of his eyes, in great 
 delight, to heaven, as he wrung his young master's hand, and 
 said, " Welcome home, Massa Frank ! Didn't I tell you that 
 there was a soft place in old massa's heart, and that we should 
 see you back in your father's hall ?" During thu speech, Aunt 
 Priscilla was hurrying forward, and seizing Frank's hand, ?aid,
 
 WOODBINE COTTAGE. 279 
 
 " Wouldn't Mary Clifford be a happy woman to-day, if she 
 were here? But she's better off. They say the angels rejoice 
 over repenting sinners, and I'm sure she's an angel in the skies, 
 and shouts for joy to-day." 
 
 On entering the drawing-room, what was Eveleen's surprise 
 and joy to find herself folded in the embrace oi her beloved 
 mother. " O mother, this is too much joy !" said the excited 
 girl, almost fainting from the excess of her emotion ; and 
 taking Frank by the arm, she led him to Mrs. Austin, saying, 
 " Forgive us, dear mother, and love my dear husband; will you 
 not, mother?" 
 
 "You are both fully forgiven, my dear children," said the 
 mother ; and embracing Frank, added, " Henceforth, you are 
 my son, my dear son." 
 
 Gathered around the family board, it was a happy group 
 that assembled that evening in the halls of Raveuswood, and 
 good Mr. Berkely, who had sympathized with all their joy, 
 blessed the household, in the words of earnest prayer and bene- 
 diction, and learned another lesson, of th power of woman's 
 influence and the efficacy of believing prayer. 
 
 " All we need now," said Frank, " to make us happy, is the 
 presence of our dear Madge. Have you heard anything of her, 
 Edith?" 
 
 " Not a word," replied his sister, " but Ralph is in search of 
 her, and I hope much from his perseverance. She has given 
 us a great deal of anxiety, but I believe she will be restored to 
 us yet." 
 
 After supper, the party were charmed by Eveleen's perform- 
 ance on the piano, and by Edith's harp. 
 
 Eveleen, whose sense was very quick in all that relates to 
 the affections, was surprised at the admiration which Gerald 
 manifested for Blanche, especially as she knew the relations 
 between himself and the noble Edith Clifford. 
 
 While seated in the drawing-room, the father by the side of 
 Frank, and Eveleen folded in her mother's embrace, Uncle 
 Peter presented a smiling face at the door, as he said, "Miss 
 Edith, here is a letter for you. I hope there is good news in
 
 280 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 it." Edith, seeing it was Ralph's writing, seized it with a 
 trembling hand, and, on breaking the seal, exclaimed : 
 
 "News from Madge, dear father; Ralph has found her!" 
 Then suddenly changing countenance, she continued, " She is 
 very ill, with but little hope of final recovery. As soon as she 
 is able to be moved at all, Ralph will bring her home. She is 
 almost heart-broken." 
 
 These tidings saddened the spirits of the party, but hope still 
 whispered its sweet messages to Edith's heart. Before return- 
 ing to Woodbine Cottage, Frank sought an interview with his 
 father, in the library, and communicated to him first his secret 
 wishes and convictions of duty 
 
 " You know, dear father, that I have always desired a pro- 
 fession. My first choice was most unfortunate, but since I have 
 become a Christian, it is my solemn conviction that I atn called 
 to preach the everlasting Gospel. The difficulty is about sup- 
 porting my wife, but I think that I can do so. I can still 
 retain my place at the bank, and study, under Mr. Berkely's 
 care, in the afternoon and evening." 
 
 " I rejoice in your choice, my son, and would willingly bear 
 the expense of your education, only that it would never do to 
 be separated from your wife. I think, perhaps, it would be 
 better for you to continue at the bank for this year; for the 
 next year, you could go to the Seminary, and you can board 
 with Eveleen near the institution. I will bear all the expenses 
 cheerfully." 
 
 "Thank you, dear father. I will now make known my 
 wishes to Mr. Berkely and my wife, and I doubt not that God 
 will give us his blessing." 
 
 After an hour spent in the joys of reunion, Frank and 
 Eveleen, accompanied by Mrs. Austin, returned to their sweet 
 little home, happy in the prospect of family harmony. 
 
 " Dear mother, is there any hope that father will ever 
 forgive me?" whispered Eveleen, when alone with her mother. 
 
 " I think so, my child, though it will not do to say too much ; 
 time will cure all." 
 
 The mother was delighted with the neat housekeeping of her
 
 WOODBINE COTTAGE, 281 
 
 daughter, and wondered how she could have learned so much ; 
 but when she saw the devotion of the young pair to each other, 
 she felt that affection had been the teacher, and had drawn out 
 all the capabilities of her woman's heart, 
 
 When in the retirement of her own room, Eveleen said, 
 "Frank, do you not think that Gerald is very cold to Edith? 
 His manner is very singular, and if I did not know better, I 
 should certainly say that Blanche is the chosen idoL" 
 
 " I thought so myself, Evy ; but we must remember that 
 Gerald is a worshipper of beauty; he may only admire her 
 as an artist. I cannot think it possible that any one who 
 has ever loved Edith could, for one moment, think of 
 Blanche." 
 
 " That depends entirely upon the person, Frank," said his 
 little wife. " My own opinion is, that Edith is too lofty for 
 Gerald ; I do not think that he can sympathize with her fer- 
 vent nature. If I mistake not, there are more bonds of sym- 
 pathy between Gerald and Blanche." 
 
 " I should be sorry, Eveleen, for I know the depth and 
 purity of Edith's heart, and she has loved Gerald Fortescue 
 all her life ; if he disappoints her, her heart will be a withered 
 thing." 
 
 Both felt strong apprehensions, for they saw much, in their 
 visits at Ravenswood, to lead them to fear for Edith. When 
 Frank communicated his desires to Eveleen with regard to the 
 ministry, she encouraged him, although she said, " Who would 
 have thought that gay little Eveleen Austin would ever have 
 been the wife of a minister? But there are strange things 
 happening around us. I am sure, Frank, that you will do a 
 great deal of good." 
 
 On the Sunday after this communication, it was a communion 
 season. Eveleen felt more and more keenly the separation 
 which existed between herself and her husband, in these holy 
 bonds. On this day, when she saw Frank approaching the 
 table without her, her spirit was deeply touched, and, as the 
 congregation left the church, she remembered Coxe's beautiful 
 lines ;
 
 282 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 " The organ played sweet music. 
 
 While as, on Easter day, 
 All heartless from the altar, 
 
 The heedless went away : 
 And down the broad aisle crowding 
 
 They seemed a funeral train, 
 That were burying their spirits 
 
 To the music of that strain. 
 
 " Oh, the soul-dirge, how it echoed 
 
 The emptied aisles along, 
 As the open street grew crowded 
 
 With the full and pouring throng! 
 And then again the voices; 
 
 Ha ! the soul-dirge ! hear it play! 
 And the pensive, pensive whisper, 
 
 ' Will ye also go away ?' " 
 
 "Will ye also go away?" thought Eveleen ; "and from whom ? 
 from my bleeding Saviour?" Wider became the distance be- 
 tween the husband and wife. Loving and affectionate as they 
 still were, they both felt that there was one subject on which 
 there was no heartfelt sympathy, and that, the dearest, highest, 
 holiest which can interest an immortal being. 
 
 Since Eveleen's reconciliation with her mother, many com- 
 forts had been added to their establishment, and, to her great 
 delight, her piauo among the rest. But her fears were much 
 excited for Frank's health when she found that, after his day's 
 toil at the bank, he spent so many hours at his studies. His 
 education had been thorough, his talents were superior, and Mr. 
 Berkely looked forward to his ordination with peculiar satis- 
 faction ; but his wife was alarmed when she saw his incessant 
 application, and obtained from him a promise that he would 
 always devote his evenings, until bed-time, to her. This 
 promise he faithfully kept, but frequently the midnight hour 
 saw him still at his studies. 
 
 At the close of the first year at Woodbine Cottage, another 
 life was added to the household, and Eveleen named her 
 darling boy Frank, after his father. It was a source of the 
 purest delight, and after the ad vent of the little stranger Eveleen's
 
 WOODBINE COTTAGE. 283 
 
 character appeared to deepen ; the holy responsibilities of a 
 mother awakened all that was fervent in her nature. She 
 realized that none but a Christian could possibly perform these 
 sacred obligations, and she sought and found that grace which 
 she so much needed. Bound together by new and holier ties 
 henceforth they pursued their pilgrim path together, partaking 
 of the same joys, sustained by the same blessed hopes.
 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 IS IT MADGE 1 ? 
 
 PEEP into Madge's journal will depict her feel- 
 ings after her convalescence. 
 
 "They say that I am better, but I am very 
 weak. So many visions of death and eternity 
 pass before me that it seems to me as if I am 
 approaching the spirit-land ; and what if I am ? 
 Am I prepared to meet my Saviour? How long 
 have I been sick? They say it is but a few weeks ; 
 it seems to me like months. So much has passed in the his- 
 tory of my soul ; such hours of abasement ! such a falling of 
 the scales from my eyes I such revelations of my pride and 
 arrogance! such hardness of heart to my Heavenly Father ! 
 such ingratitude to my father, to Edith, and to Ralph ! How 
 could I ever say that my mother neglected me ? Nothing but 
 the dark clouds of jealousy could have obscured the sunshine 
 of her love. How could I be so misled by Josephine? 
 
 " Where have I seen any of the boasted philanthropy of 
 these Socialists? Forsaken by Josephine, neglected by the 
 whole society, the disciples of the blessed Jesus have taken 
 me in, and, like the good Samaritan, have poured oil into my 
 wounds. The instructions of my early years have all re- 
 turned ; they have visited me in the night-watches, and whis- 
 pered their blessed lessons of peace, and truth, and love. I 
 feel as if I had been travelling over high, steep mountain 
 284
 
 IS IT MADGE? 285 
 
 through gloomy ravines, with dark clouds looming constantly 
 over my head, searching for something in the distance, which 
 was ever eluding my grasp ; falling into deep chasms, tearing 
 my hands, and lacerating my feet in my endeavors to extricate 
 myself, until, like a poor, weary traveller, I see light in the 
 distance ; now it comes nearer and nearer. I have long ago 
 laid down the weapons of my rebellion. My pride is abased, 
 and I see the silver thread which leads me to my Saviour ! I 
 want rest ; rest for my wearied spirit. O, Ralph ! I want to 
 tell you all. I shall be cold and hard no more. ! just to 
 see your noble face, once again ; just to ask forgiveness ; just 
 to hear your voice, your clear manly tones! Their very 
 sound would strengthen me. If God spares my life, what a 
 different course shall I pursue ! If he will only restore me to 
 Edith, how sweet it will be to aid her in her noble deeds of 
 humble charity ! There shall I find abundant occupation for 
 all the talents which God has given me, and then Ralph will 
 counsel me; his strong arm will uphold me; his clear intellect 
 will guide me ; his manly piety will cheer me. What a bless- 
 ing to have such a friend ! I have deserved none of these 
 things. I have merited God's displeasure, and I receive no- 
 thing at his hands but goodness. Shall I not devote myself, 
 with all that I have, and all that I am, to his service ? Dear 
 sainted mother's prayers are answered at last. I feel that in 
 God's own good time all our dear family will be gathered home 
 to heaven. And where now is Ralph ?" 
 
 After his conversation with the stranger, he was fully con- 
 vinced that he had traced the wanderer, and said, " O, Madge ! 
 have I waited for you so long, and shall I find you suffering? 
 Or, perhaps, you are no more among us. But no, I feel that 
 you are coming, Madge ; coming back to Ralph, to your home, 
 to God." With these hopeful thoughts, after writing a few 
 
 hasty lines to Edith, without further delay he set off for P , 
 
 travelling night and day. 
 
 When he arrived in sight of the Institution, he was almost 
 afraid to enter: it had a gloomy appearance, embowered 
 thickly in dark trees, the windows closed. His heart misgave
 
 286 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 him. With a trembling hand he rang the bell, and asking for 
 Miss Fortescue, that lady made her appearance, and received 
 him with a stiff bow. 
 
 "Can you give me any information concerning Miss Clif- 
 ford?" asked Ralph. 
 
 "She has left us," answered Josephine, haughtily. "She 
 has proved herself an unworthy disciple of our society, and I 
 know nothing about her." 
 
 "Do you not know that she is ill?" asked Ralph, indig- 
 nantly. 
 
 " I have heard something of the kind ; but I have washed 
 my hands of her entirely," replied Josephine. 
 
 " Can it be possible that, calling yourself a woman, you 
 could abandon the poor misguided girl in a strange place to 
 such a fate ? That you could forsake her, suffering, perhaps 
 dying, and you the person who led her from her home and her 
 duty !" 
 
 Josephine placed herself indignantly before Ralph, and, 
 extending her arm in a threatening attitude, said, " Beware, 
 how you use such language to me. I will not bear it!" and 
 ringing the bell, she directed a servant to show this man the 
 door, and haughtily swept from the room. Ralph then in- 
 quired for Mr. Harper, and finding the parsonage, he waited 
 impatiently in the parlor. "While seated there, he observed a 
 familiar book ; opening it, on the first page he observed the 
 name of Madge in a well-known hand. His eye was next 
 attracted by a portfolio ; he opened it, when a number of 
 scraps of poetry fell out, all breathing a tone of sadness, and 
 signed by the same familiar name. In a few minutes, Mrs. 
 Harper entered the parlor. 
 
 "I called, madam," said he, "to inquire fora young lady 
 named Margaret Crawford. Is such a person here ?" 
 
 "She is," replied the kind lady; "she has been very ill, 
 but, we trust, is now convalescent, although feeble still; she is 
 just beginning to sit up." 
 
 " Can I see her ?" asked Ralph. 
 
 ' Will you send your name, sir ?"
 
 IS IT MADGE? 287 
 
 Taking his card, Mrs. Harper left the room, and quickly 
 returned, with permission for him to enter. He knocked 
 at the door. A very faint voice said, " Come in," and on en- 
 tering, he was so shocked at the sight which met his gaze, that 
 he could but exclaim, " Can this be Madge ?" It was, indeed, 
 but O, how changed ! Seated in an easy chair, propped up by 
 pillows, the bright eyes were dimmed, the rich, clear complexion 
 pale and haggard, the luxuriant hair cropped, and her form 
 withered to nothing. 
 
 On extending her poor little wasted hand, Ralph could not 
 refrain from dropping a large tear upon the trembling fingers. 
 Raising her swimming eyes to his face, she could not speak for 
 some minutes, and when she did, it was with a choked utter- 
 ance that she said, " O, Ralph ! how I have waited for you ! 
 I knew that you would come, but O, how long it has seemed ! 
 Weary nights and tiresome days I have spent in watching for 
 you, and now I feel as if my toilsome watch is ended, and I am 
 at peace." 
 
 Folding her little hands together, while the large tears 
 rolled down her pallid countenance, her head dropped, but it 
 was supported on Ralph's shoulder, who said, tenderly, "It 
 has been a long vigil to me, Madge, but I always said you 
 would return, even when you were so cold and haughty. I 
 knew the warm throbbings of that little heart would seek a 
 haven of rest at last." 
 
 " Ralph, you are too good," replied Madge. " I deserve 
 nothing but reproaches, and I receive only kindness. Can you 
 forgive me, Ralph, for the ingratitude which I have shown to 
 you?" 
 
 " You have been forgiven long ago, Madge. I knew that 
 you were misled, and that our Father would bring you back 
 again. Have you found peace in the Redeemer, Madge ?" 
 
 " I trust so ; I have no hope of pardon but through his merits. 
 All I desire is to be his forever." 
 
 Madge was full of questions concerning the dear family circle. 
 When she heard the tidings of Frank's return to his home, of 
 his sweet wife, and of his present holy life, she was overpowi-ivd
 
 288 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 with feeling, and said, " O Ralph ! is not God good to us ? One 
 by one, he is bringing us home." 
 
 " When do you think that you will be able to travel ?" asked 
 Ralph. 
 
 " I shall recover my strength rapidly now," replied Madge. 
 "Now that my heart is relieved, I think that in about a week 
 we can set off. I am so anxious to get home." 
 
 Unwearied in his attentions, he watched over the young girl, 
 and so soon as it was considered safe, prepared to return. With 
 many thanks to the dear friends who had been so kind to the 
 sick young stranger, they took their departure, and travelled 
 slowly, resting sometimes a whole day, before it was deemed 
 advisable to proceed. At the end of two weeks they arrived 
 in sight of home. Madge had been absent for more than a 
 year. It was now the day before Christmas. Edith had 
 heard from Ralph, who led her to hope that they might be 
 with them on Christmas eve. The household were full of eager 
 anticipation. The Christmas weaths were hung in the drawing- 
 room and library ; holly boughs, with their red berries, mingled 
 with laurel, adorned the hall ; glowing fires were kindled in the 
 rooms; lights blazed everywhere, and a look of joyous expecta- 
 tion beamed in every countenance. Uncle Peter was constantly 
 on the look-out ; nurse bustled about in her best silk dress and 
 new Christmas cap ; Aunt Priscilla was busy, making the large 
 pound-cake ; and Mr. Clifford, wrapped in his furs, was rest- 
 lessly pacing the piazza. 
 
 " O, massa, there comes a carriage!" said Uncle Peter. 
 " Can that be Miss Madge ?" 
 
 The carriage drove up rapidly, and was found to contain 
 Frank and his family, who had come to spend the holidays at 
 home. There was somewhat of a shade of disappointment on 
 the father's face, who was so eagerly looking for his daughter. 
 The dinner hour had passed, still no Madge: it was feared that 
 she would not arrive that day. Towards evening, Edith, who 
 was watching eagerly, perceived a carriage, with a large quan- 
 tity of baggage, coming slowly up the avenue. Her heart gave 
 one bound, almost sick with mingled feelings of joy and fear.
 
 IS IT MADGE? 289 
 
 When it drew near, she saw a pale face, supported on the 
 shoulder of Ralph Cameron, and in another minute the car- 
 riage-door opened, and lifting out the wasted form, that seemed 
 no heavier than a child, silently he gave her into the arms of 
 her sister. 
 
 " Dearest Madge, welcome home !" whispered Edith, with 
 feelings almost too strong for utterance ; and as Madge turned 
 upon her those beautiful eyes, now swimming in tears of tender- 
 ness, and answered, "Let us thank God, Edith, for all his 
 goodness," the good sister felt as if the evil spirit had departed, 
 and that, in her right mind, Madge had been restored ; but, as 
 she looked upon her face and withered form, she feared, to die. 
 Leading her into the house, she was received in the arms of her 
 father, and folded to Frank's heart with fervent love. Eveleen, 
 who had heard her sad story, welcomed her warmly, for her 
 husband's sake, and the twins felt that a new feature of joy was 
 added to the happiness of Christmas eve. Seated in the library, 
 where they had so often met before, its bright bituminous fire 
 imparted a fresh glow to the happy faces that welcomed the 
 young wanderer, and illumined a beautiful portrait of Mrs. 
 Clifford, that seemed to smile upon the joyous reunion. Edith, 
 raising a curtain that concealed a table, at the end of the room, 
 disclosed the gifts prepared for the occasion. In the excitement, 
 it had almost been forgotten that Madge was a weary traveller. 
 Taking her to her room, Edith aided her in unrobing, and 
 after taking some slight refreshment, persuaded her to lie 
 down. 
 
 After a short sleep, dressing for supper, she returned to the 
 family circle, and entering the library, lay on the sofa, while 
 Edith distributed the gifts of love. Expecting Madge, each 
 had prepared her a little offering. She received them tearfully, 
 saying, " How could I ever wander from this home of love, to 
 freeze among such icebergs as I have been with ?" She was 
 delighted with all her gifts, especially Eveleen's, which was a 
 very handsome gilt morocco needle-book, completely furnished 
 with gold thimble, scissors, &c. " I thank you, dear sister," 
 said Madge. "I wish to learn how to use these skilfully, and 
 19
 
 290 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 shall often come to you for lessons in the accomplishment." A 
 handsome set of the British Poets was the gift of Ralph Came- 
 ron, who had been in the secret ; from her f'athei*, a pretty work- 
 table ; from Edith, a handsome wrapper, and chamber-slippers, 
 the work of her own hand ; from Blanche and Adele, a hand- 
 some pin and bracelets, with their own hair ; from Frank, a 
 portfolio. Little Lilly, who was at home for Christmas, had 
 not forgotten her offering, and had knit a beautiful nubia ; and 
 little Emily had presented a small Bible. Though so pale and 
 languid, a soft glow of happiness beamed from the eyes and 
 illumined the whole face of Madge Clifford ; and all who looked 
 upon her felt that a new life shone out of those lustrous eyes, 
 and trembled around the large, though speaking mouth. Look- 
 ing around the dear household room, she took Edith's hand, 
 and while she kissed it affectionately, said, " At home, dear 
 sister, to wander no more. O, how often have I thought of all 
 your goodness ; and of you, dear Miss Arnold, how powerful 
 have been the lessons which I have heard from you ! When I 
 contrasted the humble piety, the sweet feminine graces of this 
 happy circle, with the bold effrontery of the masculine women 
 with whom I have been associated, I wonder that I could ever 
 have been deluded by their follies ; but my besetting sins, pride 
 of intellect and arrogance, led me astray, and I desire now to 
 seek, above all things, for deep humility." 
 
 Under the kind and watchful care of her sister, Madge 
 recovered rapidly, the proud spirit seemed wholly subdued, 
 and, under the faithful instruction of Ralph Cameron, she 
 exhibited daily more and more of the docile, teachable spirit 
 of a true disciple. When absent in the city, he left her well 
 supplied with a course of reading, which she earnestly pursued. 
 Her mind appeared to recover its tone, as her health became 
 better. Eagerly she watched for the weekly return of her 
 friend, and might always be seen at the old elm tree, watching 
 for Ralph's approach. The winter passed rapidly away, and 
 the spring dawned upon the family at Ravens wood with pecu- 
 liar brightness. Seated one morning at her chamber window, 
 Madge spied the first fresh violets, and running down to the
 
 IS IT MADGE? 291 
 
 lawn, their sweet fragrance brought back the memory of her 
 mother, for it was the custom of her children to gather them 
 for her so soon as they appeared; and each vied with the 
 other in efforts to be the first with their fragrant offering. 
 Now, that dear parent was laid in the silent grave, and Madge 
 could but drop repentant tears over the sweet flowers, when 
 she remembered how seldom she had been among the eager 
 group that brought the gift of love ; but now her warm affec- 
 tions, once enkindled, clung around her sister Edith, and 
 gathering the modest violets, she laid them on her sister's 
 dressing-table, with a little note, breathing a sister's love, 
 and signed " Repentant Madge." Winter had passed from 
 Madge Clifford's heart, the bonds of ice had thawed beneath 
 the power of a Saviour's love, and spring, with all its sweet 
 buds aud blossoms, its singing birds and purling streams, had 
 dawned in its stead, and commenced its happy reign in the 
 young bosom. 
 
 On Saturday evening, her airy little figure might generally 
 be seen, with eager step walking down the broad avenue of 
 elms, in anxious expectation of her friend. On one of these 
 occasions she had taken her usual walk, and was seated under 
 the old elm, waiting for Ralph's appearance. In a short time, 
 a manly figure, waving his hand, was seen rapidly approaching, 
 and in a few minutes, Madge, leaning on his arm, turned down 
 to their favorite haunt on the river-shore. 
 
 "Well, Madge, how has the reading progressed this 
 week?" 
 
 " I have finished the volume which you left, and will show 
 you my notes when we get home. Then I have been very 
 busy, helping Edith in her family concerns; in reading the 
 paper for father, teaching in the parish school, in my turn, and 
 visiting sister's pensioners. Indeed, Ralph, the weeks are all 
 too short for me now." 
 
 Looking affectionately upon the young girl, Ralph replied, 
 "Is not your busy life, now so fully occupied in active, 
 ennobling duties, much happier than your former dreamy 
 existence ?"
 
 292 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 "Yes, indeed," replied Madge; "and whom shall I thank, 
 Ralph, but you, my brother, my friend? If you had forsaken 
 me, where should I have been ?" 
 
 Madge carried her portfolio in her hand, for, concealing 
 nothing from Kalph, she frequently submitted her scraps to his 
 inspection. When seated on the shore, she directed Ralph's 
 attention to the beautiful Hudson, as it flowed so gently at 
 their feet, and opening her portfolio, handed him the few lines 
 which it had called forth : 
 
 The music of your rippling waves 
 
 Will often soothe the memory's ear, 
 When, 'midst the din of earthly care, 
 
 I long your gentle voice to hear: 
 Your shady banks, your placid breast, 
 
 Cooling the fever of my brow : 
 I oft shall long to kiss your waves, 
 
 As the light oar is kissing now. 
 Flow on, flow on, thou gentle stream, 
 
 Bear on thy bosom other hearts, 
 And be to them the charmed voice 
 
 Which bids discordant thoughts depart. 
 
 "Those are very expressive lines, Madge. They describe the 
 effect of the lovely river. It often discourses very sweet 
 music." 
 
 " There is one subject upon which I wish to ask your advice," 
 said Madge, timidly. " I think that I am really changed. I 
 have entirely cast away all my skeptical follies. I desire to 
 serve God all the days of my life, and think that I ought 
 openly to profess his name. What do you think of it, 
 Ralph?" 
 
 " I am truly gratified to hear you say so, for I wished the 
 proposition to come from yourself. I have great confidence 
 in the reality of your change, and doubt not that you will 
 be a welcome guest at the Redeemer's table. Now, dear 
 Madge, how sweet is the bond which henceforth unites us, 
 one Lord, one heaven, one home! Let us pursue our pil- 
 grim path together." Taking the little hand in his own. 
 while he raised his eyes to heaven, he invoked God's richest
 
 18 IT MADGE? 293 
 
 blessing upon the youthful Christiau. They walked home 
 quietly. The birds sang their evening song from every 
 Iree; the sun gradually declined, tinging hill, and sky, and 
 water, with his glories, while the boatman sang his home- 
 ward song, as he gently rowed down the placid river. All 
 sounds and sights were serene, soothing, peaceful, in perfect 
 accordance with the blissful thoughts that filled the hearts 
 of Ralph and his young companion. When Madge com- 
 municated her wishes to Edith, she received her warmest 
 approval. Folding her affectionately in her arms, she whis- 
 pered, " Madge, is not ours a faithful God ? One by one 
 coming home to him ; now we are sisters indeed." So marked 
 was the change in the young girl, that, as they observed her 
 gentle, subdued, loving deportment, could not but ask, "Can 
 this, indeed, be Madge Clifford ? Once so haughty, so sullen, 
 so rebellious ! Now so gentle, so loving, so kind !" 
 
 Mr. Clifford was deeply impressed by the greatness of the 
 transformation, and could not doubt that it was all divine. A 
 bright Sabbath dawned upon Ravenswood. It was the day of 
 Madge's first communion; and when Ralph approached the 
 table in company with the young girl, it was a happy moment, 
 for he felt that there was sealed a bond which bound them to 
 Christ forever. Edith, Miss Arnold, Frank, Eveleen, Madge, 
 and Ralph, all bowed together at the Saviour's board ; and as 
 the faithful sister felt herself thus surrounded, sweet were the 
 visions of future glory in store for those who loved God and 
 she blessed renewed ly the sister's solemn vow which had 
 brought such holy fruits. It is true that Gerald was not there, 
 for his attendance upon the ordinances of the Gospel was fitful : 
 this was a severe trial of her faith, but she laid even this at 
 Jesus' feet, and he bore the burden for her. From this day 
 the course of Madge Clifford was onward, upward ; and though 
 the old man strove for the mastery, and the old pride of her 
 heart tempted her sorely, yet she had really buckled on the 
 Christian's armor, and in Jesus' name she conquered. 
 
 As light dawned increasingly upon her path, the old moodi- 
 ness passed away ; she became cheerful, loving, and even gay.
 
 294 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 Indeed, it sometimes seemed that she was just beginning to 
 know a little of her joys of childhood, for Madge had never 
 been like a child ; but now, its sweet simplicity and sportive- 
 ness seemed, for the first time, to shine out of her young heart. 
 Under the influence of her new motive of action, her talents 
 shone out in all their natural brightness ; but they shone no 
 more for herself, but for her Divine Master. Many were the 
 hours of heart-communion between herself and Ralph Cam. 
 eron, for she was no longer ashamed to be directed by a 
 stronger spirit than a clearer intellect. 
 
 "What would you advise me, Ralph, with regard to my 
 pen?" one day asked Madge. "Do you think it unadvisable 
 for a woman to write ?" 
 
 " By no means, Madge," replied her friend. " Where God 
 has given peculiar talents, they are to be exercised, but for his 
 glory." 
 
 "I am glad to hear you say so, Ralph, for I feel so impelled 
 to use my pen, that really it would be a severe trial for me to 
 lay it by. I have been, for a long time, writing a tale, which 
 I have never shown to you ; but now I want your opinion. If 
 you think it will do any good, I will finish it, and then your 
 revision will be very useful to me ; but if I ever publish it, it 
 will be with a fictitious name. I would not, personally, 
 encounter public criticism." 
 
 " I will give you my candid opinion, Madge. If disapproved, 
 could you, willingly, give up the idea of publishing?" 
 
 Madge raised her eyes to Ralph's face, beaming with ten- 
 derness, and replied, " It would be a trial, Ralph, but if you 
 say so, I will cheerfully give it up. Your judgment is always 
 best." 
 
 Ralph was deeply affected by this sweet, womanly confi- 
 dence, and turning upon her a look which made her drop 
 her eyes, said, " Madge, have you ever thought what is the 
 secret of the interest which, for these many years, I have felt 
 in you ?" 
 
 "I have always thought that it was a wonderful thing that 
 a young man like you, Ralph, should have been so forbearing,
 
 IS IT MADGE? 295 
 
 towards a wilful child; so kind towards a perverse, rebellious 
 girl ; so hopeful, so constant, in the darkest days of my banish- 
 ment." 
 
 "Now listen unto me, Madge, for the time has come for the 
 history of that interest. When first I saw you at Ravenswood, 
 the quiet, reserved, haughty child, I saw beneath the surface a 
 highly gifted genius, a heart warm and glowing, a soul born 
 for higher things than the mere frivolities of fashionable life, 
 and I resolved, Madge, to unlock that casket, to melt that 
 nature, to polish that diamond. Even when you had strayed 
 farthest from the paths of feminine propriety, and had cast off 
 the best friends of your youth, though you caused me so much 
 suffering, I never ceased to hope. You remember that I told 
 you that you would come back to Ralph ; and has it not been 
 so ? And now I tell you, Madge, that I have always loved 
 you, purely, truly, fondly, and in the distance I have pictured 
 a domestic scene, where Madge Clifford, restored, purified, ele- 
 vated, should preside as the fireside-spirit. Shall it be so, 
 Madge ?" 
 
 She had bowed her head in speechless emotion while Ralph 
 was speaking, and now, raising her speaking eyes to his face, 
 while her whole countenance was radiant with joy, she replied, 
 " Ralph, I had always thought it a great honor to be chosen as 
 your friend, for I could not see why you should pass by so 
 much more lovely and attractive ; but to be your chosen com- 
 panion for life, to lean upon you always, to comfort, to cheer, 
 to bless your home, such honor is too much for me. I can 
 scarcely believe what I hear, only that I know your noble 
 truth." 
 
 "I mean, dear Madge," continued Ralph, "all that I say. 
 I would rather own this little hand than that of the most 
 peerless beauty that walks the earth. May I claim it as my 
 own ?" 
 
 Madge laid her hand in Ralph's warm grasp, and whispered, 
 " Thine, dear Ralph, for life." 
 
 The vow was given at their favorite rock on the river-shore, 
 where they had spent so many happy hours together : now
 
 296 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 endeared more than ever as the scene of their betrothal. It 
 was evening when they returned ; the pale moon shone down 
 upon two happy hearts, and the evening star smiled upon their 
 union. Madge remembered her mother, when she looked upon 
 it from her chamber window, for it had shone upon many a 
 twilight lesson in the days of her childhood; now, she felt 
 assured that her dear parent would have approved of her 
 choice, and retiring to rest, her last thoughts were of the 
 kind Heavenly Father who had guided all her pilgrim steps 
 in safety and in peace. 
 
 " Well, dear me !" said Uncle Peter, " what has come over 
 Miss Madge? She is always singing about the house, like 
 a merry bird. I never seed sich a change. I guess, how- 
 somever, that Massa Ralph has something to do with it, for 
 I'm sartain sure that he loves our dear Miss Madge more than 
 his two eyes." 
 
 "I am right glad of it," answered old nurse; "for he's a 
 good man, and though he's got an eagle eye and a firm lip, the 
 blessed Master keeps it all right, and I know he'll make Miss 
 Madge happy." 
 
 " That's what I says," replied Uncle Peter. " I 'spect he's 
 got a mighty high temper, but he's a good Christian for all 
 that ; for you know, nurse, there was a mighty great difference 
 among our Lord's disciples: Peter wasn't like John, and -Mat- 
 thew wasn't like Paul, but they were alike in one thing, they 
 all loved the blessed Master, and many on 'em laid down their 
 lives for his sake." 
 
 The/aithful old servants rejoiced in the days of prosperity, 
 and w'ept when sorrow overtook any of the house of Ravens- 
 wood. Edith approved, wholly, of her sister's choice, and Mr. 
 Clifford bestowed his warmest blessing. When Ralph saw the 
 projected manuscript, he was fully convinced that it would be 
 a successful effort, and kindly spent many hours revising the 
 volume, in company with Madge. These were pleasant even- 
 ings, for being so near the city, he often came up from New 
 York in the evening boat, and went down in the morning. 
 
 These were happy seasons, and, under the influence of her
 
 IS IT MADfvE? 297 
 
 new-born hopes, Madge flitted about like a joyous bird, waiting 
 on her sister, pouring out her wealth of love on the family 
 circle. All the power of her fervent nature fully awakened, 
 the sunlight of Christian love had taken full possession of her 
 heart, beamed in her eye, sparkled in her smile, and thrilled 
 the heart, by the sweetness of her rich, melting voice. And 
 how was it now with Edith? As Madge's hopes brightened, 
 Edith's gradually faded : not that Gerald treated her coldly, 
 for he was kind, considerate, tender, and failed in none of 
 those attentions which she knew to be her due; but there was 
 a felt difference in all. She could not but fear that these were 
 only the results of his convictions of duty. She saw that 
 he avoided Blanche constantly, and that her sister's spirits 
 daily sank. His conduct towards her was ceremonious, distant, 
 polite. She frequently surprised Blanche in tears ; found that 
 she had lost her interest in general amusement; spent much 
 of her time in her room, or wandering out alone, and was 
 particularly distant to Edith. What could it all mean? Edith 
 often asked her heart. She would seek Blanche, and try to 
 obtain her confidence : she could not bear to see her so unhappy. 
 One day she had been peculiarly sad; had eaten nothing, 
 complained of not being well, and early retired to her room, 
 Edith followed her there, and, knocking at the door, Blanche, 
 said, " Who is there ?" 
 
 " Tis I, Blanche, your sister ; open the door." 
 When the door opened, Blanche returned to her seat by the 
 window, in a desponding attitude ; leaning her head upon her 
 hands, she burst into tears. 
 
 Edith advanced, and drawing her tenderly towards her, said, 
 "Blanche, my sister, what is the matter? Can I comfort 
 you ?" 
 
 "Oh, Edith! don't speak so kindly; don't touch me; it 
 kills me, it breaks my heart : I am so miserable." 
 
 "Can't you confide in me, dearest?" 
 
 " In you, Edith ? No never ; I cannot be despised by my 
 sister. Leave me alone ; I can bear my trouble ; I deserve it 
 all. Do not ask me any more questions."
 
 298 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 "Am I not your sister, Blanche? Almost your mother? 
 Would it not relieve your heart to confide in a friend?" an- 
 swered Edith. 
 
 "It is impossible, Edith; you must not know what distresses 
 me ; it would only cause more misery. Only go, sister, I cannot 
 bear to be alone with you." 
 
 " What can you mean, dear Blanche ? Have you ceased to 
 love me ?" answered her sister. 
 
 " Ceased to love you ! No, Edith, that can never be ; it is 
 because I love you, I venerate you, that I am so miserable. I 
 cannot bear to give you pain." 
 
 " Well, dear Blanche, if I cannot obtain your confidence, I 
 can direct you to a stronger, wiser, better Friend; if you are in 
 perplexity, ask for wisdom ; if in distress, ask for comfort. I 
 will remember you, dearest, at a throne of grace ;" and placing 
 her arm affectionately around Blanche, she found that she 
 trembled violently, and shrank from her embrace. Greatly 
 preplexed, Edith left the room, wondering at the mysterious 
 conduct of her sister. 
 
 These was but one place of refuge for Edith in her trials, 
 and thither she repaired for comfort and guidance. There 
 were many subjects of disquietude around her. Gerald was 
 changed, evidently unhappy, and neglected the house of God. 
 Edith felt that deeper shadows were gathering around her daily 
 life. Sometimes, when drawing contrasts between herself and 
 other young persons of her acquaintance, she was tempted to 
 repine, and asked why she should be called upon to bear such 
 a heavy yoke in her youth. Checking the evil thought, she 
 remembered that discipline must fit us for the heavenly inheri- 
 tance, and that it is "through much tribulation " that we enter 
 the kingdom of heaven. Gerald, as usual, spent his week in 
 New York, attending to his profession he was greatly encour- 
 aged ; his pictures attracted much attention among connoisseurs 
 but Saturday evening always brought him to Oak Hall, 
 where he spent his Sundays. 
 
 Filled with apprehensions for the one she loved, Edith re- 
 solved to seek a private interview ; for, although Gerald had
 
 IS IT MADGE? 299 
 
 not appeared to desire these seasons of communion as formerly, 
 yet duty led her, for once, to lay aside the trammels of cere- 
 mony. Saturday evening came again, and instead of coming 
 to Ravenswood first, as he had been accustomed to do, he went 
 to Oak Hall, and came over in the evening. Edith met him 
 kindly, Blanche coldly, and Gerald's salutation was much 
 embarrassed. Blanche retired in a few minutes, and Edith 
 was left alone with the young man. 
 
 "Shall we walk, Gerald?" said Edith ; and taking his arm, 
 they pursued their way, silently, to the old trysting spot. 
 
 When reaching the old tree, they seated themselves, and 
 Edith, with a trembling voice, said, "Gerald, what has come 
 between us? There is something, some coldness has crept in 
 to destroy the harmony which once existed." 
 
 " Edith," replied Gerald, " I repeat, with greater force than 
 ever, that I am wholly unworthy of you ; you are as far above 
 me as heaven is above earth, and I cannot reach you. I have 
 become worldly, I have lost my interest in serious things ; my 
 heart is a scene of wild disorder." 
 
 " I thought so, Gerald. When you went to New York the 
 winter that my sisters did, I feared that you would be led 
 astray ; was it not then ?" 
 
 " It was, Edith. I was led on first because I liked to be with 
 them, and then I became fascinated with worldly pleasures. I 
 forgot God, Edith, I forgot my vow, and nothing is left but the 
 stinging remembrance of that solemn day when we both vowed 
 to be the Lord's. Your path, since then, has been that of 'the 
 shining light, which shineth brighter and brighter until the 
 perfect day,' and my feet have stumbled on the dark mountains 
 of sin; and, would you believe it, Edith," he whispered 
 hoarsely, "even of gloomy unbelief!" 
 
 " O Gerald ! be persuaded to return ; you cannot be happy 
 wandering away from God !" answered Edith. 
 
 " O my friend, you do not know half of my misery ; you 
 never can. If you would only consent to be mine at once, you 
 might save me, Edith, from unspeakable sorrow." 
 
 " You know, dear Gerald, that is impossible. The claims
 
 300 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 of home are binding upon me, and I cannot forsake my family; 
 but no human arm can restore you to paths of holiness ; none 
 but Jesus can meet the wants of your soul. Promise me, 
 Gerald, to be more punctual in your attendance upon Church. 
 Go with me to-morrow, commence a new life. Remember, 
 dear Gerald, your Christian vows; humble yourself before 
 God, and he will receive a prodigal, coming back to his Father's 
 house." 
 
 Slowly they returned to the house, and Edith could not but 
 contrast the anticipations of hope and love of years gone by, 
 with the sad despondency which filled her bosom as she paced 
 the same avenue, and watched the twilight scene from the same 
 chamber window. Clouds gathered in the horizon. The sweet 
 murmurs of hope which rustled among the green trees 'on that 
 happy evening seemed now like the low wailings of a sorrowing 
 spirit. The moon, which shed its soft light upon the two as 
 they stood on the piazza on the evening of their betrothal, now 
 seemed to wear a mournful face, as it shone upon the same 
 path and witnessed the altered feelings of the youthful pair. 
 
 Sunday came again, with its silvery chimes, calling pilgrims 
 to their father's board, with its sweet messages from the skies, 
 with its chaunted hymns and solemn worship, and with its 
 hopes of heaven. Edith's peaceful countenance, as she met 
 Gerald, spoke of communion with heaven she had been with 
 Jesus and when she asked him to accompany her to church, 
 he could not refuse the voice, which seemed almost like a 
 message from the skies. All the family, excepting Blanche 
 and her father, accompanied Edith. Mr. Berkely preached a 
 solemn sermon, and Edith joined heartily in the beautii'ul 
 hymn, 
 
 "Guide me, thou great Jehovah, 
 Pilgrim through this barren land !" 
 
 She realized that bread from heaven fell that day around her 
 pilgrim steps. Sustained by the precious manna, she gathered 
 strength for her journey. 
 
 A new source of anxiety was presented to her in the exceed-
 
 IS IT MADGE? 301 
 
 ing delicacy of her brother's appearance. After church she 
 hastened to him, and said, " Dear Frank, do you not confine 
 yourself too much ? Remember that you have a body to take 
 care of as well as a soul." 
 
 " Do not be uneasy, sister ; I do not think that I am very 
 much out of health. Eveleen watches me too closely to let me 
 injure myself." 
 
 When Edith went home she communicated her fears to her 
 father, and suggested the propriety of sending Frank's favorite 
 horse. Accordingly, early on Monday morning, to Uncle 
 Peter's great delight, he led Caesar over to the cottage, with the 
 particular request, from Edith and her father, that Frank 
 would ride daily. 
 
 "Well, old friend, I am glad to see you," said Frank, as he 
 patted the animal's head, who gave sufficient evidence that he 
 recognized his young master by whinnying, neighing, and paw- 
 ing the ground. Early next morning Eveleen saw that the 
 horse was in waiting, and one hour each day was thus redeemed 
 from his intense application to study. Under this new course 
 his health appeared to improve. Little Frank became daily 
 more dear to the young parents, and in the sweet intercourse 
 of holy affection, and in devotion to the service of their Re- 
 deemer, the little household at Woodbine Cottage was truly a 
 blessed and a happy family. Frank continued to pursue his 
 studies, under the care of Mr. Berkely, for one year ; at the 
 close of that time the husband, wife, and child removed for one 
 
 year to the Seminary at A , closing their cottage until 
 
 their return. They missed their pleasant home, but, as Frank 
 knew that i^was important for him to spend at least one year 
 at the Seminary, he consented to his father's arrangement, who 
 paid the rent of his humble home in his absence. 
 
 At the appointed time he was ordained, and returned to 
 N , as the assistant minister of Mr. Berkely, it being his par- 
 ticular province to assist in the services of the parish church 
 in the morning, and to preach in a distant school-house in the 
 afternoon, to a congregation of extremely poor and ignorant 
 persons. Eveleen interested herself greatly in this mission,
 
 302 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 teaching on Sunday, visiting through the week, and by her 
 gentle ministry and unfailing love, cheering and sustaining 
 her husband. A troublesome cough, which she observed in 
 the morning, alarmed her not a little. She urged the rides on 
 horseback, and watched carefully ; but her woman's heart 
 trembled for the safety of one whom she feared that she nearly 
 idolized. 
 
 Frank was a successful and popular minister, and his good 
 pastor hailed with delight his early promise of future useful- 
 ness. He had not been long engaged in his country parish, ere 
 he received several "calls" to more important fields of labor; 
 but he judged wisely that companionship with Mr. Berkely 
 was of incalculable benefit, and for the present he sought re- 
 tirement. 
 
 Edith looked back upon her sister's vow with peculiar joy, 
 when she saw Frank, Madge, and Eveleen, all partakers of her 
 own blessed hopes. Madge was very busy, in her leisure hoiii^, 
 with her book ; Ralph Avas deeply interested, and encouraged 
 the young girl in her effort to do good. He could scarcely 
 realize the docile, teachable girl, to be the same wilful Madge 
 of former years ; but the Gospel had transformed her wholly, 
 and sitting at Jesus' feet, she had learned humility. Unkm wn 
 to Madge, Ralph was also engaged in literary pursuits ; for, 
 although a lawyer by profession, he found time daily to indulge 
 in his favorite pursuits.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 A WRECK UPON A SUMMER STREAM. 
 
 ~N the meanwhile, the dross of a corrupt nature 
 was in the crucible of trial, undergoing the 
 process of purification. The unseen Refiner sat 
 closely by the melting ore, and Edith Clifford's was 
 the character upon which he was now bestowing all 
 careful supervision. She daily prayed for holiness. 
 She knew the plague-spot of her own heart to be 
 pride, hateful pride, and taking that heart, daily, and 
 laying it at Jesus' feet, she was willing that he should purify 
 it in his own wise and wonderful manner. Her warm affec- 
 tions, her deep devotion of soul, were sources of great tempta- 
 tion to idolatry. She had built largely upon Gerald's love, 
 upon Gerald's truth and fidelity, but she was deeply convinced 
 that her airy fabric was fading in vapor. She could not tell 
 how, but her heart was a faithful monitor. The confidence, 
 and even playful familiarity, which had formerly existed be- 
 tween Gerald and Blanche, had all disappeared, and a fitful, 
 irregular conduct, had usurped its place. Sometimes a degree 
 of tenderness, that Edith was ashamed to acknoAvledge, dis- 
 turbed her; then, again, a studied coldness on the part of 
 each. Sometimes Gerald was even rude, then Blanche was 
 always sorrowful. " What does it all mean ?" thought Edith. 
 She endeavored, as much as possible, to busy herself about 
 her usual occupations, her domestic cares, her sifter Emily, 
 
 303
 
 304 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 her harp, her parish school, her pensioners, which were not a 
 few ; all, by turns, engrossed her attention, and left her but 
 little time for fruitless meditation ; she endeavored to 
 commit all to God, and left her destiny wholly in his gracious 
 hands. 
 
 One summer evening the young people all started for a 
 walk in the woods. The evening was inviting, and they ram- 
 bled on to the distance of a mile from the house. Suddenly, 
 the sky became overcast, the moon hid herself behind dark 
 clouds, which every moment became more threatening, until 
 the heavens were shrouded in blackness. The wind arose t 
 first in low, hoarse murmurs, but quickening rapidly, in a few 
 minutes, it roared through the forest, cracking boughs of 
 trees, filling the air with dust, and leaves, and flying branches. 
 Distant thunder muttered fearful warning; vivid flashes of 
 lurid lightning for a moment illumined the darkness. There 
 was every appearance of a terrific tempest. The very trees 
 rocked. It was with the utmost difficulty that the party 
 could keep their feet. Sometimes, blown up against a tall 
 tree, the frightened females stood a moment to regain their 
 strength, or to avoid some fearful blast that threatened to carry 
 them away. 
 
 "Let us go home," said Edith; "we shall have a fearful 
 tempest." She had scarcely uttered the words, when a vivi I 
 flash lit up the dark woods, and, succeeded by a crash ot 
 heaven's artillery, blanched their faces with terror. The rain 
 descended in torrents, the wind increased in fury, flash after 
 flash blinded their eyes, and the pealing thunder rattled 
 around them in fearful crashes. Suddenly, Blanche was lifted 
 from her feet, whirled to a considerable distance, and thrown 
 violently upon the ground. Edith was near, and Gerald, in 
 agony, bent over the prostrate girl, exclaiming "Blanche! my 
 life ! my love! are you hurt? Speak! You will drive me to 
 distraction." 
 
 " Gerald, leave me. I am not much hurt, only my temple 
 is bruised. Go, Gerald, go to E-lith ; she is in danger." 
 
 " Blanche, Blanche ! do not drive me away ! I cannot
 
 A WRECK UPON A SUMMER STREAM. 305 
 
 leave you ;" and, lifting her from the ground, he took her in 
 his arms, and rushed on through the tempest, regardless of 
 any whom he had left behind. Ralph encircled Madge with 
 his strong arm, and Edith, with a bitter groan, taking Adele 
 by the waist, said, " "We must take care of ourselves, Adele ; 
 there is fearful danger." Several times the pair were thrown 
 to the ground, or dashed against trees, but after much effort, 
 and completely drenched with rain, they succeeded in reaching 
 the house. 
 
 Entering the library, they found Blanche, in a fainting 
 condition, extended on the sofa. She had received a severe 
 blow, and the blood was streaming down her beautiful face, 
 now pale as a breathless corpse. Gerald \vas leaning over her, 
 unconscious of the presence of others. "Blanche! Blanche! 
 open your eyes ! Oh! she is dead! she is dead!" he exclaimed, 
 in agony. 
 
 Edith advanced. Sternly pushing him aside, she said, "Go, 
 Gerald. Let me minister to my sister. You are not fit to be 
 here. Leave the room." 
 
 She loosened the clothes, bathed the bleeding temple, and 
 applied restoratives, though her own heart was bursting with 
 anguish. A dark suggestion shot through her soul, as she 
 stood looking upon the prostrate form of her beautiful sister, 
 whom she now deeply felt was her rival. A secret, undefined 
 wish, and a feeling of disappointment, when she saw Blanche 
 unclose her beautiful eyes, revealed to her fully the nature of 
 that dark temptation which, for a moment, shrouded her spirit, 
 and led her, almost involuntarily, to lay her hand upon her 
 eyes, lest the secret iniquity should be disclosed to others. It 
 was the thought of a second, hissed into her spirit by some 
 demon of darkness. Blanche looked around her wildly. 
 "Where am I? Who struck me? O, Gerald! dear, dear 
 Gerald, go leave me!" and bursting into tears, she threw her- 
 self upon Edith's bosom, and wept convulsively. 
 
 " Sister, I am hurt very much. My side is very painful, and 
 my temple is fearfully cut." 
 
 Upon examination, it was found that a deep gash was cut 
 20
 
 306 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 above the temple, under the hair, and that her side was severely 
 bruised. In her agitated state, Edith had her conveyed to 
 her room, where, with a crushed and aching spirit, she sat 
 by and soothed the wretched girl, who continued to utter in- 
 coherent cries, indicating great suffering, which was evidently 
 chiefly mental. 
 
 When Edith retired that night, deep was the communion of 
 her spirit with her God and Saviour. She sought earnestly to 
 know his will, and resolved, when that was done, meekly to 
 perform it. Joining Gerald next day, a blanched cheek and 
 quivering lip betrayed her suffering. All that she could say 
 was, "Blanche is better; we have nothing to fear." While 
 she needed her care, Edith was unwearied, and long after 
 Blanche was able to leave her room, she begged to be allowed 
 to stay there. 
 
 " When will you go down ?" asked Edith. 
 
 4< Never, sister, if I had my choice," she replied. " Only let 
 me shut myself up here." 
 
 After much persuasion, at the close of a week, Edith led her 
 down stairs, pale, sad, and suffering. When she met Gerald, 
 she extended her cold hand lifelessly, without raising her eyes, 
 and, on answering his inquiries for her health, simply replied, 
 "Better; but I cannot talk. Just let me lie on the sofa in 
 the library." 
 
 They spent a quiet evening. All were under great restraint, 
 for deep thoughts and solemn resolutions were agitating these 
 suffering human hearts. Slowly Blanche recovered, but her 
 spirits were gone. Even Adele's lively smiles ceased to cheer 
 her. Edith read a great deal to her, from strengthening and 
 encouraging books, and Madge endeavored to draw her away 
 from herself, and frequently led her to Woodbine Cottage, 
 hoping that the spirit of peace which abode there might reach 
 her case. 
 
 In the meanwhile, fearful struggles were agitating the 
 bosom of Edith Cliffbr L She had heard the wild burst of 
 affection which, in a moment of alarm, had burst from the 
 lips of Gerald Fortescue, and the tender epithets which, un-
 
 A WRECK UPON A SUMMER STREAM. 307 
 
 consciously, had escaped from Blanche. She could blind 
 herself no longer. Her idol was shattered. He who n she 
 had loved so long, so devotedly, loved her no more, but loved 
 another, and that one her own sister. Now, what was her 
 duty ? was the great question, night and day. It robbed her 
 of rest, paled her cheeks, and interrupted her communion with 
 heaven. Should she hold Gerald to his engagement, though 
 he loved another? No, that must never be. Could she resign 
 the dearest hope of her heart, for her sister? She felt her 
 utter weakness, and could not summon sti'ength to make the 
 sacrifice. All the pride of her nature rose up, and she asked, 
 what right had that sister to come and rob her of her heart's 
 treasure ? And yet, her secret conviction was, that it had not 
 been the work of any deep design, but had been resisted by 
 both ; for she had seen their coldness, their avoiding of each 
 other, and even rudeness on the part of Gerald. She spoke 
 to no human being of her struggles, not even to Miss Arnold ; 
 but sure of divine sympathy and guidance, she went and told 
 Jesus. He remembered whereof she was made, pitied her 
 human infirmities, and with all the tenderness of an elder 
 brother, at last made plain her path of duty, and, extending 
 his hand to help, and his bosom to lean on, strengthened her to 
 tread safely through this dark valley of her pilgrimage. On 
 the top of the distant hill, which she was yet to climb, was 
 waiting the "chamber of peace," from whose windows she 
 might view the "land of Beulah," and yet go on her way 
 rejoicing. 
 
 None could know all that was passing in the deep, fervent 
 heart; a paler cheek, a loftier brow, a compressed lip, a more 
 quiet step, and a deeper silence, betrayed some great conflict 
 passed within, but none asked her of her trial, for most sus- 
 pected what was wringing the noble heart. Ralph and Madge 
 redoubled their affectionate attentions; Blanche was humble, 
 quiet, loving ; Adele restrained her merriment, and Miss Arnold 
 clung more closely to her pupil. Edith visited her pastor 
 more frequently, and found comfort in the councils of that 
 valued friend, who, aware that some sore trial was agitating
 
 308 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 her spirit, directed her to the only true source of wisdom and 
 strength. Seated, one evening, in the drawing-room, near the 
 side window, she heard foot-steps pacing slowly on the path, 
 and soon discovered the voices to be those of Gerald and 
 Blanche. The latter was speaking in reproachful tones of 
 sorrow. 
 
 "Why do you treat me so unkindly, Gerald? what have I 
 done ?" said the young girl. 
 
 " Nothing, Blanche ; I am not unkind, I do not mean to be," 
 answered Gerald. " O, could you read my heart, how different 
 would it appear !" 
 
 She advanced, and laid her hand upon his shoulder, while 
 she raised her soft eyes to his face, and said, " Gerald you are 
 to be my brother, treat me like a sister ; do not speak so 
 harshly, do not shun me, as if I were a serpent." 
 
 " O Blanche ! do not tempt me to forget my duty. Treat 
 you as a sister ! O yes ! that is an easy matter to talk about, 
 but it wrings my heart to think of it." 
 
 " What do you mean, Gerald ?" said Blanche, in her most 
 winning manner. 
 
 " I mean, Blanche, that your loveliness has stolen away my 
 honor, unconsciously. Yon have filled the heart that once was 
 Edith's; and Blanche, I love you, as I have never loved 
 before." 
 
 A smile of rapture stole over her young face, but it was 
 instantly succeeded by a look of the deepest sadness, as she 
 whispered, " Gerald, weak as I may appear, these few words 
 have filled my heart with happiness, yet I cannot make my 
 sister miserable. I know her devotion, I venerate her worth. 
 I will go away, Gerald, and you will soon forget me, when 
 united to such a lovely being as my sister Edith." 
 
 Stopping, and striking his forehead vehemently, he ex- 
 claimed, "What are we saying, Blanche? O, why did you 
 come here? Go, Blanche, go at once ; instantly leave me, and 
 let us never meet again alone? We must forget each other? 
 Honor, truth, duty, bid us both forget this dream !" So say- 
 ing, he snatched the littlf hand, pressed it fervently to his lips,
 
 A WRECK UPON A SUMMER STREAM. 309 
 
 and in an imploring tone said once more, " Blanche, begone I 
 why do you stay ? Leave me to myself!" 
 
 "Do not speak so unkindly, Gerald; it breaks my heart. 
 Farewell ! farewell !" and with these words, she turned sadly 
 away, and hastened down the path that led to the shore, drop- 
 ping, as she walked, a rose from the bosom of her dress. 
 Gerald seized it, kissed it fervently, and placing it reverently 
 in his vest pocket, said, "Farewell, too lovely Blanche! And 
 now for the stern performance of duty." Edith had heard all, 
 with her hand pressed upon her beating heart, which throbbed 
 so wildly that she could almost hear its beating. 
 
 " Cruel, cruel Gerald ! thus to despise the devotion of a life; 
 but how could he help loving Blanche, when he draws com- 
 parison between the pale, drooping Edith, and the bright, 
 lovely creature who has captivated him ? I cannot wonder, 
 then, there is more of sympathy between them than between 
 us. The path of duty is opening before me, but oh, it is a 
 bitter cross, and I am slow to take it up. Where is all my 
 boasted pride now?" Rising slowly, she walked out upon the 
 piazza, and there, on one of the settees, lay Gerald's portfolio, 
 which in his haste he had forgotten. She opened it. There 
 were numerous sketches of Blanche, in various attitudes, but 
 the one which touched her the most, was the rough sketch, 
 taken so many years ago, when, in the days of her childhood, 
 he painted the picture on the balcony; doubtless from that 
 hour began the study of the physical loveliness which had so 
 wholly erased the noble image of Edith Clifford from the weak 
 inconstant heart of Gerald Fortescue. 
 
 That was a sleepless night for Edith. Her memory went 
 back to the first rosy dream of happiness, by the old elm tree; 
 and when she realized all that she had suffered, thoughts of 
 bitterness would spring up, and choke the effort to forgive the 
 wrong. When Gerald next visited Ravenswood, his whole 
 manner was changed. Icy cold to Blanche, he scarcely looked 
 towards or spoke to her; to Edith he was studiously kind and 
 attentive, but she was deceived no more. 
 
 In the evening Edith was seated alone in the library. The
 
 310 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 door opened, and Gerald entered. Advancing towards her 
 with the same smile as of former years, he approached, and 
 said, "Edith, here are my gloves, will you not mend them for 
 me?" 
 
 "Certainly, Gerald, it ghes me pleasure to perform any 
 service for you." 
 
 " Go, get your sewing utensils, and mend them here ; will you 
 not, Edith ?" 
 
 She arose, and quickly returned with her work-basket. 
 
 "Shall I read while you sew?" said Gerald. 
 
 "I shall be glad to hear you," she replied, quietly. 
 
 As he read some of her favorite pieces, from Longfellow, 
 she could not restrain the tears that would drop under her 
 work, as she remembered the days that were gone, before the 
 cloud rose up between them that had dimmed the happiness 
 of their intercourse forever. She listened now, not to Gerald, 
 her own beloved, but to Gerald, her sister's lover, and when 
 she could obtain the strength to say it, her sister's husband ; 
 for to this was she schooling her heart. 
 
 Blanche withered and pined away. Edith busied herself 
 renewedly in works of benevolence. Ralph and Madge looked 
 on in silent sympathy with the surrounding misery, and won- 
 dered where it all would end. Aware, however, of Edith's 
 noble nature, they felt what was approaching, and dreaded the 
 wreck of her fondly cherished hopes. Notwithstanding the 
 silent sorrow of her sister Blanche, Edith still treated her with 
 coldness, but to Gerald she was the tender woman still. So fer- 
 vent was her devotion to him, that her pride seemed to forsake 
 her when Gerald was concerned. She blamed Blanche unreason- 
 ably, and could not but think that she must have endeavored 
 to draw him away from his allegiance. 
 
 They had been suffering so long that the whole household 
 was affected, and Ralph proposed that if the day was favorable, 
 on the morrow they should take an excursion on the Hudson 
 as far as West Point. 
 
 Accordingly, the weather being propitious, the party started 
 on their trip. E-lith, Gerald, Blanche, Adele, and Madge,
 
 A WRECK UPON A SUMMER STREAM. 311 
 
 composed the company. The day was charming, and. the 
 scenery exhilarating to the spirits of the young people; even 
 Edith enjoyed it, but not with the keen delight of former years. 
 Gerald was studiously kind and attentive to Edith, to Blanche 
 distant and cold. Edith felt that this could not last much 
 longer, and slowly she was preparing herself for the crucifix- 
 ion of her hopes. 
 
 It was towards evening when they returned. Large numbers 
 were on board the boat. Many seemed to be much excited, for 
 a spirited race was going on between their boat and another, 
 the gentlemen urging them on. Edith, observing how the men 
 were heaping on wood, ventured to remonstrate ; many of the 
 ladies became alarmed, and Gerald, commissioned by several, 
 went forward, and begged that they would cease. 
 
 " We are not going to lose our sport," said a dashing-looking 
 man, " for a set of baby -faced women." " On with the steam," 
 roared the racing company. 
 
 Perceiving that remonstrance was in vain, Edith endeavored 
 to compose her own feelings and those of her sisters. Seated 
 near the wheel-box, she said to Gerald, " Feel how intensely 
 hot the deck is ! I am sure that we are in danger." Touching 
 it with his hand, his countenance expressed the apprehension 
 that he felt. He hastened forward to the captain, begging him 
 to examine the deck. He obeyed the summons, and looked 
 alarmed. They watched his course, and saw him run rapidly 
 down the stairs. In another minute, a cry of "Fire! fire!" 
 was heard, and smoke was seen issuing from many of the cracks 
 over the wheel-box. A scene of confusion, that baffled descrip- 
 tion, ensued. Shrieks, groans, and prayers for mercy, filled the 
 air; and, in another minute, the flames burst through the deck, 
 spreading rapidly towards the stern of the vessel. Mid groans 
 and cries, the tolling of the bell added to the despair of the 
 scene. Husbands were searching for their wives, parents for 
 their children, brothers were calling loudly for their sisters, and 
 our party, led by Gerald, luirried to the bow of the boat. The 
 boats were instantly let down, but filled, in a moment, to over- 
 flowing. In the meanwhile, the tongues of flame leaped up,
 
 312 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 consuming everything within their reach. Attempts were 
 made to head the boat to the shore but the machinery was 
 unmanageable, and the doomed company seemed devoted 
 either to the devouring flames or to the swelling river. Seeing 
 that destruction was inevitable, Gerald, in a moment of frantic 
 agony, seized Blanche, exclaiming, in tones almost frenzied, 
 " Blanche, my dearest love, we have suffered, let us be saved or 
 die together." 
 
 Perceiving Blanche clinging closely around his neck, Edith 
 drank another cup of bitter agony when she saw Gerald, her 
 own betrothed, leap into the water with her sister, leaving her 
 to such a dreadful fate. It needed but this to complete her 
 misery. A tempting thought arose. "There is the deep 
 water : it will drown all my sorrows ; why should I live ?" 
 The sister's solemn vow recurred to her memory, and, quick 
 as lightning, the mother's death-bed scene. "Forsake them, 
 never !" was the sudden resolution, and the brave girl looked 
 around for rescue for her sisters. 
 
 A gentleman hurried up to her. "There is a settee; jump, 
 quickly," said he. 
 
 Hurrying Madge first, then Adele, to the side of the boat, 
 she cried, " Go, go, dear sisters ; let me only see you safe : jump 
 on to the settee, a boat is near," and the noble girl stood there, 
 the picture of heroic resolution, nor ever thought of herself, 
 though the flames were singeing her hair, until she saw them 
 safe from the burning wreck. 
 
 "Now, young lady," said the same gentleman, "there is 
 another settee ; spring quickly, and I will accompany you ;" 
 she made the plunge, but the settee floated away, and, for a 
 moment, she was struggling in the water. The arm of her 
 unknown friend held her up, and he swam with her to the boat, 
 begging her to hold on to the rope, until he brought back the 
 settee. The flames were rapidly spreading to the bow of the 
 boat; toll, toll, rang the bell. Edith felt that the rope was on 
 fire. Moments seemed ages. The fire reached her hand. 
 B.istered with the flame, she dropped, and was caught in the 
 arms of her preserver, who had returned with a settee.
 
 A WRECK UPON A SUMMER STREAM. 313 
 
 Placing her on it, he held her up for she was nearly fainting 
 when he saw a boat pushing rapidly off from the shore. 
 Making quick signals of distress, he attracted their attention. 
 It drew near, and in a short time Edith was safely placed in 
 the boat, her hands and the back of her neck sorely burned, in 
 her heroic efforts to save her sisters. 
 
 " Let us go in search of the settees ; my sisters are on one," 
 said Edith. Perceiving one not many yards distant, they drew 
 up to the frail support, but her sisters were not there ; all were 
 strangers. " Row on, row on," exclaimed Edith, wringing her 
 hands in agony. So intense was her excitement that she 
 scarcely perceived the bodies, burnt and drowning, that floated 
 around her. 
 
 In a few minutes more they reached another settee, and, sup- 
 ported by Madge, lay her sister Adele, pale and lifeless. 
 Lifting them quickly into the boat, the sisters were locked in 
 each other's arms, while tears of joy bathed the pale faces that 
 looked upon each other in speechless love, as almost raised from 
 the dead. 
 
 Rowing to the shore, Edith's preserver conveyed the party to 
 the nearest house, where they received all the attention they 
 needed. Mr. Percival for that was the gentleman's name 
 inquired where they would be conveyed. On being informed 
 that they were about twelve miles from their home, he obtained 
 a carriage from the kind family, and after changing their 
 dresses for dry garments, they started for their homes, filled 
 t with anxiety for the fate of Gerald and Blanche. 
 
 As Edith turned away from the scene of the disaster, she 
 gave one hurried glance to the boat, and saw not only the 
 burning hull, but, upon that placid summer stream, the wreck 
 of all her earthly hopes of happiness : for the echoes of Gerald's 
 tones of agony were still ringing in her ears, and calling upon 
 her loudly for sacrifice. Burned in upon her heart, the remem- 
 brance of that scene was stamped there forever. 
 
 They reached home about midnight. The family were all 
 up, waiting for tidings from the rest of the party, for Gerald 
 and Blanche had arrived first. When the carriage drove up
 
 314 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 Mr. Clifford received them with speechless joy, and Edith's 
 first cry was for Gerald and Blanche. " They are safe/' 
 answered the father; "they arrived about one hour ago, and 
 Blanche is in charge of Miss Arnold." 
 
 Edith nerved herself to go into her sister's room. When 
 Blanche saw her, she threw herself into her arms, and whisp- 
 pered, "Thank God, my sister, we are all safe." Unable 
 longer to restrain her feelings, Edith hurried to her own room. 
 
 Miss Arnold saw that all were properly attended to after so 
 great a shock, but was particularly alarmed by the marble skiu 
 and deathlike appearance of her beloved Edith. Her answers 
 were incoherent, scarcely seeming aware of all that had 
 happened ; she appeared like one wholly benumbed. A warm 
 bath, blankets, and a stimulating beverage were administered, 
 and on being assured that she felt better, Miss Arnold, at 
 Edith's urgent request, left her alone. 
 
 And now, alone with God, deep were the struggles of that 
 night of agony. She recalled all the days of her early love, all 
 the trust and confidence which she had reposed in Gerald, all 
 the love which she had lavished upon her sister, and bitterly 
 she asked, why she had been called to bear so much ? Her 
 spirit rose up in rebellion against Gerald, against Blanche, and 
 even, for a moment, against God, accusing him of injustice ; 
 but with the strong shield of faith she repelled the Satanic 
 dart. Then recurred the remembrance of the sister's vow by 
 the mother's death-bed; the misery of two suffering hearts, 
 both weaker than herself; and, with a strong heart, nerved by 
 fervent, earnest prayer, she resolved to release Gerald, and to 
 devote herself wholly, renewedly, to God and her family. 
 With Edith Clifford, to resolve was to do. The long struggle 
 was over, the tempest of feeling subsided ; the dove of peace 
 folded her bright wings over her pillow, and towards morning 
 Edith slept. When she awoke, she found herself very weak, 
 but having high duties to perform that day, she arose, dressed 
 slowly, and fortifying her soul from the great trial by fervent 
 prayer, she descended to the breakfast-room. 
 
 As she entered, she ad van ;ed to her father,, and kissed him
 
 A WRECK UPON A SUMMER STREAM. 315 
 
 fondly ; but there was a look of intense suffering about the 
 marble face, and a subdued tone of feeling in her voice, that 
 impressed all who looked upon her. Miss Arnold, who under- 
 stood her beloved pupil's character, read the expression of high 
 resolve aright, and understood the melting of her soft, dark 
 eye as she looked on Gerald and Blanche, while occasionally a 
 tender smile played around her sweet lips. Gerald scarcely 
 raised his eyes, conscious of his cruel desertion, but Edith 
 advanced and whispered, "It is all forgiven, Gerald. Poor 
 Gerald, you could not help it." 
 
 He could not answer, but he took the pale hand, pressed it 
 to his lips, and rushed from the room. It was a quiet meal, for 
 all were too deeply agitated to converse much. Mr. Clifford 
 and Miss Arnold alone endeavored to entertain their kind 
 guest, Mr. Percival, whom they found to be a very intelligent 
 man. Aged about thirty, his fine face expressed a lofty char- 
 acter, and he soon declared himself to be a missionary, pre- 
 paring for labors in China. His conversation was deeply 
 interesting, and under other circumstances he would have been 
 a welcome guest. Evidently much pleased with his new 
 acquaintances, he resolved to take advantage of the cordial 
 invitation of Mr. Clifford to visit Ravens wood frequently. 
 
 After breakfast, Edith sent for Gerald to meet her in the 
 library. He entered with a bowed head and timid step. 
 She was seated on her mother's chair. Having passed through 
 all her fearful struggles, a smile of tenderness played around 
 the usually proud lips, the eyes expressed high resolve and 
 melting pity; her whole aspect was serene and dignified. 
 
 " Sit down, Gerald, I have much to say," said the noble 
 woman. " I have sent for you, Gerald, to release you from all 
 bonds to me. I have been long of the opinion that your 
 warmest love is another's; and the incidents of last evening 
 have convinced me that I ought not to hold you longer bound." 
 Gerald bowed his head, covered with his hands, upon the table. 
 Edith spoke with difficulty, gasping between every sentence. 
 " It has been a bitter trial, Gerald, for the affection of many 
 years, or rather of a whole life, is not easily conquered : but I
 
 316 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 desire, above all things, to see you happy. You love my sister 
 Blanche, and I do not wonder. She is a charming girl, and 
 loves you fondly. I can bid you take her, Gerald, and may 
 God bless you both." 
 
 Gerald's frame shook with the tempest of feeling that agi- 
 tated him. Raising his head, he said, "O Edith Clifford! 
 your noble heart is worthy of a better man than I ; but believe 
 me, Edith, I have never wronged you wilfully. My reason 
 has always approved of my early choice, but my imagination, 
 my feelings, have been led away unconsciously. I have 
 avoided Blanche, I have treated her coldly, yes, even harshly ; 
 but I have been bewildered by her fascinating beauty and her 
 grace. But when I think of last night, and how I left you, 
 my noble Edith, to perish, I despise myself for my weakness." 
 
 "You could not help it, Gerald; you forgot poor Edith," 
 and her lips quivered with suppressed emotion, while she laid 
 her hand upon his burning forehead. " You betrayed, uncon* 
 sciously, the depth of your love; and though I wished to perish 
 too in that moment, I resolved that, should your lives be 
 spared, I would not separate two hearts that loved each other." 
 
 " Have I not always said, Edith, that you were far above 
 me, as heaven is above the earth ? And now you seem tow- 
 ering above common humanity, and akin to angels." 
 
 " I am redeeming my vow to my dying mother, Gerald, and 
 after the bitterness of sacrifice is all over, peace will come, and 
 I shall be happy if you and Blanche are only blest. Go, bring 
 Blanche here. I must see her at once." 
 
 In a few minutes Blanche entered the library. With a timid 
 step she advanced to her sister, who, taking Gerald's hand and 
 joining it with that of Blanche, raised her eyes to heaven, and 
 placing a hand on each head, said, slowly, in solemn tones, 
 " God bless my my brother and sister. May they tread 
 life's pilgrimage happily together, and at last may we all meet 
 in our father's heavenly kingdom." Then taking the ring of 
 betrothal from her finger, and placing it upon her sister's, she 
 added, " Blanche, be faithful to Gerald, comfort, sustain, and 
 cheer him, and may God bless you both."
 
 A WRECK UPON A BUMMER STREAM. 317 
 
 Blanche, bowed at her sister's feet, said, "Edith, sister, 
 forgive me ; I have not wronged you willingly. My poor, weak 
 heart is not so strong as yours. I have struggled, hut in vain. 
 O, let me go, Edith, away, far away from Ravenswood, arid 
 Gerald will forget that there was ever such a being as Blanche 
 Clifford." 
 
 " Arise, my child, my dear sister ; my resolution is fixed. 
 You must be a kind, affectionate companion to Gerald, and I 
 will be your friend, your sister, still." 
 
 "Edith, you make me ashamed of myself. How can I 
 take advantage of your generosity ?" answered Blanche. 
 
 " May you both be happy," whispered Edith, hoarsely, whose 
 strength was rapidly failing. Gerald supported her to the 
 door of her own room, and pressing her hand reverently to his 
 lips, he returned to Blanche, who, weeping, was sitting on the 
 couch where he had left her. We will not disclose the commu- 
 nion of that hour, but will simply add, that its happiness was 
 much diminished by the remembrance of the sacrifice which 
 had bound them together. 
 
 When Edith reached her room, throwing herself upon her 
 knees, the fountain of her tears gushed forth, and she paid the 
 last tribute of farewell to all her youthful dreams of earthly 
 happiness. Unable to sit up, she retired to her bed, and when 
 missed at the dinner-table, Miss Arnold hastened to her room, 
 and found her in a burning fever. The excitement of the 
 night before, and the events of the succeeding day, had been 
 too much for her. The last solemn duty performed, she had 
 sunk beneath the burden. In a few words, Miss Arnold was 
 apprised of all, and on the bosom of that faithful friend, the 
 lacerated heart found sympathy and comfort. For weeks, she 
 lay in a low, nervous fever. The anxious father, the distressed, 
 agonized sisters, Frank and iCveleen, the praying pastor, suffer- 
 ing Gerald, the weeping servants, good old Aunt Priscilla, the 
 poor, the ignorant, who thronged the house, all testified to the 
 deep and reverential love which Edith had inspired. But 
 when she came among them once more, serene and placid, a 
 great change had passed over that lofty spirit ; the tomb had
 
 318 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 closed over her early love ; and but few knew why Edith's 
 teachings were so much more spiritual, Edith's prayers among 
 the sick and suffering so much more heavenly, and her ministry 
 among her household so loving, so forbearing, so humble; 
 none knew but her own family, who, henceforth, almost en- 
 shrined her as their guardian angel, upon earth. Nothing 
 could exceed Aunt Priscilla's indignation when apprised of 
 Edith's noble sacrifice. 
 
 " I always said that Gerald was not worthy of our Edith ; now, 
 you see, my words have all come true. Blanche, with her 
 baby face and winnin' ways has stolen his heart away from 
 Edith. I don't kere about it, but it vexes my old heart to see 
 her pinin' away, after sich a weak, worthless feller. He's jist fit 
 for Blanche ; they're well matched, say I ; but I'll take good 
 kere of Edith ; she'll never want a friend, while I'm living." 
 
 In a week from this time, the old lady was seen driving off 
 in her crazy gig, but leaving her pets behind, they looked for 
 her return. In the course of a few days, the old vehicle was 
 seen driving up the avenue, and so soon as convenient, the old 
 lady summoned Edith to her room. Handing her a package, 
 tied with pink tape, she said, " There, my child, is a deed, which 
 makes Hazel Glen your own. It is a fine old place, and a fine 
 old house. You desarve it, Edith ; and if any trouble should 
 come on you here, there's a home for life, and if not, the rent 
 will be a snug little income." 
 
 "O, aunty, you are a good friend," replied Edith; "I thank 
 you for your kindness." 
 
 "I have never forgot all your goodness to the plain old 
 country woman," said Aunt Priscilla, "so different from your 
 father's friends. I've seed your sore trouble, I know all your 
 trials ; but the good Lord, Edey, will never forsake one that 
 trusts in him. You'll never forgit your old aunty ; when she's 
 sick, and ready to pass over Jordan, you'll come, won't you, 
 Edey, and wipe the death-sweat from my face, and sing your 
 sweet hymns, around my dyin' pillar ?" 
 
 " That I will, if my life is spared, a'inty ; you may rely always 
 upon me."
 
 A WRECK UPON A SUMMER STREAM. 319 
 
 Taking Edith in her arms the kind old woman kissed her 
 affectionately, and said, " You are a good child, Edey, and your 
 last days will be blessed, that I know." 
 
 Ralph and Madge felt still more closely bound to the noble 
 woman, for though but little was said about her trials, they 
 were fully aware of all, and honored her for the sacrifice. 
 
 Old Uncle Peter saw that something unusual had occurred. 
 " I'll tell you what it is, nurse," said the old man, " I'm sore 
 afeard that Miss Edith is gwan to leave us; she looks more and 
 more like an angel, every day. Ever sence she's been sick, 
 I've seed that look on her face. The proud curl around her 
 mouth is all gone ; and then her words are all so kind, and she 
 seems to love everybody so much. Mark my words, she's had 
 some sore trouble, but jest like some of our yarbs in the garden, 
 which are sweeter when they're crushed, they've been a blessing 
 to her." 
 
 "I think so too, Uncle Peter," said the nurse; "I've heard 
 her cry in the night so pitifully, when she was sick, and I think 
 I know what's the matter with my darling. You know, for 
 many years, ever since she was seventeen, she has been engaged 
 to Master Gerald ; but lately, I see he doesn't walk about with 
 Miss Edith, as he used to, but he's always with Miss Blanche. 
 The other day Miss Edith was sitting at her chamber window, 
 when Mr. Gerald and Miss Blanche passed by ; they didn't see 
 her; but Miss Blanche had some flowers in her hair, and Mr. 
 Gerald took one out, and kissed it, and then put it in the but- 
 ton-hole of his coat. Miss Blanche smiled and blushed, as if 
 she was pleased, and there was a look upon their young faces 
 that said they loved each other. I was in Miss Edith's room, 
 and I saw her press her hand upon her heart, and look upon 
 them with such a sad, sweet smile, that I know all the history 
 of her trouble now." 
 
 Uncle Peter wiped away a tear, as he said, " Bless her dear 
 young heart! Miss Blanche, with her beautiful face and \\in- 
 nin' way?, isn't fit to hold a candle to Miss Edith. But the 
 world '11 be all the better for Miss Edith's sorrow, if she is to be 
 an old maid. I speck that's the reason why she's doin' so much
 
 320 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 good. The love that's been thrown away upon Massa Gerald is 
 shinin 1 now among the poor and the sufferin'. I tell you, 
 nurse, sometimes I feel as if I could go right down on my old 
 knees, and worship her." 
 
 One duty yet remained. Locked in her room, she proceeded 
 to disinter the relics of her buried affection, ere consigning them 
 forever to oblivion. Gerald's likeness, in the early days cf 
 their engagement, with its dreaming eyes, high forehead, and 
 soft, waving brown hair; a pin with his hair, a gift when they 
 left Europe ; several casts, and some gems of his own painting, 
 and a large package of letters, which she dare not read, all 
 were gathered together, and returned, with a request that tho 
 latter might be burned, and her own restored to her. The 
 letters came, but the little gifts which had been exchanged, he 
 begged to retain as mementoes of a sister's love. Gathering 
 the letters, she placed them one by one, in the fire, and as they 
 were consumed, shed some natural tears over their smouldering 
 ashes, repeating these beautiful lines : 
 
 " Have I not been nigh a mother 
 
 To thy sweetness tell me, dear? 
 Have we not loved one another 
 
 Tenderly, from year to year? 
 Since our dying mother mild, 
 Said, with accents undefiled, 
 ' Child, be mother to this child!' 
 
 " Mother, mother, up in heaven, 
 
 Stand upon the jasper sea, 
 And be witness I have given 
 
 All the gifts required of me, 
 Hope that blessed me, bliss that crowned, 
 Love that left me with a wound, 
 Life itself that turned around ?"
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 GREEN PASTURES AND STILL. WATERS. 
 
 OMETIMES, through the deep valleys of 
 sorrow, at others, up the rough hill-sides of 
 difficulty, the pilgrim passes ou his journey to 
 the skies; sometimes, too much fascinated by 
 scenes of earth, or lulled to sleep by the sweet 
 dreams of some enchanted bower, he is tempted to 
 forget his heavenly crown : then comes the friendly 
 rod, striking the sleeping pilgrim, with the com- 
 mand to " march, march forward," awaking him 
 from his slumbers. Called, perhaps, to encounter some fierce 
 enemy who assails his soul, he girds himself for the conflict ; 
 conquering in strength of his Redeemer, he reaches the height 
 of some distant hill, where the "chamber of peace," the "bread 
 of heaven," and the "water of life," are ready for his refresh- 
 ment. Such a resting-place had Edith reached; and having 
 conquered her spiritual enemies, blessed were the visions of rest, 
 beyond this world of conflict and temptation, which visited her 
 in that peaceful chamber. 
 
 Coming daily among her family from this holy refuge, her 
 countenance shone with the blessedness of such communion. 
 Under the elevation of her feelings, she could almost look upon 
 the happiness which she had conferred upon Gerald and 
 Blanche with composure, and doubted not that hereafter she 
 should fully understand the wisdom which had blasted her 
 21 321
 
 322 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 early hopes. Perhaps, like the young eagle, she would not 
 have left her peaceful nest to plume her wings for heaven, but 
 her Heavenly Father had stirred up her nest, and, like the 
 parent bird who flutters over her tender nurslings to compel 
 their flight, her heavenly Friend had taken her, and bearing 
 her on his outstretched wings, had aided her upward flight. 
 The love which now encircled her in her own home, was a 
 sweet cordial, and the unfailing friendship of Miss Arnold, a 
 blessing of no common character. Little Emily was now her 
 sole charge. Lilly was improving rapidly, and her letters 
 breathed a tone of piety and contentment with her earthly lot. 
 On all holiday occasions, she came to Ravenswood, and enjoyed 
 her visits with much delight. Possessing fine musical talents, 
 they were highly cultivated, and afforded her friends great 
 gratification on her visits home. But Edith's fears were deeply 
 awakened for her beloved brother. His strength seemed gradu- 
 ally declining, his preaching more and more spiritual; and 
 Edith listened to his eloquent appeals with a beating heart, for 
 the hacking cough, the hollow cheeks, the hectic flush, all told 
 her that his days were numbered. She knew these symptoms 
 too well, for she had watched them all in her beloved mother. 
 
 One morning, Caesar was brought up to the door of the cot- 
 tage, and little Frank was to accompany his father on his 
 morning ride. He had just given the parting kiss to Eveleen, 
 and was lifting his little boy on to the saddle, when his anxious 
 wife observed him place his handkerchief hastily to his mouth, 
 while unusual paleness spread over his face. He mounted and 
 had scarcely seated hinwelf, ere the crimson tide gushed from 
 his mouth. With one desperate effort he lifted his boy from 
 the horse, and dismounted, leaning upon Eveleen's shoulder 
 for support. Her cries soon brought assistance, and with the 
 help of a servant, they conveyed him into the parlor and laid 
 him on the sofa. Placing his head low, and administering salt 
 and water, she sent instantly for Dr. Randolph and for Edith. 
 
 In a short time the physician arrived. He ordered perfect 
 quietness, and pronounced the case very dangerous. Eveleen 
 exerted all her powers of self-control, and waited anxiously for
 
 GREEN PASTURES AND STILL WATERS. 323 
 
 Edith. The sound of carriage-wheels indicated her approach. 
 Eveleen hastened to the gate. One gush of feeling was allowed, 
 as the two sisters were, for one moment, folded in each other's 
 arms, and then quietly proceeded to the side of the couch. 
 The hemorrhage had subsided for the present, but the physician 
 bade them look for a return. Frank extended his hand to 
 Edith, smiled sweetly, drew her down close to him, and kissed 
 her fondly. 
 
 " Not a word, dear Frank," said the sister, " quietness is the 
 order of the day ; when you are better you can say all you 
 wish." Closely they kept watch by the side of the sufferer. 
 In the middle of the day, another hemorrhage, more severe 
 than the first, seemed as though it might drain the very foun- 
 tain of life, and towards evening, a third produced such weak- 
 ness, that scarcely any pulse was left. 
 
 For hours he lay pale as the sheeted dead. No sign of life, 
 save a faint fluttering of the pulse, and an irregular motion of 
 the heart, was seen. Woman's love and woman's trust sus- 
 tained the watchers. Hour after hour passed away, and no 
 change appeared. The stars shone brightly upon the little 
 cottage ; and Edith, as she looked out, saw what Emily had 
 always called her mother's star, and she almost wondered if 
 spirits, in the world of bliss, had any sympathy with the sor- 
 rows of this lower world. She blessed God that revelation 
 had taught her where to look for sympathy, not human, but 
 divine ; and to that tender, loving Saviour, " who sticketh 
 closer than a brother," she told her tale of sorrow, and prayed 
 for strength to bear it all. Pale, silent sufferers in that sick 
 chamber, to you might well be addressed the words of the 
 sweet poetess : 
 
 " Her lot is on you ! to be found untired, 
 
 Watching the stars out by the bed of pain, 
 With a pale cheek, and yet a brow inspired, 
 
 And a true heart of hope, though hope be vain. 
 Meekly to bear with wrong, to cheer decay 
 And oh ! to love through all things, therefore pray!" 
 
 Night passed away. No sleep had visited the eyes of either,
 
 324 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 but towards morning they observed that Frank was sleeping. 
 A slight improvement was apparent : the bleeding had en- 
 tirely ceased, and a more healthy state of the skin was visible. 
 Eveleen smiled, as she looked on Edith, and whispered, " Is he 
 not better ?" 
 
 " He appears so, dear, but do not let us be too sanguine ; we 
 will wait until the doctor comes; but Evey, you must take 
 some refreshment," and leaving the room, Edith soon returned 
 with a cup of tea, a slice of toast, and a soft egg, for the worn-, 
 out watcher, and stood by while she saw her partake of some. 
 
 When Dr. Randolph arrived, his countenance expressed 
 encouragement. He said that if no other change took place, 
 he might be removed to his chamber, in the evening. Gradu- 
 ally he seemed to rally, and after tea, Mr. Clifford and Uncle 
 Peter carried him to his own room, the old servant wiping a 
 tear from his eye as he felt how light was the burden which he 
 laid upon the bed. Another night's refreshing sleep found him 
 still more improved, and the next morning, when Eveleen had 
 left the room, Frank beckoned Edith to his side, and said, 
 " Lean down close, sister, I have been on the borders of eter- 
 nity, and I had no fears, Edith. All was bright, for my 
 Saviour was with me." 
 
 "Do not talk too much, dear Frank," replied his sister; 
 "quiet is very necessary." 
 
 " It does not hurt me now, dear, for I am not agitated ; no, 
 Edith, deep, perfect peace reigns here," placing his pale hand 
 upon his heart. " When you thought me sleeping, Edith, my 
 heart was filled with love to you, to Eveleen, to the whole 
 world ; but it was ready to leave all, to be with my Saviour." 
 
 Fearing the excitement of any more conversation, Edith laid 
 her hand on Frank's mouth, and smiling, took her seat at a 
 distant window. Leaving the room, she sent Eveleen to her 
 husband, telling her of their conversation. 
 
 With a smile, full of love, he folded his wife in his arms, and 
 whispered, " Bless you, Eveleen, for all your love to your sick 
 husband ; what a ministering angel you have been !" 
 
 Passing her hand carressingly through his dark curls, she
 
 GREEN PASTURES AND STILL WATERS. 325 
 
 pressed a kiss upon his pale lips, and replied, " God has been 
 very good, dearest ; he has heard our prayers : you will be 
 raised again." 
 
 " It may be, dear, but should it be so, mine will be a shat- 
 tered frame ; and I fear, Evey, that I shall always be a burden 
 to those I love." 
 
 " Do not say so, Frank ; it is never a task to minister to my 
 husband. I am never tired, dear, if I can only make you more 
 comfortable." 
 
 From that day, he began to amend ; in a few weeks, was able 
 to walk about; but the physician gave no hopes of final 
 recovery. During the summer, he frequently rode out, visited 
 Eavenswood daily, when the weather was fine ; but he felt that 
 the sentence, had gone forth, and was putting his house in 
 order, to be ready for the summons. 
 
 Mr. Berkely saw that he must part with his beloved col- 
 league, and as gently as he could do so, dropped hints to Edith 
 of the real state of the case. 
 
 With the dropping of the autumn leaves, unfavorable symp- 
 toms returned: the cough became more troublesome; night- 
 sweats commenced ; strength and appetite declined daily. As 
 winter approached, he could leave the house no more. The 
 keen blasts penetrated the little cottage, and shook his drooping 
 frame, that was now bending to the tomb. Ralph was constant 
 in his visits to the sick man, and many hours of sweet and holy 
 communion did these young men spend together. Gerald came 
 also, but not so frequently, for the sight of sickness and death 
 was not welcome to one who was yet so far astray from God. 
 
 Eveleen was the same devoted, cheerful wife; for although 
 her heart was often bursting, she would not let her husband see 
 her anguish, and when overcharged with too much sorrow, she 
 would fly, for a few minutes, to her room, and on her knees, 
 before God, would pray for strength, returning to her husband 
 with a smile upon her face. None knew, but her Redeemer, 
 how severe were these conflicts. At last, unable to leave hia 
 l)cd, Eveleen daily read to him from the Words of God, and 
 such hymns as he selected for his favorites. Mr. Berkely
 
 "326 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 whispered words of unspeakable comfort. Edith, with htr 
 strong faith, hovered daily around his dying couch, and Ralph 
 and Madge were sweet sympathizers. 
 
 Little Frank was much in his father's room, and lying often 
 on the bed by his side. He received many a sweet lesson, even 
 at this early age, from his dying parent. When Eveleen was 
 sometimes compelled to leave the room, she would say, 
 "Franky, do you see that tumbler? When papa wants a 
 drink, hand it to him, dear," and the little fellow would watch, 
 carefully attending to his father's wants. 
 
 " Papa, shall I hand you ' Daily Food '?' " (alluding to a little 
 book, which he saw his father frequently read). " Papa, shall 
 I sing a little hymn?" 
 
 "Yes, my son;" and the sweet child would lisp out, 
 
 " There is a happy land, 
 
 Far, far away. 
 Where saints and glory stand, 
 
 Bright, bright as day. 
 Oh, we shall happy be, 
 When, from sin and sorrow free, 
 Lord, we shall dwell with Thee, 
 
 Blest, blest for aye." 
 
 "Is not that a pretty hymn, papa? Mamma taught it to 
 me. Now, papa, shall I bring you some nice cologne?" and, 
 running to the bureau, the little fellow would get the bottle, 
 and climbing up to the side of the bed would bathe his father's 
 head, put some on his handkerchief, and holding it to his nose, 
 he would kiss him affectionately, and patting his face, would 
 say, "Now, papa, you are tired; let us go to sleep;" and 
 throwing his arms around his father, Eveleen would often find 
 him thus fondly ministering to his comfort. 
 
 Winter wore gradually away. With the advent of the 
 snowdrop and the crocus, the last symptoms of consumption 
 appeared. Mrs. Austin was summoned, and Eveleen convinced 
 now that she soon must resign her beloved companion, sent for 
 Edith to come quickly. 
 
 When she arrived, Eveleen threw herself upon her sister's
 
 GREEN PASTURES AND STILL WATERS. 327 
 
 bosom, and exclaimed, "Sister, it cannot be much longer. 
 Perhaps Frank has something to say, some particular request 
 to make; should he not know how short his time may be? I 
 cannot tell him, sister, will you ?" 
 
 " I will endeavor to do as you request, Evey. I think that 
 he ought to know the truth." 
 
 Edith entered his room. He lay, the picture of weakness. 
 His wasted features and pallid face; his hollow cheeks and 
 tender, beseeching eyes, so different from the bright, dancing 
 orbs, which once illumined his face all deeply affected his 
 sister's heart. She took her seat by his side, and taking the 
 cold, clammy hand in her own, she kissed it fervently ; then, 
 pressing her own hand upon the cold forehead, where the dews 
 of consumption lay, in drops as large as peas, moistening the 
 damp hair, she whispered, " Frank, you are very weak, dear ; 
 none but Jesus can help you now." 
 
 " Yes, dear sister," replied he, while his lips quivered with 
 suppressed feeling, " none but Jesus, now ; but he never leaves 
 me, Edith." 
 
 " Are you aware, dearest, that his messenger is very near, 
 even at your door? Have you anything to say? any request 
 to make?" 
 
 " I have wished to live, sister, for Eveleen and Frank's sake ; 
 it requires a strong faith to leave such dear objects. Some- 
 times my heart yearns to be spared, for their sakes ; but God's 
 holy will be done. For the future, my hopes are full of glory. 
 But, Edith, you will be a sister to my Eveleen ; you will com- 
 fort, cheer, sustain her, and should she be taken from my boy, 
 you will be a mother to our child ; will you not, Edith ?" 
 Tears were streaming down the pale face, as he made this 
 tender appeal. 
 
 "I will, my brother; you need not fear," replied Edith; "I 
 shall love him, for my brother's sake," 
 
 "Now, sister, on this death-bed, let me thank you for all 
 your care, your unfailing love to your brother. To you, my 
 noble sister, I owe all : all my hopes of heaven, all my happi- 
 ness on earth, all the piece of this blessed moment. Here sister,
 
 328 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 behold some of the recompense for all your self-denying love ; 
 it is but a small foretaste of what you shall reap in heaven." 
 
 Edith leaned her head upon her hands and wept, but they 
 were tears of mingled joy and sorrow. " Edith," he continued, 
 " you have had bitter trials, but remember, dear, ' the Lord 
 loveth whom he chasteneth ;' ' sorrow may endure for a night, 
 but joy ariseth ill the morning,' and 'all things shall work 
 together for good, to them that love God.' You are in the 
 hands of a good, a wise, and gracious God, who will not suffer 
 you to be tempted more than you are able to bear. Now, one 
 more request I have to make: I must be reconciled to Mr. 
 Austin, and I must see my father and my sister before I die." 
 
 Bending down by her brother's side, Edith offered up a 
 heartfelt, fervent prayer for him, and, as she arose, he drew 
 her down once more, saying, " God bless you, Edith, forever 
 and forever!" 
 
 A message was despatched to Mr. Austin, who, willing to 
 lay aside all his old resentment, hastened to the dying chamber, 
 and assuring Frank of full forgiveness, he was at peace. He 
 was greatly attracted by his little grandson, and promised 
 Frank to be a faithful friend, when he was laid in the silent 
 tomb. 
 
 Mr. Clifford, whose heart was wrapped up in Frank, was 
 prostrated at the thoughts of losing his only son, and spent 
 most of his time at the cottage, watching the departure of the 
 beloved one, and endeavoring, by the supply of every want, to 
 soothe the last hours of his idol. Sending for him to his room, 
 Frank addressed him, solemnly, on this subject of preparation 
 for another world, saying, " Dear father, may I hope to meet 
 you in heaven? Our mother is there. She waits for us. God 
 is calling us home, one by one. Let us not be separated on the 
 last great day." Mr. Clifford was deeply affected, and prom- 
 ised his sou to attend to the concerns of the never-dying soul. 
 
 Blanche and Adele received his dying counsels with deep 
 feeling. Blanche, especially, seemed most impressed. His 
 appeal to Gerald, to remember his Christian vows, was most 
 faithful and impressive. His message to the people of his
 
 GREEN PASTURES AND STILL WATERS. 329 
 
 charge was full of the yearnings of a faithful minister. A few 
 more days, and the last messenger arrived. Asking to be left 
 alone with Eveleen, he addressed her tenderly. "Evey, my 
 love, the Master has come. He wants me in another world. 
 My work is done here, and I must leave my sweet wife. You 
 have been a faithful, devoted companion, and have made my 
 life very dear to me. It was hard to give you and Franky up ; 
 but it is done, dearest, and now I commit you to our own 
 Saviour. He will comfort you. Edith will be a tender sister. 
 Bring up our child for God, and meet me, dearest, where we 
 shall part no more." 
 
 Almost overwhelmed, the young wife bent over her beloved 
 companion, and kissing him, said " God's holy will be done. 
 A few short years, perhaps months, dear husband, and we shall 
 meet again. It will not be long, Frank, for I cannot live 
 without my husband. You are a part of myself." 
 
 "Send for Mr. Berkely, Evey. I must see him once more." 
 
 Anxious to fulfil every request, she despatched a messenger 
 for the pastor, who was quickly at his side. With words of 
 holy comfort, he soothed the dying man, repeating promise after 
 promise. The holy countenance of the departing Christian 
 expressed all the support which they afforded. Slowly life 
 departed ; and in the presence of his afflicted family, sustained 
 and cheered by the blessed hopes of immortality, the spirit of 
 Frank Clifford took its flight for another and better world. 
 Three short years of ministerial labor had completed his mis- 
 sion upon earth ; but, if measured by its results, he had done a 
 great work, in a short period, bringing many souls, reclaimed 
 from the error of their ways, home to holiness and heaven. 
 The need for exertion having passed away, Eveleen sank 
 under the weight of the blow. For hours she would sit, 
 silently gazing upon the soft dark curls, which she had removed 
 ere the remains of her husband were laid in the tomb. Edith 
 exerted all her powers to arouse her, but she feared that it was 
 a crushed aud broken heart that resisted all her efforts. 
 
 By Mr. Clifford's request, the remains were removed to his 
 father's home, to be interred from thence ; and when, in the
 
 330 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 evening, Edith observed the hearse approaching with the 
 sacred relics, she could not but recall the image of the bright, 
 blooming, mischievous boy that made the house ring with his 
 peals of merriment ; the sanguine, enthusiastic youth ; the meek 
 and lowly minister of the Lord Jesus ; and looking upon the 
 coffin which contained all that was mortal of her beloved 
 brother, she could but ask, mournfully, "And is this all that is 
 left of my dearest brother? But I must not weep as one who 
 sorrows without hope, for my brother sleeps in Jesus." 
 
 The remains were conveyed, solemnly, to the library amid 
 the train of weeping servants, who stood in the entry, watching 
 their last reception in the halls of Ravenswood. Previous to 
 interment, many were the humble parishioners who wept 
 around all that was left of their young minister ; and on the 
 day of the funeral, throngs of the neighboring inhabitants, 
 numbers of his former gay companions, and many of the clergy 
 from New York, testified to the deep respect entertained for 
 the deceased. The services were conducted by the Rev. Mr. 
 Berkely, and others, and, by the side of his mother, the remains 
 of Frank Clifford repose, until the resurrection morn. 
 
 After the return of the funeral procession, Edith, folding 
 Eveleen in her arms, said, "You are mine, Evey, now. Frank 
 requested that you might come to me, and I know father will 
 need his little grandson." 
 
 " My parents want me, Edith, to come to Now York ; but I 
 could not bear the bustle of that city, and I wish my boy 
 brought up in the country. Its quiet soothes my spirits, and 
 here I can better prepare for heaven." 
 
 At Eveleen's earnest request, her parents consented for her to 
 remain at Ravenswood ; but with the promise that, so soon as 
 she could, she would visit them, with her little boy. 
 
 During all these trials, Edith felt that she was walking 
 beside " the green pastures and still waters" of salvation. The 
 ordinances of the Gospel were still more refreshing, her Bible 
 more precious, her seasons of communion more holy. Not for 
 one moment did she feel forsaken ; but, assured of her brother's 
 blessedness, and of her own interest in glorious hopes of the
 
 GREEN PASTURES AND 8T! LL WATERS. 331 
 
 Gospel, she maintained a holy, peaceful walk with God. All 
 the affections of her heart were drawn towards Eveleen, who, 
 though resigned, felt that her spirit was crushed, and her health 
 broken; and though she experienced "the peace that passeth 
 all understanding," her heart yearned for the beloved one, now 
 sleeping in the silent grave. Edith took upon herself the task 
 of removing all the furniture necessary for Eveleen's room, 
 from the cottage, and also of preparing for the sale. 
 
 The day before it took place, Eveleen, laying her head upon 
 Edith's shoulder, whispered, " Take me once more to the cot- 
 tage. I must see it again." And, driving slowly and sadly to 
 the sweet home, Edith granted her request. Entering the little 
 parlor, Eveleen laid her mourning bonnet and veil down upon 
 the table, and sitting on the sofa, clad in her widow's weeds, 
 looked around upon all the familiar objects with an expression 
 of soul-stirring grief. 
 
 " Edith, it was a little paradise. I do not believe that there 
 ever was a more happy pair. Not one jarring word ever passed 
 between us. Frank was always so kind, so tender. O Edith ! 
 how can I live without my husband?" 
 
 Taking her in her arms, Edith smoothed the bands of soft, 
 light hair, that lay folded beneath her widow's cap, and, as she 
 looked upon her delicate loveliness, and saw the blue veins 
 coursing beneath the transparent skin, the inward conviction 
 pressed upon her that she would not long be left behind. 
 Walking through every room, she lingered longest in the li- 
 brary. Returning to the parlor, she replaced her bonnet and 
 veil, gathered a few fresh spring flowers, and casting one more 
 longing, lingering look behind, with a slow step she returned 
 to the carriage, and, folded in Edith's arms, returned to Ravens- 
 wood. 
 
 Frank's death had been a severe blow to his father, for he 
 had built many hopes upon his only son. Under the influence 
 of grief, his step failed, his spirits sank, and many alarming 
 symptoms appeared. So soon as be was seated, he was asleep, 
 spoke seldom to any one, and spent much more time alone. 
 Even little Frank, with his merry, sprightly sports, did not
 
 332 EDITH'S MINISTRY, 
 
 interest him ; and the family physician recommended great 
 watchfulness, as he feared paralysis. 
 
 One day he was unusually late in his appearance, and Edith, 
 going to his room, found him unable to rise, and on approach- 
 ing observed that he was entirely insensible. Sending for the 
 physician, it was pronounced, as they all feared, an attack of 
 paralysis. For several days there seemed no amendment, but 
 at the close of a week, he rallied somewhat. At the close of 
 the third, his speech returned, and there was a prospect of 
 recovery. Edith was unwearied in her attentions, but assisted 
 by Madge, her labors were much relieved, although her father 
 was never happy when she was absent ; consequently, she spent 
 much of her time in his room. When he was sufficiently recov- 
 ered, he was taken down stairs, and being unable to walk, was 
 wheeled about on the piazza. His whole aspect seemed 
 changed. Child-like and docile, he loved to talk about Frank, 
 and was never tired of listening to Eveleen's account of his 
 goodness, his preaching, his labors, and his dying words. For 
 whole hours would he listen to the same story, while tears 
 streamed down his face. The strength of Mr. Clifford's mind 
 ^ras gone, but the humility and gentleness of one under the 
 drawings of the Holy Spirit, were daily more apparent. His 
 memory was much impaired, and often he imagined those who 
 had been dead for years were here yesterday, and could take 
 no account of time. 
 
 " Evey, did you know my wife ? She came to see me last 
 night. She told me to follow Frank, and I mean to do it, 
 Evey. I have not always loved God, but I love him now ; I 
 love to think about him, and to pray to him. Do you love 
 God, Evey?" These marks of the weakness of his intellect 
 deeply affected his daughter Edith, and she bestowed upon him 
 all the watchful care that she would have done upon a feeble 
 child. His health improved rapidly, but the mind seemed 
 gone, beyond the power of recovery. He had now no ability 
 to attend to the business of his large farm, and Edith had to 
 depend upon Gerald for advice and assistance. The familiar 
 intercourse which this made necessary was beneficial to both
 
 GREEN PASTURES AND 81 tLL WATERS. 333 
 
 and gradually the reserve which had existed began to wear 
 away. 
 
 But she was soon convinced that it would be impossible to 
 remain at Eavenswood, for the place was much too large for a 
 woman's care, and as Gerald was only with them once a week, 
 the responsibilities were too heavy. She dreaded the effect of 
 removal upon her father's mind, and delayed the step on that 
 account. Blanche had continued to manifest much more 
 interest in the things of God since the death of her brother, 
 and acting upon hasty impulses, she begged permission to be 
 received into the church, on next season of confirmation. Mr. 
 Berkely kept her for some time in a state of probation ; but 
 when she still manifested the same desire, and exhibited many 
 marks of a changed nature, he no longer refused her. Edith, 
 with all a sister's faithfulness, laid before her all that would be 
 expected of her; and even Gerald, aware of his own defection, 
 did not greatly encourage her; but on the day appointed, 
 Blanche was among the company confirmed, and manifested 
 much tenderness of feeling on the solemn occasion. 
 
 " And now none are left, who are old enough, but I," said 
 Adele ; "why am I so indifferent? But I am not indifferent. I 
 must be really changed, before I take such a solemn step. I 
 am afraid that Blanche will go back again to the world, she is 
 so inconstant ; and I am resolved never to profess to be a Chris- 
 tian, unless I am sure that it is so." But Adele had many 
 serious thoughts, and Edith hoped more for her than for Blanche. 
 
 Christmas came again, but it was a sad season at Ravenswood: 
 it brought together the family circle, but the mother was not 
 there, Frank was no more among them, and Mr. Clifford was 
 but a wreck of what he had been. Lilly, Emily, and little 
 Frank, enjoyed the presents, for childhood's griefs soon 
 give way to childhood's joys. Looking around among his 
 children, Mr. Clifford said, sadly, "Christmas can never 
 be a happy time again ; my Mary, my Frank, are here no 
 more, and I am getting to be a weak, old man. Edith, come 
 here, Edith ; let me lean on you, while I try to walk." Able 
 now to leave his chair, he could walk with the aid of a crutch
 
 334 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 and Edith's arm. " Edith, do you ever get tired of waiting 
 on your old father?" 
 
 " Never, father ; it is always a pleasure to give you comfort." 
 
 Patting her fondly on the cheek, he said, " You are a good 
 child, Edith ; God will bless you, dear." 
 
 Convinced now that they must leave Ravenswood, Edith 
 prepared to remove to Hazel Glen, but was much perplexed as 
 to the best way of informing her father. Thinking it best to 
 pay a visit there first, she proposed a ride, taking her father, 
 Eveleen, and little Frank. The distance was ten miles from 
 Ravenswood, and they expected to spend the day. Their road 
 lay through a very picturesque country. Little Frank was full 
 of delight. Mr. Clifford enjoyed the ride ; but nothing could 
 move Eveleen, whose thoughts were always with the sainted 
 dead. When arriving in sight of Hazel Glen, Edith was 
 greatly charmed by the rural beauty of her new home. It was 
 an old-fashioned mansion, with a piazza all around, situated in 
 the midst of a woody dell. There was a fine garden attached 
 to the place, laid out in winding paths, and the piazza was em- 
 bowered in creeping roses, clematis, and jessamine. Behind the 
 house was a range of lofty hills, stretching away in the distance. 
 All that she regretted was that she could see the noble Hudson no 
 more, excepting a distant view from the lofty hills. When 
 they drove up to the door, they were received, respectfully, by 
 John Holland and his wife, who had charge of the farm. 
 
 " How do you do, ma'am ? You are welcome to Hazel Glen. 
 I suppose that this is the new mistress ?" 
 
 " I am coming to live with you, John, very soon, and I 
 thought that I would like to see my new home first." 
 
 Taking her father by the arm, she led him into the kitchen, 
 the only room that was furnished. Soon a comfortable meal was 
 prepared, and Edith was pleased to see her father so cheerfully 
 enjoying his dinner. After dinner, she led him around the 
 orchard, among the cows and poultry, and he seemed quite 
 delighted with his visit. 
 
 "Edith, I should like to pay a long visit here, it seems so 
 comfortable."
 
 GREEN PASTURES AND STILL WATERS. 335 
 
 " Would you, dear father ? Then you and Evey shall come, 
 and bring little Frank along. It would be so nice to have 
 their company." 
 
 After all necessary arrangements, Edith turned homewards, 
 promising her father the pleasure of another visit to Hazel 
 Glen. In a few weeks, the furniture for a sitting room, and 
 for Mr. Clifford's and Eveleen's chambers was sent, and one 
 fine day, Edith set out again with her father, to the new home. 
 She had some trouble, however, in leaving him, for he clung as 
 closely to her as if she were a mother, instead of a child ; but, 
 on promising to come very soon, he consented to let her go. 
 
 Soon all the preparations were completed, and the business of 
 moving commenced; Madge receiving the furniture at. Hazel 
 Glen, and Edith superintending the removal. Mr. Clifford was 
 greatly puzzled, for he recognized much of the furniture from 
 Ravenswood. The house was speedily arranged, all the family 
 sent away excepting Edith, Uncle Peter, and nurse. One sad 
 visit to the old elm, to the riverside, to Woodbine Cottage, and 
 to the graves of her beloved, and Edith turned back forever 
 upon the dear home of her childhood, the scene of so many joys 
 and sorrows. Another step was taken in her earthly pilgrim- 
 age, but still upward and onward, and by the side of "the green 
 pastures and still waters of salvation," she walked with a serene 
 and even joyful step. 
 
 When she arrived at Hazel Glen, her father was standing on 
 the piazza, watching for his daughter. Limping forward on 
 his crutch, he embraced her affectionately, and said, " Edith, 
 how is it? They are bringing Ravenswood here: here are the 
 tables and the chairs, the pictures and the harp, and the piano; 
 but these are not the trees, and I cannot see the river." 
 
 ' The best of it is here, dear father, all your children, and 
 that makes home; don't it, father?" 
 
 "Yes it is; Edith, where you are, there is home for your 
 father. But you are tired, Edith. There is a nice supper 
 waiting for you." 
 
 Madge led her up to her own room. Every familiar article 
 had been neatly arranged : the same white muslin curtains, her
 
 336 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 book-case, her work-table, everything just as it was at Ravens- 
 wood ; only the room was not quite so large, nor the ceiling so 
 high ; but then it was so cosy, so comfortable ! Kissing Madge, 
 she said, "It is all right, dear: it looks very home-like already, 
 Madge." 
 
 Descending to the dining-room, a very nice supper, with her 
 favorite dishes, was prepared ; and after partaking of the plen- 
 tiful repast, Edith consecrated her new home to God and heaven; 
 and retiring that night, blessed God for this quiet sanctuary in 
 the midst of his own beautiful works. 
 
 Soon she found that she was too far from any place of wor- 
 ship to think of attending regularly, and her benevolent spirit 
 commenced the work of exploring the neighborhood. She 
 found that many families lived within the space of two or three 
 miles, and that all along the Glen were scattered poor people, 
 who worked in the neighboring factories, which bordered a 
 creek close by. The population was greater than around 
 Ravenswood ; and she had not been there more than five or six 
 weeks ere she made an attempt to open a Sunday-school in her 
 own house. The hall was large, and in summer seats were 
 brought in, and thus her first efforts commenced. 
 
 On the first Sunday, five dirty, ragged children made their 
 appearance. She took them into the kitchen, and Mary 
 showed them how to tidy themselves. Edith gave them some 
 good advice about cleanliness, provided them with hymn-books 
 and spelling-books, for they could not read, and after some 
 religious instruction they were sent home, much pleased with 
 their first Sunday. On the next Sunday ten came, and so until, 
 by the close of the summer, she had gathered fifty. Benches 
 were now provided, and the school prospered. Madge, 
 Blanche, and Adele all aided in teaching. Her father seemed 
 interested, and she gave him a class of little boys, whom he 
 taught the elements of education ; but always at the end of his 
 exercises he gave the little fellows such sweet and holy 
 instruction, that none who heard him could restrain a gushing 
 tear. 
 
 Gerald and Ralph could not reach them so easily as form-
 
 GREEN PASTURES AND STILL WATERS. 337 
 
 erly, consequently their visits were not so frequent ; but, when 
 they first came up the glen, Edith perceived that they were ac- 
 companied by a stranger, who, on entering the house, she recog- 
 nized as Mr. Percival. He was received kindly and entertained 
 hospitably, for Edith could not forget the debt of gratitude 
 which she owed to him ; and, moreover, receiving him as one 
 of God's ambassadors, she esteemed it a privilege to entertain 
 him as a servant of her Lord. 
 
 On Sunday morning, his eye glistened with delight as he saw 
 the preparations for the Sunday-school ; and Edith was well 
 provided on that day, for Ralph, Gerald, and Mr. Percival, all 
 aided her. A notice given in the morning brought a large 
 number in the evening to a cottage lecture, given by Mr. Per- 
 cival. Many of the families of the better class attended ; and 
 after service, Edith suggested the idea of regular religious ser- 
 vices on Sunday evening. Many thought it impracticable, but 
 Edith waited patiently for the leadings of Providence. Mr. 
 Percival remained a few days, and expressed great interest in 
 Edith's work ; but Madge and Adele whispered to each other 
 that it was plain enough his interest was in Edith's self. 
 
 After a short time, Mr. Clifford began to sigh for home, and 
 asked Edith "if it was not time to return ?" 
 
 "Would you not like to stay here, father?" asked Edith; 
 "we have such* a pleasant home, and there is so much of the 
 furniture of our old home here." 
 
 " But, Edith, we are wanted at Ravenswood ; autumn is 
 coming, and there is a great deal to do for the winter." 
 
 It was hard to persuade him to be contented. At last Edith 
 thought of the little boys in Sunday-school, and said, " Why, 
 father, what would become of your little boys in the Sunday- 
 school ? They are very fond of you, and they are learning so 
 fast : it would seem a pity to give them up." 
 
 " True, Edith : that would never do ; I should be very sorry 
 if they would not come any more to Sunday-school." From 
 that time he ceased to talk about going home, and continued 
 1o teach the little boys their simple lessons. 
 
 Another means of usefulness was started, in her Saturday 
 22
 
 338 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 afternoon class, which consisted of young girls, whom she 
 taught to write, to cipher, and to sew, mingling religious truth 
 with their other instruction. Her father was deeply interested 
 in all her works of benevolence ; and though he seemed to ex- 
 hibit no interest in other things, it was an affecting sight to see 
 him, prematurely old, bending over his Bible for hours at a 
 time ; coming to Edith with all the simplicity of a child for 
 explanation of difficult passages, and ready always to help, in 
 his simple way, in her deeds of charity. His memory still 
 seemed clouded. Events occurring recently, he seldom remem- 
 bered for more than a day at a time, but past occurrences were 
 present, as though transacted but yesterday. Thus, he always 
 connected Edith's name with Gerald : for he only remembered 
 their early engagement ; but the history of Blanche had faded 
 from his memory, and he never could understand why Editli 
 and Gerald were not associated as formerly. Sometimes he 
 thought that Frank had gone away, but, when talking with 
 broken-hearted Eveleen, then he realized that he was no more 
 among the living. 
 
 Clouds rested on all subjects except on that of religion. 
 More humble, more docile, more prayerful daily, there could be 
 no doubt of the great moral change which had passed upon 
 Mr. Clifford; and Edith still hoped that time and quietness, 
 Avith the blessing of God, would yet restore his shattered intel- 
 lect wholly.' Engaged in constant efforts to bless others, the 
 poignant remembrance of the past was daily fading from her 
 heart, and she constantly realized the blessedness of those 
 "green pastures and still w T aters," by which the Saviour leads 
 *iis flock. 
 
 One evening she led her father out, on his usual walk down 
 the shady glen. He appeared to have something on his mind. 
 "Edith," said he, "I was reading to-day, where our Saviour 
 was baptized; and when he gave his last message to his disci- 
 ples, did he not say, 'Go, baptize them: in the name of the 
 Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost?' " 
 
 " He did, father ; and it is our duty to do the same." 
 
 " Edith, T believe that I am a changed nuvn. I know that I
 
 GREEN PASTURES AND STILL WATERS. 339 
 
 love the Lord Jesus, and I want to obey all his commands. I 
 was brought up among the Friends, Edith, and I have never 
 been baptized. Do you think Mr. Berkely would baptize me? 
 Perhaps he might think me too weak-minded for such an act." 
 
 " I think not, dear father. We will send for him to-morrow." 
 
 On the following week, the good pastor paid his first visit to 
 Hazel Glen, and fully convinced of the reality of the spiritual 
 change which had enlightened the diseased mind of his old 
 friend, unhesitatingly received him into the fold of Christ. 
 Silver hairs had mingled with the raven locks which once 
 adorned his noble head, and the step of the once proud man was 
 feeble, and his voice tremulous ; but a look of childlike peace 
 and simplicity rested upon his features, as he knelt to receive 
 the pastor's blessing. 
 
 Mr. Berkely listened to Edith's account of the destitution 
 of her neighborhood, and promised to interest himself in 
 obtaining books, papers, &c., for her enterprise of Christian 
 benevolence. He was deeply affected when he looked upon 
 the ethereal complexion of Eveleen Clifford, and perceived 
 she was rapidly preparing to follow her husband home. 
 
 The family had so long been deprived of the regular means 
 of grace, that, sending an invitation to Christian families to 
 join in the service, on the following Sunday, Mr. Berkely 
 administered the communion to the family circle, and, for the 
 first time, Mr. Clifford, partaking of the holy service, was fully 
 received into the Church of Christ. 
 
 Eveleen seemed rapidly to grow in grace, but Edith saw, 
 with the rest of the family, that her flight was upward. She 
 interested herself in the Sunday-school, so long as her strength 
 allowed of such labors, but at last was compelled to resign her 
 class into the hands of another teacher. One evening, seated 
 alone in the parlor, Edith overheard her playing a sweet 
 prelude, and singing, in tender, mournful tones, these touch- 
 ing lines : 
 
 " I am wearing awa', Jean 
 Like snaw in the thaw, Jean, 
 I am wearing awa' 
 To the land o' the leal.
 
 340 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 " There's nae sorrow there, Jean, 
 But a's bright and fair, Jean, 
 And soon I'll he there, 
 In the land o' the leal." 
 
 With a soft sigh, Edith entered, and the sweet woman said, 
 mournfully, " That is true, Edith ; I shall soon be with 
 Frank, and my blessed Saviour. The hand of death was 
 placed upon my heart when my husband departed, and I 
 am going gently home." Edith could not answer, her heart 
 was too full. From that evening, her strength rapidly failed. 
 Sweet and touching was the communion between the broken- 
 hearted Eveleen and Mr. Clifford, reading to her daily, and 
 watching over her departing moments, as tenderly as if she 
 were his own daughter. Anxious to see her parents, they 
 were sent for, and arrived in time to receive her parting sigh. 
 
 It was on Sunday evening when the last messenger arrived. 
 " Take me near the window, Edith, let me see the sun once 
 more. In the land where I am going, ' the sun shall not go 
 down by day, neither the moon by night;' there is no sickness, 
 no death, no parting in heaven. I shall soon be at home. 
 Edith, you will be a mother to my child : Frank left him to 
 you, dear, if I should be taken away. Bring up my darling 
 boy for God, for heaven, Edith. I have prayed constantly, 
 that he may become a minister. Now lay me down, Edith. 
 Mother, father, come near me ; kiss me once before I go ; 
 follow me to heaven. My sins are all pardoned, through a 
 Saviour's blood; in him alone I trust." Calmly, sweetly, the 
 spirit passed away ; and before the last rays of the setting sun 
 had faded from the horizon, the soul of Eveleen Clifford was 
 with her Saviour, in that land where all tears were forever 
 wiped from her eyes. 
 
 In a few days, they laid her by the side of her beloved 
 husband, where, together, they sleep in Jesus. So grew the 
 family chain in heaven ; and as link by link was lifted to the 
 skies, they were still invisibly united to those which yet re- 
 mained on earth.
 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 AUTUMN LEAVES AND THE OLD ELM TREE. 
 
 NE day, late in the afternoon, Edith observed 
 an old vehicle driving slowly up the glen, and, 
 as it drew nearer, she perceived that it was the 
 old gig, and Aunt Priscilla. She welcomed the 
 old lady cordially, who looked around with 
 evident satisfaction on Edith's home. 
 
 " Well, sure now, it's a pleasant sight to see 
 you the mistress of your own home, with no 
 master to say what you shall do." 
 
 " I owe it all to you, dear aunty, and can never tell you how 
 grateful I am for all your goodness." 
 
 " Take an old woman's advice, Edith : never bring a master 
 here ; you'd rue the day, mark my words." 
 
 " You need not fear, aunty, my lot in life is fixed ; I am to 
 be a mother to the many, and not to the few. Orphan 
 children, and an afflicted father, claim my services, and they 
 shall have them." 
 
 " Well, dear, you've been a good mother here, and God will 
 bless you ; your latter days will be full of peace, and your 
 place in heaven among the highest. And you've lost another, 
 Edith, since I was here. Well, I wasn't surprised to hear 
 that Evey had gone, for I always reckoned that she could 
 not live without her husband. How is your father now, 
 Edith ?" 
 
 341
 
 342 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 " His health is excellent, but he is still lame, and his min J 
 feeble, although I see some improvement, he is more cheer- 
 ful, and shows a great deal of interest in a '/I good works. 
 You've come to make ine a long visit, aunty. I have a great 
 deal to show you, and many questions to ask." 
 
 Aunt Priscilla was soon busy among the poultry, interested 
 herself about the dairy, the preserves, the pickles, and the 
 jellies, for she had been famous in her day in these depart- 
 ments ; but Edith was pained on observing the great change 
 in her old relation ; a trifle fatigued her, her memory was bad, 
 and her health much impaired. She redoubled her kindness 
 to the old lady, for she saw that her pilgrimage was nearly 
 ended. 
 
 Edith was still hopeful about her plans of benevolence. 
 She had named the hill directly back of the house, Mount 
 Pisgah, and imagination saw already the little church which 
 she intended should adorn its summit. Her Sunday-school 
 prospered abundantly. Other teachers had become interested, 
 and a great change was manifest in the whole neighborhood. 
 Instead of groups of dirty, ragged children, climbing trees, 
 robbing birds' nests, swimming in the creek, or pilfering fruit 
 from the farmers' orchards, might now be seen everywhere, 
 companies of neatly clad youth, wending their way up the 
 glen, with cheerful, smiling faces, to their pleasant Sunday- 
 school. An improvement in morals was everywhere apparent. 
 The parents began to take some interest in the new order of 
 things, and Miss Edith became an oracle among them. In all 
 their troubles they came to her for advice : if there were 
 dissensions, she endeavored to heal them ; if distress, to 
 alleviate its keenness; if sickness, to smooth its pillow; if 
 death laid its cold hand upon any of her flock, she was near 
 to whisper words of comfort, and to hold up a crucified 
 Saviour before the departing soul. Her house was always 
 open, on Sunday evenings, for cottage lectures ; and when no 
 clergyman could be obtained, or when Ralph was not present, 
 she read a practical sermon, and conducted the religious 
 exercises. The evening congregations increased rapidly, and
 
 AUTUMN LEAVES AND THE OLD ELM TREE. 343 
 
 Edith consulted Mr. Bcrkely as to the expediency of com- 
 mencing her subscription for her church. Pleased with the 
 activity of her spirit, he encouraged her efforts, promised to 
 raise a subscription for her in his own parish, and named the 
 new church, St. Paul's the Less. Moreover, as his own son 
 was just ordained, this was precisely the spot where he would 
 wish him to commence his labors. Edith offered him a home 
 in her own house, and volunteered to raise a sufficient sum to 
 find him clothes and books. Full of joy at her pleasant pros- 
 pects, she immediately went around among her neighbors, who 
 subscribed liberally; and Aunt Priscilla, always ready to aid in 
 Edith's good deeds, added herself one hundred dollars. 
 
 The young pastor commenced his labors immediately : 
 soon ascertained whom he might count among his flock, 
 recorded their names, and most faithfully cultivated his 
 field of labor. He was a young man of ardent piety and 
 untiring zeal, and preached the doctrines of the Cross with 
 the love of the Apostle John. Edith's house soon became 
 too strait for the rapidly increasing flock. There was no 
 other church in the neighborhood. Attracted by the fer- 
 vent preaching, and the sweet, solemn music of these 
 cottage lectures, persons of all classes came, and frequently, 
 not only the house, but the piazza, was full of earnest lis- 
 teners. 
 
 Edith opened her subscription book for her church. At 
 first but little interest was manifested. Many thought that a 
 school-house would answer; but she was not to be deterred by 
 difficulties. Believing that it was the will of Providence that 
 this enterprise should succeed, she followed its leadings, and 
 looked forward hopefully to final success. Aunt Priscilla 
 headed her list with a noble contribution from " a friend ;" and 
 as it was not to be of her own denomination, her liberality 
 was the more remarkable. Determined to carry her under- 
 taking forward, Edith left home for awhile, leaving her 
 family in the charge of her sisters, and even with full leave of 
 absence of her father, when he understood that she was going 
 on behalf of the little church.
 
 344 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 First, in the neighborhood of Ravenswood, she obtained 
 liberal subscriptions, and then proceeding to New York, she 
 interested a number of zealous Christians, and obtained large 
 contributions there. Attended by Ralph, she obtained a plan 
 from one of the best architects for a church, to seat about five 
 hundred, a minute calculation of its cost, and with sanguine 
 hopes, returned home. She had joyful intelligence for the 
 young pastor, who advised immediate steps for building. 
 Writing to Ralph, he was fully authorized to engage workmen, 
 and to send them down immediately. In the answer which he 
 returned, he reported one thousand dollars subscribed by his 
 own friends and acquaintances ; and Edith, on examining her 
 list, found that she had sufficient to pay for the building, 
 excepting one thousand dollars. That, Mr. Berkely proposed 
 should be raised by a mite society, in which all should be 
 interested. On the following week, the workmen arrived. 
 The cellar was soon dug ; and the corner-stone was laid in the 
 presence of Mr. Berkely, their old pastor, with his son, their 
 young minister, Mr. Percival, a number of clergymen inter- 
 ested in the enterprise, and a large company from the neigh- 
 boring families. 
 
 Edith had chosen a lovely spot for her church, on the top 
 of a hill, surrounded by a grove of fine old trees, which 
 afforded a pleasant shade in summer. The corner-stone was 
 laid on a propitious day, and the prospects of St. Paul's the 
 Less was pronounced by all highly encouraging. Edith's 
 spirits rose as her work prospered, and her dear old father 
 walked daily to the building ; watching its progress, he seemed 
 to indentify himself completely with the undertaking, and his 
 whole mind was filled with this one thought. 
 
 One Saturday evening, when Gerald and Ralph arrived, 
 the latter, holding up a letter from England, said, "Adele, 
 what will you give me for this?" 
 
 " Many thanks, if you will not keep me in suspense ;" and 
 taking it hastily, she left the room. When she returned, her 
 whole face was in a glow. " They are coming, sister," said she, 
 addressing Edith.
 
 AUTUMN LEAVES AND THE OLD EIM TREE. 345 
 
 "Who are coming, dear?" 
 
 " Why, Clara and Lionel ; they will be here in the next 
 steamer. They are coming to visit their aunt, Mrs. Somers, 
 in New York, but will spend some time with us." 
 
 " Well I shall be glad to see them : we must make them as 
 happy as we can. We must get two rooms ready for them." 
 
 "I think not, Edith; I know that Clara would rather be 
 with me. I can have a small bedstead put up in my room, 
 and I will give her the best." 
 
 "We'll have the green room ready for Mr. Percy, that 
 is the largest and most airy. When may we look for them ?" 
 
 " In about a month, I suppose. I wonder if Clara is much 
 altered ?" 
 
 Adele's spirits were in a high state of excitement until the 
 day arrived. Ralph and Gerald had been commissioned to be 
 on the look out for their arrival, and when the last Saturday 
 of the month came, Adele watched anxiously for their coming 
 up the glen. When they appeared, they were attended by a 
 third, but it was Mr. Percival, whose visits now were very 
 frequent. Ralph made her little heart beat tumultuously, by 
 announcing the arrival of the steamer on that very day, with 
 the names of Mr. and Miss Percy among the passengers. 
 
 .Adele could scarcely wait for Monday. Accompanying 
 Ralph to New York, she spent a week at her aunt's, devoting 
 all her time to her European friends. When Lionel first met 
 Adele, he said, smiling, "And this is really the wild shep- 
 herdess of the Alps ?" 
 
 Nine years had made a great change in her appearance. 
 The sportive, merry child had merged into the graceful, ani- 
 mated woman; her bright black eyes sparkled with intelli- 
 gence, and the expression of perfect frankness, mingled with 
 the arch humor that dwelt upon her countenance, lent a 
 bewitching charm to her whole face. 
 
 " We have come to spend a year in America," said Lionel ; 
 " that is, if we can tolerate the Yankees that long." 
 
 "Indeed," replied Adele, mischievously; "and I suppose 
 that you would make us believe that your visit is a great favor. .
 
 346 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 I prophesy that, before you go home, you will find out same 
 thing of Brother Jonathan's independence; take care, Mr. 
 Percy, how you rouse up his old spirit." 
 
 " I shall take very good care how I rouse up yours, Miss 
 Adele, for I am afraid that I should always have the worst of 
 the bargain." 
 
 At the close of a week, Adele took her friends to Hazel 
 Glen, and introducing them to her sisters, they received a 
 hearty welcome. They were deeply interested in Edith for 
 they saw that she was a superior character, fascinated with 
 the beauty of Blanche, and charmed with the piquant graces 
 and bright intelligence of Madge. Aunt Priscilla amused 
 them ; and Mr. Clifford, with his simple childish piety, and 
 dependence upon his daughter Edith, awakened their most 
 tender sympathy. They heard the history of the portraits of 
 Mrs. Clifford, Frank, and Eveleen, and were convinced that 
 Edith's was a character almost made perfect by suffering. 
 Clara had a sweet voice, and was fond of pathetic music. One 
 evening she had been singing for some time a number of tender, 
 mournful airs. "Adele, I want to sing you one of Mrs. 
 Norton's airs," and she sang the following with deep pathos : 
 
 " Thy name was once the magic spell, 
 
 By which my heart was bound, 
 And burning dreams of light and love 
 Were wakened by that sound. 
 
 " Long years, long years have passed away, 
 
 And altered is thy brow, 
 And we, who met so fondly once, 
 Must meet as strangers now. 
 
 " But still thy name, thy blessed name, 
 
 My lonely bosom fills, 
 Like an echo that hath lost itself 
 Among the distant hills." 
 
 Adele was quiet. She had observed Edith's emotions, who, 
 affected to tears, had arisen suddenly and left the room. Clara 
 perceived that something was amiss, for she saw Edith's coun- 
 tenance as she departed. " Do not sing that song again,
 
 AUTUMN LEAVES AND THE OLD ELM TREE. 347 
 
 Clara," said Adele, " it has a sad history. It was once a 
 favorite of Gerald Fortescue, and now it has such application 
 to Edith's story, that she cannot bear to hear it. I know that 
 it awakens tender memories which she is striving so nobly to 
 forget." And Adele proceeded to relate her sister's trials to 
 Clara Percy, who listened with the most tender sympathy, and 
 from that hour, the deepest reverence marked her whole 
 deportment to Edith Clifford. 
 
 Lionel and Clara were much interested in the progress of 
 the church, for they were both members of the same at home ; 
 and, having abundant means, they each contributed hand- 
 somely. Anxious to be settled at home, Gerald urged the 
 speedy conclusion to his engagement with Blanche, and the 
 following autumn was fixed upon as the time for the marriage. 
 
 Edith, with her usual devotion, insisted on furnishing most 
 of the wedding trousseau, for her aunt kept her abundantly 
 supplied with means. Clara looked on with silent admiration, 
 as she saw how busily the noble woman was occupied, in pre- 
 paring a handsome outfit for her sister; but she felt often 
 greatly annoyed, when she saw how little delicate consideration 
 was manifest in Blanche, who now exhibited the natural weak- 
 ness of her character. Mr. Clifford could not be made to 
 understand how all these preparations could be made for 
 Blanche, insisting that Edith was the bride. 
 
 It was to be a family wedding, to which none were invited but 
 the Morris family, from New York, and the Percys, who were 
 their guests. Their old pastor, Mr. Berkely, was to perform the 
 ceremony. All preparations being conckided, the night before 
 was one of bitter trial to Edith. Memory would recall the 
 past, and sometimes she felt as if she could scarcely maintain 
 her composure. But little sleep visited her eyelids, and she 
 arose in the mo rningun refreshed and weary. Fearirg that Mr. 
 Clifford would make some embarrassing mistake, it was con- 
 cluded that Edith should give the bride away, Madge and 
 Adele acting as bridesmaids, and Ralph and Lionel as their 
 partners Edith dressed herself mechanically. Mtired in a 
 pure white muslin, whose full skirts flowed gracefully around
 
 34 S EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 her dignified form, with no ornaments save a few white 
 camelias in her rich dark hair, and her mother's diamond pin, 
 she looked the very picture of a noble, lovely woman. Going 
 to her sister's room, she stood for a moment enchanted with 
 the figure of loveliness that burst upon her. A double skirt 
 of fine lace, richly embroidered, a bride's veil shading the 
 blushing face, the round white arms, the pure neck, and the 
 hair adorned with her mother's beautiful pearls, mixed with 
 diamonds. Seldom was seen a more bewitching creature than 
 the one who met her as the bride of Gerald Fortescue. 
 
 Madge and Adele were dressed alike, in fine lace, with rose- 
 buds adorning their hair, and diamond ornaments. Edith 
 took Blanche in her arms, and, kissing her, said, " God bless 
 you, Blanche. May you be a happy wife." And descending 
 to the parlor, she awaited the entrance of the bridal company. 
 
 During the ceremony, Edith stood near her father, fearing 
 some expressions that might embarrass the company. When 
 the question was asked, "Who giveth this woman away," &c., 
 Edith, with a cheek pale as marble, and a hand that trembled 
 violently, stepped forward, for one moment, and presented her 
 sister. Clara Percy saw her step back, gasping for one 
 moment, then raising her eyes heavenward, and folding her 
 hands upon her breast, she looked like one whose thoughts 
 were in another world, and truly were they. For a second, 
 dreams of the past rushed over her soul ; then came thoughts 
 of the blessed rest when trials all were over; then earnest 
 prayers for Gerald and for Blanche ; and by the time that the 
 ceremony was over she had recovered her calmness. 
 
 "How is it, Edith?" said Mr. Clifford. "They have mar- 
 ried the wrong one. You are the proper bride." 
 
 " Do not speak, dear father," replied Edith. " It is all right. 
 There is no mistake. They will hear you, and I should be so 
 distressed." Gerald received Edith's congratulations with 
 evident embarrassment, for he knew the struggle that had 
 compressed that lip so tightly must have been severe, but he 
 saw sincerity in the clear, truthful eyes, when she blessed him 
 iu the name of the Lord.
 
 AUTUMN LEAVES AND THE OLD ELM TREE. 349 
 
 Ere leaving for their homes, Edith called Blanche into her 
 room, and gave all that kind, sisterly advice which she deemed 
 necessary. "Remember, Blanche, that you are a wife now. 
 It is a holy calling, dearest. Have no concealments from your 
 husband. Study his happiness and comfort. His interests are 
 yours. You must have no separate life. Henceforth, you are 
 one. You may be very happy, if together you live for God ; 
 but if for the world and its pleasures, you will be ship- 
 wrecked." 
 
 " Thank you, dear sister, for all your goodness," answered 
 Blanche. " I will try to follow your advice." After the 
 wedding dinner, the bridal company, consisting of Gerald and 
 Blanche, with the bridesmaids, their partners, and Clara 
 Percy, set out for Oak Hall, and Edith found herself compara- 
 tively alone, excepting that Lilly, now a lovely young girl of 
 seventeen, had come home, to remain. Her education had 
 been as thorough as her sad deficiency had allowed, and she 
 was a remarkably fine musician. Her likeness to her mother 
 was remarkable. The same flaxen hair, the same delicate fea- 
 tures and complexion, the same blue eyes, though sightless, her 
 form, her step, her voice, were all there. Indeed, so perfect 
 was the resemblance, that Mr. Clifford would sit holding her 
 hand and gazing in her face for hours together, whispering, 
 "My Mary has come back again, only she seems blind now, 
 for she does not look on me so lovingly as she used to do." 
 This fancy seemed to possess the old man, and as it increased 
 his happiness, he was allowed to indulge in the delusion. 
 
 When the fall months had passed away, Blanche accom- 
 panied her husband to the city, where the beauty and wealth 
 of the young bride attracted much attention. Under the 
 patronage of her aunt, she was soon immersed in scenes of 
 gayety and fashion. Mrs. Gerald Fortescue was evidently the 
 belle of the season. Her beauty, her diamonds, her carriage, 
 were the theme of every mouth. She was completely intoxi- 
 cated by the adulation which she received, and Gerald found 
 that the young wife was more anxious about how she should 
 appear, and what compliments were bestowed upon her, than
 
 350 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 how she should please her husband or make his home 
 happy. 
 
 When engaged in a new picture, he would often say, " Will 
 you ride down to my studio this morning, dear? I have a 
 picture which I wish to show you." Frequently, some other 
 engagement, to the milliners, or jewellers, or dress-makers, 
 must be attended to ; and if she did go, her manner was list- 
 less, her mind preoccupied, and her lack of sympathy used 
 sometimes to bring before him, in his lonely studio, a kindling 
 dark eye, and an encouraging smile, that were once the anima- 
 ting stimulus of his young genius. But his beautiful 
 Blanche, his fashionable wife, had no sympathizing tastes. 
 Sometimes he would bring home an interesting book to dinner, 
 and would say, " Now, dear, can we not have a quiet evening 
 at home? I have such an interesting volume." 
 
 " Let me see. I believe I have two engagements : one at 
 Mrs. Scott's and another at Mrs Lisle's. I should like to 
 accommodate you, Gerald; but I don't see how I can refuse 
 these ladies;" then rising, and throwing her arm coaxingly 
 around her husband, she would continue : " Just let me go to- 
 night, dear ; I'll promise to stay at home to-morrow ;" and 
 Gerald could not refuse the melting eyes, and with a sitrh 
 would say, " Go, dear, I will try to do without you, for I am 
 not well enough to go out to-night." 
 
 In his lonely evenings, he could not but remember the hours 
 spent in listening to a rich melodious voice, that used to read 
 with him, and the friend that was always ready to give up her 
 own pleasures to gratify him. He tried to make excuses for 
 Blanche, for he remembered her youth and loveliness, and 
 hoped, when she retired again to the country, that it would be 
 different. 
 
 She was often so tired when Sunday came that she spent hei 
 mornings in bed, and was seldom ready to accompany hei 
 husband to church, who had been very punctual ever since liin 
 marriage. Early in the spring, he urged a return to Oak Hall. 
 He saw that her health was suffering, and he felt anxious t 
 bring her once more into contact with rural scene.- and orcupa
 
 AUTUMN LEAVES AND THE OLD ELM TREE. 351 
 
 tions. But she had been so completely spoiled by her winter 
 in New York, that he had but little pleasure in her society. 
 Indolent, self-indulgent, and devoted only to dress, he felt 
 sadly the want of a companion in his young wife. Frequently 
 she had not left her room when he started for the city, and 
 was often still in her dishabille when he returned. Occa- 
 sionally she would summon energy enough to dress for a ride; 
 but all her thoughts seemed centred in herself. She was never 
 happy, unless surrounded by a gay company from the city; for 
 them she sparkled, and smiled, and sang, but for her husband 
 she only yawned, and 'he keenly felt the bitter need of a 
 congenial spirit. Kind and indulgent as he possibly could be, 
 he sought to draw her out of herself; but he found the task a 
 fruitless one, and endeavored to find comfort in his profession. 
 Edith had received many invitations to visit her sister. 
 Hearing discouraging accounts of her state of health, she set 
 out for Oak Hall, intending to spend a few days ere she 
 returned. She was received by Gerald with great cordiality. 
 On asking for Blanche, " She is not well," replied Gerald ; 
 " she told me to say that she would be down stairs directly : 
 she is dressing." Edith felt somewhat chilled, as she thought 
 that her sister should have sent for her to her room. She did 
 not know that she had been crying bitterly, because her 
 husband would not consent to her going to a large party on 
 the river. " You know, dear, that you are not well enough, 
 and I cannot consent." This was all that he had said, but it 
 had thrown her into an agony of grief. After the lapse of an 
 hour, Blanche made her appearance, pale and spiritless, but 
 evidently glad to see her sister. At the tea-table, Edith per- 
 ceived that there was no cordiality between Gerald and his 
 young wife. The husband was kind, considerate, tender, but. 
 the wife cold, constrained, distant. Edith could not bear to 
 ask any questions, for she was principled against interference 
 in domestic disturbances. She followed Blanche to her room, 
 made many particular inquiries about her health, and feared 
 that her sister was ruining the greatest of all blessings by eelf- 
 in^ulgence. In the morning, Gerald, as usual, affectionately
 
 352 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 bade his wife good-by, but she turned a cold cheek to his lips, 
 and Edith saw the tear wounded affection quivering in his eye 
 as he bade her good-morning. 
 
 Blanche seemed to have no employment, wandering about 
 all day, complaining of headache, and wishing that somebody 
 would come up from New York. After dinner the servant 
 announced company, and Edith was surprised to see with what 
 alacrity Blanche dressed herself, and flew down stairs to meet 
 her dear friends, some very fashionable ladies from the city, 
 who reproached her bitterly for not joining their party the 
 evening before. Blanche replied, sorrowfully, " My husband 
 would not let me ; and I was vexed enough, I can tell you." 
 
 " If you mean to let him interfere with you in this manner, 
 you may as well give up all hopes of enjoyment. I go where 
 I please, and my husband does the same. We never interfere 
 with each other, and are a very comfortable pair ; that's what 
 you must do, my dear." Edith listened indignantly, and won- 
 dered not at the estrangement between Blanche and her hus- 
 band, if this was one of her advisers. 
 
 When Gerald returned, he received the visitors coldly, and 
 was evidently much annoyed by their presence. Blanche was 
 still more attentive, and Edith was deeply pained at this state 
 of affairs. Blanche had been married but one year, and yet 
 the want of congeniality was so apparent that a stranger might 
 easily see that there was no happiness at Oak Hall. On the 
 next day, Blanche was very much indisposed, and Gerald 
 remained at home, requesting to be left alone. Edith repaired 
 to the family sitting-room, where she found Gerald, sitting in a 
 desponding attitude. 
 
 " Blanche is not at all well to-day, Gerald. I feel very 
 uneasy about her. She manifests symptoms like my mother." 
 
 "Ah, Edith! I have not made her happy; she prefers any 
 society to mine. She has bad advisers," answered Gerald. 
 
 "This is a dangerous subject, Gerald," replied Edith. 
 *' You must remember that Blanche is your wife, and you must 
 be careful how you complain of her, even to me." 
 
 " I know that it is so, Edith. I love her, sister ; I try to
 
 AUTUMN LEAVES AND THE OLD ELM TREE. 353 
 
 make her happy ; I have studied her wishes ; but I do feel us 
 if she ought to study my comfort a little." 
 
 " Would it not be well, Gerald, for you to exercise some 
 authority concerning some of her associates ? For instance, 
 the lady that was here yesterday." 
 
 " If I should do so, I should be called a tyrant at once," 
 replied Gerald. 
 
 " If you wish any domestic happiness, you must be more 
 independent. This woman has no correct principles, and is no 
 companion for a young wife." 
 
 " What ought I to do ?" asked Gerald. 
 
 " Guard your wife from improper associates, and she will see 
 the propriety of such a course. Blanche is weak and irreso- 
 lute, but not unprincipled," answered Edith. 
 
 When alone with Blanche, Edith, with all the tenderness of 
 an affectionate mother, expostulated. "Dear Blanche, you 
 are all wrong," said Edith. " If you wish to be happy, you 
 must commence your married life all over again. You are 
 placing yourself in direct opposition to your husband, who is 
 devoted to you ; and if you do not at once change your whole 
 course, you will know no domestic comfort." 
 
 Blanche threw herself upon her sister's bosom, and bursting 
 into tears, said, " Sister, I am very miserable. I know that I 
 have done wrong. I think going to New York spoiled me. 
 They flattered me so much that they intoxicated my young 
 head, and made me neglect my husband." 
 
 "Will you promise me one thing, Blanche?" asked Edith. 
 
 " What is it, sister ?" 
 
 " Never to visit that woman who came here yesterday." 
 
 " I will promise, sister ; but then Gerald must not take me 
 any more to New York. I know that he will be glad if I say 
 that I would rather live here." 
 
 "Go tell him now, dear, at once; it would relieve him, I 
 know. I can see that he is suffering." 
 
 Blanche ran off, under the impulse of her present feel in-, 
 and, knocking at her husband's door, she said, " Gerald, let 
 me in, I have a great deal to say." 
 23
 
 354 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 He opened the door, and perceiving that traces of tears were 
 on her face, he led her affectionately to a little couch in the 
 room, and said, kindly, " What ails ray wife?" 
 
 " I have come, Gerald, to ask forgiveness," said Blanche, as 
 she laid her head upon his shoulder. "I have been a very 
 negligent selfish wife, and am not going to be so any more. I 
 want you to promise me that we shall always live at Oak Hall, 
 and that you will not take me any more to that heartless New 
 York, where there are so many bad wives." 
 
 " You have my full forgiveness, Blanche," answered her 
 husband ; " and I can readily promise not to go to New York, 
 for I have always thought it a bad place for my little wife." 
 
 " NOW T , dear, we shall never be cold again, will we ?" whis- 
 pered Blanche, as she looked affectionately in his face. 
 
 There was a wholly different aspect of affairs when they 
 met at the tea-table that evening, and Edith felt happy at the 
 reconciliation which she had effected. 
 
 Leaving the two to enjoy their tete-a-tete, she walked over to 
 Raveuswood, and on coming in view of the familiar spot, she 
 was reminded of her own early days by the scene which pre- 
 sented itself. Mr. Lindsay had rented the place, and having 
 a large family, Edith perceived a number of children running 
 about, some playing graces and trundling hoops, the boys 
 flying kites, and the little one riding on a rocking horse. The 
 joyous scene reminded her of her early days, when her own 
 unbroken family circle inhabited the old mansion, and when 
 her brother and sisters gambolled about its pleasant walks and 
 under its green trees. Rambling on, she came to the old elm 
 tree, the scene of so many joys and sorrows. 
 
 It was an evening m autumn. The sun had sunk in all 
 the gorgeous glory of that peculiar season ; the landscape 
 was glowing with the splendid foliage of an American 
 autumn ; the leaves had begun to fall, and lay around her 
 feet, as silent monitors of the dreariness which would soon 
 clothe all nature in sadness. She seated herself under the 
 same old tree, where, eleven years before, she had dreamed 
 the first rosy vision of youth. Now, she looked upon the
 
 AUTUMN LEAVES AND THE OLD ELM TREE. 355 
 
 Bplendid clouds, which then spoke to her of earthly happi- 
 ness, but now only of the New Jerusalem, where tears are 
 wiped from all faces, and where sorrow and sighing come 
 no more. Now, she looked upon the decaying leaves, and 
 thought of the hopes which, like them, were prostrate in 
 the dust. In reviewing the past, memory carried her back 
 over the distant hills, and through the shady valleys of life, 
 and whispered to her heart many echoes of tender, sorrowful 
 music ; back to the days of trusting, joyous childhood, when 
 a soft blue eye beamed kindly on her, and a sweet loving 
 voice sang cradle-hymns around her evening hours. Now, 
 they came again in tones of touching, soothing melody, 
 as she heard, 
 
 "Hush, my babe, lie still in slumber, 
 
 Holy angels guard thy bed; 
 Heavenly blessings, without number, 
 Gently falling round thy head." 
 
 Farther on, childhood passed away; buoyant, joyful youth 
 succeeded. Then came a bright dream, which comes but 
 once, the long year of her heart's devotion, and the wreck 
 which had succeeded. The airs which Gerald loved came 
 back from those green valleys, and shady lanes, and mocked 
 her with their sweetness. She had made a willing sacrifice, 
 and would have felt compensated if Gerald and Blanche 
 were only happy, but when she realized how little there 
 was in their home to satisfy the cravings of Gerald's heart, 
 she was tempted to ask, why this bitter trial and these sad 
 results ? but instantly the thought was crushed, and she 
 could still say, " Even so, Father, for so it seemed good in 
 thy sight." "What I know not now, I shall know here- 
 after." Then rose the visions of her mother's death-bed. 
 High and holy hymns, from a deep, solemn organ, rolled 
 over from that distant chamber, and she asked her heart, 
 "Have I redeemed that solemn vow?" and as her spirit 
 answered "Yes," she was comforted, when low notos, of 
 soft and plaintive music, seemed to be wafted to her from 
 the world above. Then came the visions of her sojourn
 
 356 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 amid the romantic scenery of the Pyrenees, when confi- 
 dence seemed to exist between herself and Gerald; and she 
 forced back the tear and quenched the sighs, as the stirring 
 songs of the mountaineers, brought back the sweet remem- 
 brance. Another vision, of a manly brow, dark eye, and an 
 eloquent voice, early quenched in death, a pale, drooping 
 lily, that bent beneath the stroke that severed her from one 
 she loved so devotedly, brought to her heart music, wild, 
 tender and touching as the whisperings of the ^Eolian harp, 
 in the solitude of that autumnal hour. 
 
 The shadows of evening deepened around her, the breeze 
 sighed mournfully as it passed by, and she could almost 
 fancy that these spirits of her loved ones might yet, per- 
 chance, linger near her pilgrim footsteps. Higher and 
 holier became her communion with heaven. Looking for- 
 ward to "the rest that remaineth for the people of God," 
 the music of that upper sphere of blessedness and love 
 came swelling over the turrets of that place in the skics> 
 like "the voice of many waters; and in the harpings that 
 she imagined around the throne, she fancied the raptured 
 voices of her mother, of Frank, and of Eveleen, mingling 
 with the heavenly host. 
 
 Blessing God for the hope of reunion in that better land, 
 she turned away, peacefully, from the old trysting place, 
 and looked forward trustingly, yes, even joyfully, to the 
 path of usefulness and peace, which her Father had doubt- 
 less appointed her. In the future rose her little church, a 
 home for guidance and peace and rest on earth, the prophet 
 of glory and endless life to many, who should be gathered 
 there within the Saviour's fold. 
 
 She thought of her aged father and her blind sister, to 
 whom she was so necessary; of dear Emily and orphan 
 Frank, who needed so much a mother's care ; of her poor 
 people and her Sunday-scholars ; and she felt that, with such 
 abundant objects for her ministry of love, she could never 
 be unhappy, for she could never be unemployed, the secret 
 cause of so much of the misery of females.
 
 AUTUMN LEAVES AND THE OLD ELM TREE. 357 
 
 With a spirit strengthened by this hour of communion, 
 she returned to Gerald and Blanche, pleased to see the effects 
 of her sisterly love ; for Blanche seemed really in earnest in 
 her efforts to atone for the past. Gerald yielded again to her 
 fascinations, and fancied himself happy. 
 
 Edith returned home, warmly welcomed by every member 
 of her beloved family. Her aged father met her with out- 
 stretched arms, little Frank clung to " Aunt Edith," with 
 sweet expressions of artless love, Emily jumped about with 
 sportive joy, and Aunt Priscilla, feeble as she appeared, 
 insisted on making Edith's favorite cake, for tea, and a large 
 bowl of syllabub, very much in fashion at Hazel Glen. 
 
 "Indeed, dear aunty, I fear that I am in a fair way of 
 being spoiled. I do not think that a queen could excite more 
 commotion." 
 
 " Well, Edith, it is just as it should be," answered Aunt 
 Priscilla, " for you are the guardian angel here, and that is 
 better than a queen, any day." 
 
 On the next visit paid by Ralph, he was accompanied, as 
 usual, by Mr. Percival, who made it very manifest that Edith 
 was the object of attraction to Hazel Glen. Ere he departed, 
 he made an offer of his heart and hand to Edith, which she 
 kindly, delicately, but firmly declined. She esteemed and 
 admired him, was grateful to him as her kind preserver, but 
 her deep affections once disappointed, awoke no more for one, 
 but diffused themselves over the charmed circle of her home 
 and its neighborhood. 
 
 She looked forward to single life with a serene and hope- 
 ful spirit, knowing that there were hundreds whom she 
 might benefit, and aware that she could gather around her 
 always a circle whom she might bless. She was far above 
 the vulgar fear of being called an " old maid," and smiled nt 
 the folly of those poor weak creatures, who, rather than 
 incur that odium, take false vows, marry even worthless men 
 whom they do not love, and sacrifice the happiness and true 
 respectability of a lifetime, for fear of the mere bugbear of a 
 silly name.
 
 358 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 It pained Edith to see Mr. Percival's depression, for she 
 knew the bitterness of blighted hopes ; but she saw her own 
 mission clearly, and hoped that time and a spirit of submis- 
 sion would temper the keenness of the disappointment. 
 
 " I go, Miss Clifford," said he, " in about two months, to my 
 field of labor ; if it is the will of Providence that I go alone, 
 I will endeavor to submit, but I had hoped for a different 
 result." 
 
 " I am a home missionary, Mr. Percival," replied Edith ; 
 "my path is as plain as if a voice from heaven had placed me 
 here, where I expect to spend my life, endeavoring to bless 
 this humble flock, and here I expect to die." 
 
 "May God bless you, Edith Clifford, will always be my 
 earnest prayer ; and may I not hope for an interest in your 
 daily approach to a throne of grace?" 
 
 "Of that you are always sure, Mr. Percival, and I doubt 
 not that in your distant home you will be prosperous and 
 happy." 
 
 " Farewell, dear Miss Clifford," and pressing her hand to 
 his lips, and turning slowly and sadly away, the lonely mis- 
 sionary took his departure, and Edith saw him no more. 
 
 She was pained by the increasing debility of Aunt Priscilla. 
 It was evident that she was rapidly passing away, and Edith, 
 with grateful love, devoted herself to soothing the last days of 
 her aged relative. At last, confined entirely to her room, she 
 waited, in humble faith, on the blessed Redeemer for the last 
 messenger, and esteemed it a great privilege that Edith was 
 near, to minister to her in her last hours. Sustained by 
 loving faith in the promises of the Gospel, she passed from 
 earth, blessing her dear niece for all her tender care. Look- 
 ing upon her as one of the most faithful of her parents' 
 friends, Edith laid her mortal remains by the side of her own 
 cherished dead, in the church-yard of old St. John's, strictly 
 adhering to all her aunt's eccentric directions concerning the 
 funeral. 
 
 She placed her last will in the hands of Edith, requesting 
 that it should be opened on the morning after the funeral.
 
 AUTUMN LEAVES AND THE OLD ELM TREE. 359 
 
 To Edith's great surprise, it was found that her whole fortune, 
 with the exception of a few legacies to all of Mr. Clifford's 
 children, was left entirely to her favorite niece. It was much 
 larger than they had supposed, so that Edith found herself 
 now in possession of a handsome income, by means of which 
 she could exercise her benevolent wishes. 
 
 The Percys had been travelling for some months. Pre- 
 vious to their return to Europe they visited Hazel Glen, for 
 a few weeks, which seemed to fly too fast for Adele. As 
 the time approached for their departure, all her gay spirits 
 vanished, and Lionel evidently partook of her sadness. He 
 had always been deeply interested in the sportive child, and 
 when he came to America and found her transformed into a 
 lovely woman, he soon learned to love her, with a pure and 
 manly affection ; and Adele returned the sentiment with all 
 the fervor of her warm little heart. 
 
 On the evening before leaving Hazel Glen, Lionel whisp- 
 ered to Edith, as they arose from the tea-table, " Will you 
 favor me with an interview in the parlor?" Granting his re- 
 quest, she repaired thither. Lionel was sealed beside Adele, 
 on the sofa ; she had evidently been weeping. 
 
 " I have summoned you here, Miss Clifford, to ask your 
 blessing," said Lionel, taking Adele by the hand, and lending 
 her to her sister. "Your sister has granted me this little 
 hand ; do you approve of her choice?" 
 
 "Most warmly, Mr. Percy; you have my hearty approval, 
 and a sister's most earnest prayers for your happiness," 
 answered Edith ; " but is not this termination rather hurried?" 
 
 " Perhaps it may be considered so," replied Lionel, " for 
 your mischievous little sister has been acting ' will o' the wisp' 
 ever since I have been in America ; laughing at all my 
 protestations of affection ; pretending sometimes to be deeply 
 offended at my presumption, at others wholly indifferent. 
 Indeed, Edith, I almost despaired of ever finding her in a 
 serious mood; but when it came near the time of saying fare- 
 well, that set all right, and I think that the teasing ilavs
 
 360 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 All Adele's merriment had disappeared, and it took all of 
 Lionel's powers of persuasion to convince her that she could 
 live even a few months apart from her dear friends. With 
 the promise of a speedy return, he bade the family farewell, 
 and little laughing Adele was transformed into the pensive 
 girl, with her warm heart travelling to England in the 
 steamer that conveyed Lionel Percy from the shores of 
 America.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 THE SISTER'S RECOMPENSE. 
 
 HE church upon Mount Pisgah rose rapidly 
 towards heaven, stone upon stone, as a lasting 
 monument of Edith's self-denying faith and love ; 
 and as the humble edifice mounted upon the hill- 
 top, adding a beautiful feature to the rural land- 
 scape, so rose her hopes, her joys. Called out of 
 herself by her holy occupations, a heart so full of 
 heavenly aspirations could not be sad, for the 
 sunshine of God's unfailing love dwelt in the bosom of Edith 
 Clifford, and spread its radiance around her daily path. She 
 had many occasions of gratitude, for although her father yet 
 continued lame, his mind daily recovered strength ; he seemed 
 to be joining the links of memory, and was very useful to his 
 daughter in her works of benevolence, especially in the build- 
 ing of the church. In this, he exhibited the deepest interest, 
 daily reporting progress, and was even able to go to New 
 York, for the purpose of collecting money, and inquiring about 
 the cost of an organ, furniture, &c. 
 
 Edith was very happy in her family connections. Miss 
 Arnold still superintended the education of Emily and Frank, 
 and was of great advantage to Lilly in her studies of music. 
 Madge was a very active little creature, and by systematizing 
 her time, found abundant leisure, not only for her home 
 duties, but for her literary pursuits. Adele was very busy iu 
 
 361
 
 362 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 preparing for her new life ; and all the better part of Blanche's 
 character was now developed in the responsibilities and affec- 
 tion of a youthful mother. 
 
 A bright advent seemed to have dawned upon Oak Hall, 
 and when Edith paid her first visit, a dearer bond of union 
 appeared to unite the young parents of little Mary. Blanche 
 was never tired of praising its beauty, and in the cares 
 of domestic life, seemed to be forgetting the fascinations 
 of the gay world. Gerald was happy in the society of 
 his wife and child, and altough he still felt the want of a 
 stronger spirit, he looked forward to years of happiness, 
 with his youthful companion, and hoped that added years 
 would bring corresponding improvement. Edith was now 
 much occupied in purchasing the furniture and organ for her 
 church, as it was expected that it would be ready for con- 
 secration in the fall, about one year from the time when it 
 was first commenced. Out of her own abundant means she 
 supplied these necessaries, and cleared it entirely of debt. 
 
 Lionel had written that he might be expected in October, 
 and Ralph was urging the conclusion of his matrimonial 
 engagement. It was therefore proposed, that the first service 
 in their little church should be the wedding of the two 
 sisters. With her usual unselfishness, Edith was ready, with 
 hand and purse, to aid in the preparations, although it cost 
 her some tears to part with two dear sisters, the one for a 
 distant land, and the other for New York. Time sped rap- 
 idly on. The first of October dawned upon them. The little 
 church was completed ; its spire glittered in the sunbeams 
 of a bright autumnal day, when, from its little belfry, the 
 first Sabbath peal awoke the inhabitants of Hazel Glen, an- 
 nouncing that a church of Christ, with all its purifying and 
 holy influence, was among them. Up the hill-sides, down 
 the shady glen, and over green fields, its silvery chimes 
 entered hall and cottage, ringing of rest, and blessed m-^, 
 and heaven ; and many a stricken pilgrim blessed Edith, on 
 that holy day, for having erected such a refuge for the weary 
 among them.
 
 THE SISTER'S RECOMPENSE. 363 
 
 " Do you hear the church-bell, mother?" said one of Edith's 
 scholars. "Must not Miss Edith be happy to-day? Before 
 she came, we had no Sunday, no church, no pretty books ; 
 nothing but wickedness." 
 
 "Yes, my child, she must feel very glad, for she has labored 
 so hard in getting up this church." 
 
 "Is there to be church to-day, mother?" 
 
 " I think not ; the bells are ringing for joy, to tell us it is 
 done, but as it is not yet finished, we shall worship at Miss 
 Edith's house." 
 
 And Edith sat in her room, listening with a grateful spirit 
 to the joyous peals, and as from her window she could see the 
 pretty church, with its spire pointing towards heaven, on the 
 top of Mount Pisgah, she recalled the hour when she first 
 thought of the enterprise; traced all the steps of a good 
 Providence, which had constantly led her on, and blessed God 
 for the whole result ; while she earnestly prayed that souls 
 might here be born for glory. As she listened she fancied the 
 language of the bells chiming, 
 
 Come to Jesus, come to Jesus, 
 
 Sweetly sounds the Sabbath-chimes; 
 From distracting cares they free us, 
 
 Weekly marking holy time: 
 
 Come to Jesus, 
 Peaceful rings the blessed rhyme. 
 
 In two more weeks, the church was ready for consecration, 
 and a large congregation assembled to witness the solemn 
 ceremony. The church was a neat edifice, with accommoda- 
 tions for a good Sunday-school ; it was suitably furnished, and 
 supplied with a good organ, with blind Lilly Clifford for the 
 organist. Her performance was delightful, and as the sweet 
 and elevating service of Edith's own beloved church was the 
 first time conducted in a house devoted to God's service, tears 
 of joy and gratitude bathed her face, as she sat concealed from 
 the congregation, behind the curtains of the choir. 
 
 All the preparations for the .-ipproaching weddings were 
 made, and the steamer was expected on the following Monday.
 
 364 EDITH'S MIN.STRT. 
 
 The day passed, however, but no arrival. Adele was very 
 restless and anxious when Tuesday passed, and still no Lionel. 
 She could not conceal her anxiety, as, hour after hour, she 
 watched from the piazza the road down the glen. Late on 
 Wednesday evening, she was still at her post. A carriage 
 approached in the distance, and a waving hand from the 
 window told her beating heart whom it contained. In a very 
 few minutes, Ralph and Lionel sprang from the carriage ; and 
 clasped hands and tearful eyes expressed the joyful meeting of 
 these parted friends. 
 
 Notice being sent to Mr. Berkely, to Gerald and Blanche, 
 the following Saturday was appointed as the wedding-day. 
 It was ushered in by the merry peals of the church-bells ; and 
 the grateful cottagers, determined to do honor to this occasion, 
 had planned a surprise for the youthful brides. 
 
 As the wedding procession left the house, a little boy, in 
 watching, ran to give notice to the rest, and when they mounted 
 the hill, on their approach to the church-door, a large 
 number of the Sunday-school scholars, dressed in their best 
 attire, ranged in lines, though which the company had to pass, 
 strewed bright fall flowers in their paths from baskets which 
 they held in their hands. Edith and her father preceded the 
 bridal company ; following the bridesmaids and their partners 
 came Ralph and Madge first ; then Lionel a*id Adcle ; and 
 there, in the church so hallowed by their sister's piety, they 
 took the solemn vow which bound them to each other for ,ii'e. 
 
 As brides are always interesting, the large congregation 
 looked upon the pair who stood there in pure bridal array, 
 completely absorbed in the scene; for it was the first public 
 wedding that had ever been celebrated at Hazel Glen. On 
 their return to the house, they received the congratulations of 
 their friends, and in the afternoon met their Sunday-school 
 children, and bestowed upon them parting gifts. 
 
 Little Mary Dennis, a warm-hearted Irish girl, could not 
 suificiently admire the sweet brides, and running home to her 
 mother, she exclaimed, " Sure, now, mother, I niver seed sich a 
 beautiful bride as Miss Adele ; she was dressed so splendid, in
 
 THE SISTER'S RECOMPENSE. 365 
 
 sich an ilegant dress, and had sich lovely flowfrs in her black 
 hair." 
 
 " I don't think she's any purtier than Miss Madge," answered 
 little Biddy O' Connor. 
 
 " Did you ever see sich a pair of eyes in anybody's head?" 
 
 " And sich a big nose," said Mary, laughing. 
 
 " Bad manners to ye, Mary Dennis, you needn't be afther 
 making fun of her nose," said Biddy; "it's a great deal 
 purtier than your mean little noses." 
 
 " Just see what Miss Adele gave me," said Mary, holding 
 up a bag of sugar-plums, and a large piece of wedding-cake; 
 " she's a jewel of a lady, ivery inch of her." 
 
 "And havn't I got one, too?" said Biddy; "Miss Madge 
 gave it to me wid her own little hand : it's purtier than Mary's, 
 I'm sure, and Miss Madge is a nicer lady." 
 
 "Well, children," said Mrs. Dennis, "I do not think that 
 the ladies would be much pleased to hear you quarrelling 
 about your wedding favors." Whereupon the children hung 
 their heads, and finally concluded by saying that they should 
 miss their kind teachers, and wondered who would come next. 
 
 On the following Sunday, divine service was first celebrated 
 in the new church, and a large and attentive congregation 
 listened earnestly to the sermon of their young pastor. It was 
 a day, however, of mingled joy and sorrow to Edith : joy, to 
 meet in their own house of God, and sorrow, to feel that two of 
 the beloved worshippers would soon be so far away. Prayers 
 were offered for those about to go to sea, and Edith joined 
 heartily in the service, when she remembered that her sister 
 and her husband were the subjects of these petitions. 
 
 Monday was spent in packing all that remained of her 
 sister's possessions ; and Edith could not restrain some falling 
 tears, when she felt that the wide ocean would soon separate 
 her from one dear sister, and that the other was about to 
 gather around her other objects of affection, in a distant city. 
 With all a mother's tender interest, she gave her parting coun- 
 sels to her sisters, who hung upon her with more fervent 
 expression of affection, as they felt the pangs of separation.
 
 366 EDITH'8 MINISTRY. 
 
 "You will write often, dear Madge," said Edith; "I shall 
 look anxiously for news." 
 
 " You need not fear, dear sister," replied Madge, " for you 
 have been sister, mother, all to me. I may have an affec- 
 tionate, tender husband in Ralph Cameron, but he can never 
 be a more faithful, untiring friend, than my sister Edith." 
 
 "I can commit you to his care with perfect trust," replied 
 Edith, " for I have never known a more noble Christian char- 
 acter. Look up to him, dear Madge, as husband, counsellor, 
 friend." 
 
 " I am ready to do so, dear Edith. All the folly of my 
 early youth has passed away, and I am glad to be what God 
 has willed, second to my husband. Indeed, dear Edith, I 
 fear that I am tempted to idolize Ralph, for he appears so 
 faultless in my eyes." 
 
 " And, dear Adele," said Edith to her weeping sister, " you 
 must not forget the circle at Hazel Glen. You will have a 
 great deal to make you forget us, a devoted husband, wealth, 
 and all that life can give." 
 
 " Do not dream of such a possibility, dear sister," replied 
 Adele ; " all that I have and all that I am I owe to you, my 
 sister. I can never forget the dear sister, mother of my early 
 years." 
 
 " In your earthly happiness and prosperity, do not forget 
 God, dear Adele : he is the gracious Giver ; let his goodness 
 lead you to love him." 
 
 "You must not think, dear Edith, because I am naturally 
 so sportive and gay, that I have no serious thoughts. I do 
 most earnestly desire to be a Christian, but I am so afraid of 
 false professions, that I have never taken any public step ; but 
 I feel, dear sister, that to be a good and faithful wife, I must 
 be made a real humble Christian." 
 
 With an arm around each beloved one, Edith commended 
 them earnestly to the keeping of the Good Shepherd, confi- 
 dently trusting that he would bring them both into his hea- 
 venly fold. Before they left her room, Edith, going to her 
 secretary, took from thence two small cases, each containing a
 
 THE SIS! ER'S RECOMPENSE. SC7 
 
 perfect likeness of herself, and said, "I thought, dear 
 sisters, that you would rather have this than any other gift." 
 
 "Thank you, dear Edith," replied both ; and Madge added, 
 "You could not have chosen anything more grateful to our 
 feelings." 
 
 The next morning was the period fixed for departure. But 
 little breakfast was taken by any of the family. The carriage 
 was at the door which was to take Madge to visit her hus- 
 band's family, and Adele to the steamer for Europe. Mr. Clif- 
 ford gave them a father's blessing. Edith folded each beloved 
 sister silently in her arms. Old nurse and Uncle Peter were 
 waiting on the piazza to say farewell. With a few more hur- 
 ried words of parting, the young brides turned their backs upon 
 the home of their childhood, and with woman's trusting faith 
 and holy love, embarked their all of earthly happiness in one 
 human heart. 
 
 A great void was felt in the circle at Hazel Glen, but Edith, 
 busy in her daily occupations, was peaceful and serene. 
 Lilly's sweet society was a great comfort. Intelligent and 
 pious, she made herself very useful to her sister; and even with 
 her sightless eyes, gave much oral instruction to the Sunday 
 scholars committed to her charge. Emily, at fifteen, was a 
 sprightly, animated being, and little Frank, a boy of eight, 
 gambolled around her, reminding her of the joyous childhood 
 of his father. In her visits to Oak Hall she perceived that 
 Blanche was endeavoring to fulfil the duties of a wife, but iu 
 reality she had no particular sympathy with her husband in 
 his tastes and pursuits. 
 
 On one occasion Edith had been spending a day with 
 Blanche. They had been talking much of Josephine, and 
 wondering what had become of her, never having heard from 
 her but once since her departure. That letter Gerald had 
 received recently. Its tone was changed. It seemed to come 
 from a disappointed spirit, and for once in her life, Josephine 
 longed for home. She complained also of not being well, and 
 her brother was sadly disquieted concerning his only sister. 
 His Aunt Mary had long been dead, and Josephine was the
 
 368 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 only near relative he had on eartb. He had no clue by which 
 to find her, for she had carefully concealed her place of resi- 
 dence ; but still he hoped that she might seek them soon. 
 
 Walking on the piazza with Blanche, Edith perceived a 
 carriage slowly advancing, with a large quantity of baggage. 
 "Look, Blanche," said Edith, "there comes a stranger. I 
 should not be surprised if it were Josephine." In a few 
 minutes it drove up to the door, and a pale, faded woman, in 
 middle life, stepped from the carriage, but so changed that 
 Edith would scarcely have recognized her elsewhere. The 
 proud, elastic step was gone, the eye dimmed, the expression of 
 the whole face subdued and sad, and but few traces remained 
 of the once haughty, self-reliant Josephine Fortescue. 
 
 Tears were in her eyes, as Edith welcomed her home, and 
 her first question was, " Where is my brother?" 
 
 "He is in New York," answered Edith; "but let me take 
 you to his wife." 
 
 "To his wife!" exclaimed Josephine, startled and aston- 
 ished ; "and who is that, Edith?" 
 
 " It is my sister Blanche," she answered. 
 
 " What a world of change is this !" replied Josephine. 
 
 When she met Blanche, it was with rather a cold, con- 
 strained manner, for she could not understand how her bro- 
 ther could have passed by such a noble woman as Edith Clif- 
 ford, to unite his fate to one so much her inferior as her sister 
 Blanche. When Gerald returned to his home, it was with a 
 hearty welcome that he received his sister, for the two were 
 warmly attached. 
 
 "I hope, dear sister, that it is to wander no more," said 
 Gerald. 
 
 " I am like a tired pilgrim, Gerald. My visions of wo- 
 man's independence have never been realized, and I cannot 
 tell you with what delight I have reached this haven of rest." 
 
 Josephine's whole deportment was so greatly changed, that 
 Edith could not but hope that the citadel of her unbelief was 
 tottering, and prayed earnestly that God would guide her foot- 
 steps yet into the only paths of peace. When Sunday came,
 
 THE SISTER'S RECOMPENSE. 369 
 
 she announced her intention of going with the family to the 
 house of God; and her serious deportment while there inspired 
 Edith with fresh hope and cheered her brother's heart. 
 Wisely they forbore remarks, hut committed her case to the 
 Good Shepherd, who could guide her safely home. After 
 Edith's return, Josephine spent much of her time either aloue 
 or visiting among the cottages of the poor. Everywhere she 
 saw the marks of Edith's footsteps, in the parish school which 
 she had instituted, in the lowly dwellings which she had 
 blessed, in the young who loved, and in the aged who revered 
 her name. 
 
 "Who gave you these nice books?" said she to a curly- 
 headed child who handed her a chair. 
 
 "Miss Edith, ma'am," replied the child. 
 
 " You have a fine large Bible," said she to an aged woman 
 in another cottage. 
 
 " Miss Edith bought it for me, and a great comfort it is to 
 my old heart." 
 
 " What a comfortable chair you have, Ellen," said she to a 
 poor girl who had been a cripple all her life. 
 
 " It is, indeed, ma'am. I never could sit with any comfort 
 until Miss Edith sent me this nice chair. O, ma'am, you do 
 not know what a blessing she was when she lived among us." 
 
 " We are so glad to see you in our parish school, Miss For- 
 tescue," said the teacher, when she paid her first visit ; " we 
 have missed Miss Edith so much, for the lady at the Hall very 
 seldom comes among us." 
 
 These visits were preaching loud lessons to Josephine, for 
 nowhere in her old visions of philanthropy had she seen such 
 fruits of humble, holy benevolence, as in the walks of this 
 useful Christian. She had long been weary of her cold mor- 
 ality, and now was ready to believe that must be an excellent 
 system which could produce such results. She set herself dili- 
 gently and privately to work to examine the claims of Christi- 
 anity. The foundations of her unbelief were shaken to their 
 very base, but her old obstinate pride was hard to overcome. 
 Long and bitter were her struggles, but once convinced, she 
 24
 
 370 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 yielded ; and when presenting herself at Mr. Berkely's study 
 he said, "I need not say that you are welcome, Miss Fortescue 
 I have long observed you, ray friend. I understand the strug- 
 gles of your mind, and rejoice to see you here." 
 
 " I could stay away no longer, my dear sir. I come as an 
 humble inquirer after truth." 
 
 " Are you ready to cast away all doubts?" 
 
 " I have parted with them all. I only wish to know my 
 duty. I am ashamed of my former folly, and come to learn 
 what the Lord would have me to do." 
 
 With kind Christian fidelity he pointed out the path of life, 
 and committing her case in prayer to God, he felt that he was 
 called to "rejoice with the angels over one sinner that 
 repenteth." With all the energy of her strong nature, she 
 devoted herself to her new pursuits ; " old things had passed 
 away and all things had become new." 
 
 Determined henceforth to live for God, she threw herself at 
 once into all the means of usefulness which Edith had estab- 
 lished ; and the neighborhood rejoiced in the ministry of love 
 which she exercised around her daily walks. Something of 
 her old bluntuess yet remained, and occasionally it would show 
 itself in her impatience of Blanche's frequent relapses into self- 
 indulgence and indolence. 
 
 " She will never raise my brother," said Josephine. " If he 
 had only chosen Edith, what a different man he would have 
 been ! But Blanche is nothing but a pretty baby, and he must 
 humor all her foolish whims." 
 
 Many were the hours of communion spent together by those 
 two active spirits, and Josephine had gained so many lessons 
 of humility in the school of Christ, that she was generally 
 willing to learn from l*er friends how to benefit her fellow-crea- 
 tures. In works of benevolence, both were spending useful, 
 happy lives : the one at Ravenswood, and the other at Hazel 
 Glen. The trials of Edith's youth had greatly improved and 
 elevated her character : the suffering had passed, and left her 
 a cheerful, sunny woman, rejoicing in the happiness which she 
 spread around her.
 
 THE SISTER'S RECOMPENSE 371 
 
 Letters came regularly from Adele, and breathed of happi- 
 ness in her new home. We will give an extract : 
 
 " DEAREST EDITH : I know that it will rejoice your heart 
 to hear that I am so happy in my new home. My reception 
 was most cordial. Mrs. Percy is a second mother, and Lionel 
 is all that I could desire, and yet not a day passes without the 
 picture of the dear home circle at Hazel Glen rising up before 
 my mind. Mine is a favored lot. All my youthful days 
 surrounded by the best, and holiest of influence. Now, in my 
 married life, I am dwelling in the midst of one of the best and 
 happiest of English homes. Clara and May are both affec- 
 tionate sisters, and I endeavor to aid them in theii avocations 
 of usefulness and benevolence. 
 
 " When I hear the church-bells ringing around us on Sunday 
 morning, I think of the sweet chimes which are calling the 
 cottagers of Hazel Glen to the little church up Mount Pisguh. 
 Lionel has promised me that I shall visit my own home in a 
 year or two. How delightful it will be once more to tread 
 that familiar path to our rural church. We live in one of the 
 suburbs of London, and my husband goes in daily to his busi- 
 ness, returning at five o'clock to dinner. 
 
 " How strange it seems to look at that word, husband ! For 
 who would have believed that the young man who rescued the 
 little girl at Windermere would have become the beloved 
 partner of her life. But Providence works in a mysterious 
 way, and reality is often more strange than fiction. 
 
 " When you write tell me about everything. How father 
 looks, and what he says and does. About dear Lilly, and 
 Emily, and little Frank. How are Ralph and Madge? 
 Gerald and Blanche ? I am so glad to hear of the change in 
 Josephine. I doubt not, dearest sister, that you have had 
 much to do with that wonderous transformation. 
 
 "I must not forget old nurse and Uncle Peter. Dear, 
 faithful servants, may God bless their old days! And now, 
 dear sister, I have reserved my best news for the last. On 
 Easter Sunday, I purpose, by God's assistance, to make a
 
 372 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 public dedication of myself, with all that I have, and all that 
 I am, to the love and service of my God and Saviour. Then I 
 shall be united to my husband in the best of bonds, for Lionel 
 is a real Christian. Pray for me, dear Edith, that I may be a 
 consistent follower of the meek and lowly Saviour. Is not 
 ours a favored family ? All are now partakers of the hopes 
 of the Gospel. Part in heaven, and part on earth we may 
 hope to be united forever, when the toils and trials of life are 
 ended. Lionel sends his love to the dear home circle, and, 
 across the deep ocean, I waft a loving kiss to all. Write fully, 
 and often, to your own ADELE PERCY." 
 
 " How can I ever doubt the faithfulness of my Heavenly 
 Father?" said Edith, as she gratefully perused Adele's letter. 
 "God has been true to his promises. All are gathered now into 
 the Saviour's fold. Let me 
 
 ' Praise him for all that is past, 
 And trust him for all that's to come.' " 
 
 Edith was now busily engaged in erecting a parsonage for 
 her little church, for Mr. Berkely was about to bring home a 
 companion for his earthly pilgrimage, and she was anxious to 
 provide a comfortable home for the young pair. When it was 
 completed, Edith removed the furniture from Aunt Priscilla's 
 house; and, adding some useful articles from her brother's 
 study, and also some few, of a neater kind, to the little parlor, 
 all was in perfect order, and waited the arrival of the youthful 
 occupants. Edith superintended the first meal herself; and, 
 sitting in the pleasant parlor, watched for the young pastor 
 and his wife. 
 
 All the Clifford family were present, and so cheerful and 
 home-like did all appear, that the young bride was saved much 
 of that feeling of loneliness which oppresses one in a new and 
 strange home. "Let me take your bonnet, Mrs. Berkely," 
 said Edith. "I am hostess to-night: or, if you prefer it, I will 
 show you to your room." Saying which, she kindly led the 
 young lady to her apartment, and added, when alone, " I am 
 mother now. I have just parted with two of my dear children, 
 and am ready to adopt another."
 
 THE SISTER'S RECOMPENSE. 373 
 
 Raising her eyes, swimming in tears of gratitude, the young 
 wife answered, " You are too kind, dear Miss Clifford, but I 
 thankfully receive it all, for I have just left a dear mother. I 
 am young and inexperienced, and shall need your instruction 
 in my new duties." 
 
 A comfortable meal, a cheerful hour of social intercourse, 
 and the first worship around the domestic altar, closed the 
 pleasant evening, and Mrs. Berkely felt as if she had, indeed, 
 found a happy, Christian home, and a kind, sympathizing 
 friend. Madge frequently visited Hazel Glen. Her cheerful, 
 sunny face, her glowing accounts of Ralph's tenderness, towards 
 his little wife, all spoke with peace within. " Indeed Edith, 
 my husband watches me too carefully. He will not let the 
 wind visit me too roughly. And then there is such perfect 
 sympathy between us. He aids me in my literary pursuits, 
 encourages, guides, directs. I do not know what I should do 
 without him." 
 
 " How comes on the book, Madge ?" asked Edith. 
 
 " It is nearly done, sister, and you shall have the first copy ; 
 but I am not very sanguine, for there is much difficulty in the 
 way of an authoress." 
 
 Two years of useful, happy life, passed for Edith. The 
 parish of St. Paul's the Less rapidly improved. A great 
 change had passed over the whole neighborhood. Cheering 
 letters arrived constantly from Adele. Madge was a devoted 
 happy wife, but Ralph had suffered heavy losses ; and what 
 Madge had first attempted, for the purpose of doing good in 
 the world, by the exercise of her talents, was now 'cheerfully 
 pursued, in her noble efforts to aid her husband in his embar- 
 rassments. After a long delay, and many disappointments, her 
 first book was published. Both watched anxiously for notices 
 from the press. 
 
 One morning, seated at the breakfast-table, Madge, with a 
 smiling face, held up the newspaper, saying, "Look here, 
 dear !" and Ralph read, with a beaming countenance, a most 
 flattering notice of his wife's book. Rising and throwing her 
 arms around his neck, she said affectionately, with glistening
 
 374 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 eyes, " Dear Ralph, I can help you now ; what a joy it Avill be 
 to labor for you ?" 
 
 "Ah, Madge! you see I was not mistaken: many thought 
 you cold, and selfish, and unfeeling, but I knew that thore 
 was a precious gem hidden under the veil of reserve, and I 
 have found it. I had hoped, dearest, that I could have 
 spared a path of flowers for you to walk in, but God has willed 
 it otherwise; and we ought to be thankful that he has endowed 
 us with talents which may help us in the days of our adver- 
 sity." 
 
 "Will it not be pleasant, dear husband, to work together? 
 By-the-by, Ralph, I think that you were very cunning to keep 
 your secret from me so long, when you were writing your own 
 book ; but then it was a delightful surprise. Has it not met 
 with some success ?" 
 
 "It has, dear," answered her husband, "and I am hope- 
 ful; but we must be very economical. I have suffered the 
 loss of thousands, by indorsing for a friend ; consequently, I 
 am heavily embarrassed. I shall never rest until all my 
 debts are paid." 
 
 " Let us move into a smaller house, Ralph," said Madge. 
 "Now I think of it, there is Woodbine Cottage, I think 
 that it is vacant now. Our rent would be very low tlioro. 
 We can sell all our expensive furniture, and then we shall 
 have so much leisure, and shall be so quiet ; besides we can 
 bring up our little George so much better in the country 
 than in a city. We shall have the long winter evenings, 
 when we can write, or review what we have done. The 
 more I think of it, the more delightful it appears. Away 
 from the city, near Ravenswood, nearer Edith, and so much 
 more alone." 
 
 " Dear hopeful little wife !" said Ralph, lovingly ; and 
 going to the library, he opened a volume of Wordsworth, 
 and read, feelingly : 
 
 " I saw her, upon nearer view, 
 A spirit, yet a woman too !
 
 THE SISTER'S RECOMPENSE. 375 
 
 Her household motions light and free, 
 
 A.nd steps of virgin liberty ; 
 
 A countenance, in which did meet 
 
 Sweet records, promises as sweet; 
 
 A creature, not too bright or good 
 
 For human nature's daily food 
 
 For transient sorrows, simple wiles, 
 
 Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles. 
 
 "And now I see, with eye serene, 
 The very pulse of the machine : 
 A being, breathing thoughtful breath, 
 A traveller between life and death ; 
 The reason firm, the temperate will, 
 Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill : 
 A perfect woman, nobly planned, 
 To warn, to comfort, and command ; 
 And yet a spirit still, and bright, 
 With something of an angel light." 
 
 And folding Madge fondly in his arms, he said, "And this is 
 what God has given me ! Your suggestions are excellent, and 
 we will follow them, dearest." 
 
 Accordingly, as soon as convenient, we behold them, 
 settled at Woodbine Cottage, a home so hallowed by the 
 remembrance of the beloved ones who once dwelt beneath 
 its humble roof. In the enjoyment of rural life and plea- 
 sant congenial occupations, in the exercise of pious submis- 
 sion to God's providence, in the love for each other, Kalph 
 and Madge lived a happier life than they had ever yet en- 
 joyed. Their wants were few, their prospects encouraging. 
 It amused them not a little when they read the curious sur- 
 mises concerning Madge's book. It was exciting much atten- 
 tion. Who could have written it? It was generally un- 
 derstood that the name of the author was merely a " nomme 
 de plume." Was she an American? Was she English? 
 Why could she not give her real name? The profits now 
 began to come, and the publishers asked for another from the 
 same source. 
 
 Edith rejoiced in Madge's success, and foarcd no evil con- 
 sequences, now that both husband and wife were engaged
 
 376 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 in the same pursuits, and that their maintenance depended 
 upon their success. Accustomed to gather her family always 
 on Christmas, she made preparations for their arrival, ex- 
 pecting the ladies to spend a week with her. Edith was 
 an accomplished cake-maker, and for several days before, 
 was very busy with her preparations for her guests, arrang- 
 ing her gifts for the Christmas-tree, and dressing the house 
 with evergreens. 
 
 The day before Christmas was intensely cold. There had 
 been a heavy fall of snow, and the company arrived in 
 sleighs. It was a great treat to the little ones to meet at 
 Aunt Edith's, and Frank had been running out to the piazza 
 all day, to watch for their arrival. Clad in his fur cap and 
 warm overcoat and tippet, frequently he ran down the glen, 
 to see if they were coming; but the keen wind and biting 
 frost drove him back to the glowing fires, to warm his hands 
 and to start on another excursion. At last, with a joyful 
 s?hout, he exclaimed, "There is Uncle Gerald!" and away 
 he flew, to seize little Mary when she was lifted from the 
 sleigh. 
 
 "Don't pull me, Cousin Frank," said the little girl, as the 
 excited boy hurried her into the house. 
 
 " Dear, darling aunty, happy Christmas !" said the little 
 creature, as Edith clasped her in her arms, and welcomed 
 heartily her sister and Gerald. 
 
 " You must be very cold, Blanche," said Edith, as she took 
 off her wrappings, and rubbed her purple hands. Blanche was 
 very pale, and had a cough which troubled her sister. As soon 
 as possible, she had some light cakes and mulled wine placed 
 before them, and soon made everything wear a cheerful aspect. 
 
 " But Blanche, where did that cough come from T' said 
 Edith. 
 
 " I took cold, dear, last fall, and I have never been able to 
 get clear of it." 
 
 Edith saw that her flesh was wasted, and she appeared weak 
 and dejected. Her fears were greatly awakened when she saw 
 these symptoms.
 
 THE SISTER'S RECOMPENSE. 377 
 
 Little Mary was a lovely child of four years old, full of 
 sprightliness and artless prattle. Frank was merry and 
 sportive, as his father had been at his age. Josephine' made 
 one of the party, and added not a little to its cheerfulness. ' 
 
 Soon Ralph, Madge, and little George were among the 
 guests; and old Mr. Clifford was perfectly happy when thus 
 surrounded by his family. 
 
 " All we want now is Adele," said he ; " but we hope to see 
 her the next year." 
 
 It was a happy company that assembled around the family 
 board that evening. 
 
 " Shall not little Mary have some of Aunt Edith's sponge- 
 cake?" said Frank. 
 
 " Yes, dear," replied her mother ; " we never see such sponge- 
 cake anywhere else." 
 
 " Nor such delightful coffee, or good buckwheat cakes," said 
 Gerald. 
 
 " Nor such a dear sister," said Madge. 
 
 "By-the-by, Madge," said Edith, "I think that the good 
 sister of your book was rather overdrawn." 
 
 " Indeed," replied Madge, looking archly at Ralph, " I had 
 a model ; had I not, husband ?" 
 
 " Yes, a real living model ; such as we seldom, but may 
 sometimes see," answered Ralph. 
 
 " Do not blush so, Edith ; you must let your sister some- 
 times draw your likeness," said Madge, " for I tried to give the 
 glory where it all belonged, to abounding grace." 
 
 " How has the book been received, Ralph ?" asked Edith. 
 
 " In a very flattering manner, indeed I think my little wife 
 will be quite an authoress." 
 
 " In my next I shall draw the picture of a Christian hus- 
 band, and I have a model for that; I need no invention while 
 Ralph Cameron lives." 
 
 After tea, the children were indulged with a merry hour of 
 childish sports, and Aunt Edith led the party. "Blind Man's 
 Buff," " Hunt the Slipper," and " Pussy Wants a Corner," filled 
 the room with laughter. Little George, in his father's arms,
 
 378 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 crowed and la ighed, and clapped his chubby hands in an 
 ecstacy of delight, and grandfather cheered on the game. A 
 basket of apples, and another of nuts, closed the evening ; and 
 after the ceremony of hanging up the stockings for the three 
 children, they were dismissed to their slumbers, promising to 
 be up early in the morning to usher in the Christmas festival. 
 
 By early dawn, Frank's bare feet were heard patting about 
 the house, saluting every chamber door with his " Happy 
 Christmas!" and by lamp-light the party had assembled 
 around the Christmas tree in the parlor. Brilliantly lighted, 
 with the angel on its topmost bough, it was an object of great 
 joy to the happy children ; and when the presents came to be 
 distributed, deep, pure wells of affection were stirred by these 
 love-gifts in the hearts of that happy Christmas household. 
 Little Mary was charmed by her pretty wax doll, Frank 
 scampered about on his new-hobby-horse, and little George 
 loaded his wagon with sugar-plums, and amused himself by 
 drawing it around the room. Some packages from Adele 
 were on the table, for she had contrived to have them at home 
 by Christmas; and old Mr. Clifford was as happy as a child in 
 counting over the gifts from his beloved children. 
 
 In the useful, happy lives of her sisters, Madge and Adele, 
 in the peaceful death-beds of Frank arid Eveleen, in the pros- 
 perity of her little church, in the promising childhood of her 
 sister's children, in the warm love which encircled her on her 
 domestic hearth, in the reverence which she everywhere 
 inspired, and in the cheerful piety which dwelt in her own 
 peaceful bosom, we behold some of the recompense of her 
 early years of trials and sadness ; and as we look upon the 
 noble woman, with that cheerful aspect which attracts all 
 hearts within the circle of her influence, we honor the holy 
 spirit of self-sacrifice which resigned the bright hopes of youth 
 for the happiness of living in and for a wider circle than the 
 sweet womanly province of a holy, happy wife; for Edith 
 Clifford had rejected many offers, and deliberately chosen her 
 lot of single blessedness.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 WINTER BLASTS AROUND OAK HALL. 
 
 PALE face, a hectic flush, and warning cough, 
 haunted Edith whenever she thought of her 
 sister Blanche. Notes came to her more fre- 
 quently than usual, but they all told of ill health 
 and sadness, and called for sympathy and advice : 
 and the faithful friend was with her declining 
 sister as much as other cares would allow. Gerald 
 was alarmed. The best advice was called in, 
 and all that human skill could devise was done to arrest the 
 progress of disease ; but the sentence had gone forth, and, 
 step by step, she faded from the sight of those who 
 loved her. 
 
 Mr. Berkely, perceiving her condition, was the faithful 
 pastor and friend who gradually prepared her mind for the 
 last great change. By frequent visits, earnest prayers, and 
 suitable books, he ministered to the young wife, and directed" 
 her thoughts to another and a better world. Gerald was 
 untiring. All that human love could do to smooth the pas- 
 sage to the tomb was freely bestowed. Josephine, under the 
 influence of her new principles, was the tender, affectionate 
 nurse. Little Mary sported around her dying mother, and 
 caused her many a secret pang as she thought of leaving 
 her in the wide world; but that grief was greatly mitigated 
 when she thought of her sister Edith, who had been a faithful 
 
 379
 
 380 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 mother to so many, and who, she knew, would cherish her 
 child. 
 
 Time wore on. The severity of the weather prevented 
 Blanche from breathing the air out of doors, and she was now 
 confined to two rooms. It was manifest to all that the snow- 
 drop and crocus would bloom upon her grave, and that early 
 spring birds would sing her requiem. 
 
 Nearer and nearer drew the messenger from heaven. At 
 last she whispered to Gerald, " Send for Edith, I cannot do 
 without her now. It will not be long, dear, that I shall need 
 her." 
 
 The messenger was despatched, and she set out alone, to go 
 to her dying sister. It was a dreary winter night when she 
 came in sight of Raven swood. Not a human being was any- 
 where to be seen. The keen blasts whistled around the old 
 elms, swaying their branches in the frosty air, which seemed to 
 Edith's imagination full of the sighs of mournful spirits. Past 
 the old elm, in sight of the dear home of her childhood, soon 
 the grand oaks of her sister's residence appeared in sight, and 
 through the leafless branches she perceived the light burning 
 in the sick-room. 
 
 She was received with a sad welcome by Gerald. " You will 
 not leave her again, Edith," said he, " until she has passed the 
 dark valley, and is safe at home." Perceiving her trunk, it 
 was a sufficient answer to his request. 
 
 Passing sadly up the staircase, a few moments brought her 
 to the side of Blanche, who, propped up by pillows, drew her 
 down to kiss her, saying, " I knew, dear, that you would come. 
 You will not leave me again, Edith, will you ?" 
 
 " No, dearest ; I have made arrangements at home to pro- 
 vide for my absence." 
 
 Nothing could be more touching than the appearance of the 
 beautiful creature, who seemed panting beneath the wasting of 
 consumption. Her eyes, always remarkable for their melting 
 tenderness, now, under the languor of disease, penetrated the 
 beholder with their sweetness, rendered still more lovely by the 
 hectic flush which bloomed upon her countenance. The soft,
 
 WINTER BLASTS AROUND OAK HALL. 381 
 
 brown hair, gathered up under a simple lace cap, which was 
 untied to aid her breathing, shaded her marble forehead, and 
 escaped in waving curls behind the ear, and down the slender 
 neck. 
 
 Taking Edith's hand, Blanche whispered, faintly, "Sister, 
 it was kind to co*me; but when were you aught else? It is a 
 gloomy night, dearest. How the wind whistles around th 
 Hall." 
 
 " Yes, Blanche, it is cold and dreary, out of doors, but I 
 trust that the light and warmth of Christian hope is here." 
 
 " I have a great deal to say, dear sister, and while I have 
 strength, I must tell you all," said Blanche. 
 
 " Do not tire yourself too much. Would it not be better in 
 the daytime ?" replied her sister. 
 
 "No, Edith, it would relieve me, and I should sleep better. 
 I was at first very unwilling to think of death, for I have a 
 great deal to leave ; an affectionate husband, a sweet child, a 
 pleasant home, and so many dear friends; and then I have 
 been so unfaithful to my Christian vows, so worldly, so vain, 
 so selfish. I felt afraid to meet my ofiended God ; but, dear 
 sister, I have truly repented of all. I have cast all my cares 
 and sins on Jesus, and now I have peace, perfect peace in him. 
 Gerald will grieve, at first, but he will not miss me much, for 
 I was not the one to make him happy ; and yet he has always 
 been so kind, so considerate, I have nothing to complain of; 
 but I have heard him sigh, when I have returned from those 
 gay parties, and I have seen him so disappointed, when I 
 showed no interest in his beautiful pictures." 
 
 " Do not reproach yourself now, Blanche ; that is long 
 past, and you have been a loving wife since then," said 
 Edith. 
 
 "Yes, loving, Edith, but not strong," she replied, smiling 
 sadly; "and that is what Gerald needs, a wise, judicious, 
 faithful friend, in his wife ; that is what you are, Edith, aud 
 he would have been a happier man with his early love ; but 
 I never planned to wean him Irom you, and many an hour 
 since have I experienced my unfitness to be his wife."
 
 382 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 "Do not talk so, dear Blanche, these are vain regrets, 
 unprofitable to us both; let your thoughts dwell upon the 
 future, upon the blessed world to which you are so rapidly 
 hastening: there we shall know the reasons for all the sorrows 
 and disappointments of this mortal state, and will, doubtless, 
 bless God for all." 
 
 " Kiss me, sister, ere I sleep ; and pray, dearest, that I may 
 be sustained throughout all this last trial of my pilgrimage." 
 
 Edith folded the wasted form in a warm embrace, pressed a 
 kiss upon the sweet lips, and, bowing down, poured out a 
 heart-warm prayer for her dying sister. She lay down by her 
 side, and Blanche slept sweetly, pillowed on her sister's bosom. 
 Week by week, day by day, hour by hour, she faded away, so 
 silently, so peacefully, that the last hour came when it was not 
 expected. 
 
 It was early in March, when the little robins began to peck 
 against her window, and to warble their sweet carols around 
 the old oak trees, that Edith brought in a few of the earliest 
 spring-flowers, and placed them on a little table near her bed. 
 She smiled, as she looked upon them, and said, " They are the 
 last that I shall see of earth. I shall soon be where flowers of 
 Paradise bloom perpetually." 
 
 " It is a blessed hope, Blanche ; what would become of us, 
 without this sweet assurance ?" said Edith. 
 
 "Will you call Gerald, sister? I want to see him," added 
 Blanche ; and summoned to her bed-side, he was soon in her 
 room. 
 
 " Come near me, dear husband," said Blanche, while the 
 death-dews stood upon her forehead. " I want to thank you, 
 Gerald, for all your tenderness, your kind forbearance towards 
 your weak young wife. Never, by word or deed, have you 
 failed me. You should have had a stronger mind, a firmer 
 character, than mine, but no want of love on your part has 
 ever made me feel it. And now I am going, Gerald, to my 
 mother, to my brother, to Eveleen, to my precious Saviour; 
 follow me there, dearest husband. I want my sister to educate 
 my little Mary. She has been a faithful mother to us all, and
 
 WINTER BLASTS AROUND OAK HALL. 383 
 
 she will love and cherish ray child. I know that Josephine 
 would be kind to her, but Edith will be wiser." 
 
 "Your requests, dearest, shall be faithfully observed. I 
 agree entirely with you concerning our child. Edith is the 
 proper person to train her," answered Gerald. 
 
 Ere the bloom of the snowdrop and crocus were over, 
 Blanche Clifford passed from earth, and "earth to earth, ashes 
 to ashes, dust to dust," was solemnly pronounced over the still 
 lovely remains of Gerald's youthful wife, as they laid her away 
 to await the rising morn. " And did Gerald mourn ?" He 
 did, faithfully, truly, for the one sleeping in the silent grave, 
 but he did not miss the companionship, as he would have 
 missed the society of a stronger, nobler wife. 
 
 It grieved him to part with his little Mary, but his promise 
 to his dying Blanche was faithfully kept, and Edith returned 
 to Hazel Glen with another dear child, to train for usefulness 
 and heaven. Josephine was now a kind and faithful friend to 
 her brother, and in her devotion to the cause of God was a 
 great blessing to the neighborhood of Ravenswood. The 
 trials of life had recalled Gerald to his God and Saviour; and 
 in the active duties of a Christian, and in renewed attention 
 to his profession, he sought and found the comfort which he 
 needed. 
 
 His little Mary drew him frequently to Hazel Glen, where 
 he saw Edith, in all the dignity of womanhood, presiding over 
 her family, sustaining her father, training her little charge, 
 cheering and blessing her sisters, and everywhere exercising 
 her benevolent and pious spirit Having nothing now to 
 detain him in America, Gerald prepared to leave his home, to 
 stay a couple of years on the continent, in order to study his 
 art and pursue his profession; but before leaving he secured 
 faithful likenesses of the family, intending to make some 
 important use of them while abroad. Committing his child 
 affectionately to Edith's care, he set sail for Europe, promising 
 to see Adele before he visited the continent. 
 
 After a prosperous voyage, he arrived in England, and 
 hastened to the residence of the Percys. His meeting with
 
 384 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 Adele was sad one, for the sisters had tenderly loved each 
 other, and the sight of Gerald's sad pale face and mourning 
 garb spoke of the dear departed. 
 
 The kind sympathy of the family in that peaceful Christian 
 home was a healing balm to his sorrowing spirit, and the sight 
 of Adele's domestic happiness with her husband and little 
 Edith-, filled his heart with grateful sympathy, as he thought 
 of the good tidings which he could send to Hazel Glen. After 
 visiting some of the charming rural scenery of England, he 
 turned his face to the continent, and rambled from place to 
 place, sketching the romantic scenery of Switzerland, and 
 travelling on to the splended Pyrenees, where, years before, he 
 had spent so many happy hours with Edith, in the days of 
 their early betrothal. She was no longer young, nor was Ger- 
 ald, and yet the image of the past that most frequently 
 haunted his memory was Edith, and not Blanche, the fascina- 
 tion of whose beauty had passed away; but the conversations 
 of those early days, the deep devotion of Edith's spirit, 
 returned to him now, in his middle life; and, when he needed 
 a friend, a sympathizer, he deeply felt what he had lost. 
 
 In all his studies, surrounded by his pictures, his mind was 
 constantly reverting to Edith, and longing for her approval. 
 He was busily engaged in planning three great pictures, which 
 he expected to be the work of years, and on which he was be- 
 stowing all the powers of his genius. He heard constantly 
 from Hazel Glen, and the news of his little daughter's health, 
 beauty, and sprightliness, made him often long for a sight of 
 his sweet Mary. Gerald's character was ripening, under the 
 influence of his trials, and in all his journeying he sought the 
 society of the excellent. The power of early Christian influ- 
 ence returned. The world had lost its charms, and things 
 unseen and eternal exercised a controlling influence over his 
 daily life. The nearer his heart drew to God, the more did 
 thoughts of Edith and her goodness fill his memory. 
 
 Two years he remained abroad. Without notifying his 
 friends, suddenly he resolved to visit America, and set sail as 
 soon as possible, having closed his studio ere he left Florence,
 
 WINTER BLASTS AROUND OAK HALL. 386 
 
 which had been his last stopping-place. A short voyage 
 brought him to New York, and with the least possible delay, 
 after stopping at Ravenswood to see his sister, he hastened on 
 to Hazel Glen. It was an evening late in autumn when he 
 came in sight of the house. He halted awhile before the 
 window of the family-room to view the picture within. The 
 room was cheerfully lighted. The fire burned briskly in the 
 burnished grate. Old Mr. Clifford was seated in a large chair 
 on one side of a large table, and seemed to be talking pleasantly 
 to Frank, who, though a large boy, sat on his grandfather's 
 knee. Little Mary, his darling child, was seated on Aunt 
 Edith's lap, who seemed to be affectionately caressing the little 
 girl. Many silver hairs had been added to Mr. Clifford's head, 
 but time had dealt very lightly with Edith. Her figure had 
 grown fuller, but had lost none of its dignity ; her eyes were 
 just as lovely as in early youth, and her mouth no longer wore 
 the old expression of pride, but a sweet, happy smile dwelt 
 upon her face as she talked to her little niece. Blind Lilly 
 sut among the group, with a calm, serene aspect, and Emily 
 \vas seated at the piano, playing. Gerald's heart was full, 
 as he looked at the family group, and in a moment he was in 
 their midst. 
 
 " There is dear papa, Mary," said Edith, as she gave the 
 child into his arms. 
 
 Clasping her in a warm embrace, the father pressed loving 
 kisses on her soft cheek, saying, " How much she has grown, 
 Edith ! How I have longed to see my darling child I" 
 
 "She has not forgotten her father, Gerald," answered 
 Edith, "for in her daily prayers you have always been re- 
 membered, and in all her childish lessons she has always 
 been taught to refer to you; she can read now, and is 
 occupied daily in the school-room with our dear Miss Ar- 
 nold." 
 
 " She is a privileged child, Edith, with such an aunt and 
 governess," said Gerald, with a warm glow of gratitude upon 
 his face. 
 
 " How are Ralph and Madge ?" inquired Gerald. 
 25
 
 386 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 " They are well, and living happily at Woodbine Cottaga 
 Ralph is a successful author, and Madge is helping him nobly , 
 you could not find a happier circle than the one dwelling in 
 that sweet, humble home. But how long since you have seen 
 Adele?" inquired Edith. 
 
 " I spent a week with the Percys on my return home, when 
 waiting for the steamer, and I was quite charmed with all that 
 I saw there of a happy English household. Adele is a happy 
 wife and mother ; she expects to ''visit home in the spring," 
 answered Gerald. 
 
 Seated around the breakfast-table, next morning, Gerald 
 said, smilingly, to little Mary, " I have something to show you, 
 daughter, that I think will please you." 
 
 Clapping her little hands, she said, " O, show me now, dear 
 papa, I cannot wait." 
 
 " Guess what I have brought you, Mary," replied her father : 
 " it is in that box on the side-table." 
 
 "What can it be, I wonder?" said the excited child; and 
 there was no more breakfast eaten by the little girl on that 
 morning. 
 
 As soon as the meal was ended, Gerald opened the box, and 
 to Mary's infinite delight, there lay a beautiful London doll, 
 which she had so long desired, which could open and shut its 
 eyes, and several suits of handsome clothes. She flew to her 
 father, and throwing her arms around his neck, she said, 
 " Thank you, dear papa, you are so good ;" and whispering in 
 his ear, she added, " You have not forgotten Cousin Frank, 
 have you, dear papa ?" 
 
 " No, indeed ;" and opening a small box, he drew out a very 
 fine watch, which he presented to the delighted boy. 
 
 " How did you know, uncle, that I wanted a watch, above 
 all things ?" 
 
 " Why, my boy, I remembered what I wished for at your 
 age. I have some very choice books also for you," answered 
 his uncle. 
 
 " Now, I have something for your aunt," said Gerald ; and 
 opening a small case, the bright face of little Edith Percy
 
 WINTER BLASTS AROUND OAK HALL. 387 
 
 smiled upon her. " This is from Adele, and is a perfect like- 
 ness," continued he. Opening another, a set of fine mosaics 
 appeared, which he had purchased in Rome, and a lovely 
 picture of Blanche, set in jet. "Will you accept these, 
 Edith?" said Gerald; "they express but little of the gratitude 
 which I feel for the kind, motherly care you have extended to- 
 wards my darling Mary.,' 
 
 Gerald lengthened his stay at Hazel Glen ; it was yet a 
 charmed circle to the weary exile. Deeply interested in 
 Edith's pursuits, he looked upon the work which she had 
 accomplished with peculiar emotions. All around him were 
 objects which spoke of the noble woman who once might have 
 been his. If he raised his eyes to Mount Pisgah, there stood 
 the humble church built by her benevolence ; if he looked a 
 short distance up the glen, there, embowered in shady trees, 
 smiled the pretty rural parsonage which she had provided ; if 
 he walked out in the morning among the cottagers, her praises 
 were in every mouth ; if, in the evenings, he sometimes visited 
 the homes of the rich, Edith Clifford's holy life and pure devo- 
 tion dwelt upon every tongue ; and all ranks and classes rose 
 up to do her honor. 
 
 But it was time that he should return to Oak Hall, he was 
 needed there, and though his heart lingered at Hazel Glen, he 
 made ready for his departure. Late on one winter evening he 
 started for his home. He was alone. Bitter memories stirred 
 within his bosom. The cold winter inoon revealed the gloom- 
 iness of the landscape ; the leaflees trees were rocked to and 
 fro by keen, biting blasts, and no sounds were heard around 
 him but the hollow winds moaning drearily through the 
 forest. From some mysterious power of association, one 
 glance at that winter moon brought back the days of early 
 buoyant youth. He stood again with Edith on the piazza, at 
 Ravenswood, when he had appointed the early morning ride, 
 ere he went to college. He recalled the blessed evening when, 
 under the glowing sunset, he first revealed his own, and listened 
 to the artless story of her love. He saw again the rosy blush 
 and the happy smile that lit up her lofty countenance.
 
 388 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 Farther on, he was again at the communion table, where, 
 together, they knelt at the table of the Lord. Then followed 
 the remembrance of her purity and love, to mock him with 
 visions of departed happiness. A long blank ensued. Then 
 came the memory of Blanche, on that day when the picture 
 on the balcony first charmed his wandering fancy ; then the 
 years .of blushing, lovely girlhood, and the fascinating creature 
 who stole his weak heart from his noble Edith. The scene 
 on the Hudson was acted over again. A pang of remorse 
 shot through his bosom, as he remembered his cruel neglect, 
 in that hour of mortal agony. Then came, like stinging 
 scorpions, the recollection of that morning, when Edith placed 
 the ring of betrothal on the finger of Blanche, and almost 
 sank beneath the trial. Then followed his short married life, 
 the disappointments of that union, and the early grave which 
 opened to receive the young wife. Then rose the picture again 
 of Edith's sisterly love, her glowing piety, her returning 
 cheerfulness, the footsteps of her heavenly benevolence, and 
 her blessed household at Hazel Glen ; and as he thought of 
 the desolate hearth to which he was hastening, the love of his 
 early years returned, and he longed once more for the pure 
 devoted heart, which had loved him so fondly in the days of 
 " auld lang syne." 
 
 He stood a moment upon the piazza ere he entered his home, 
 and as he glanced once more towards dear old Kavenswood, 
 now the home of strangers, the remembrance of that old elm 
 tree returned with all its soul-subduing memories, and the low 
 wailings of the wintry blasts sighed a sad requiem over his 
 buried hopes; not so sorrowful, however, as the deep sigh 
 which heaved his bosom as he entered his dreary home. 
 
 Josephine welcomed him warmly, but she saw that bitter 
 memories were busy in his heart, and she endeavored, as 
 much as possible, to cheer her brother. He sympathized with 
 his sister in all her plans of benevolence, exerted his influence, 
 contributed his money, and " let his light shine among men," 
 glorifying his Father in heaven. But his thoughts travelled 
 more frequently towards Edith than to the silent grave of
 
 WINTER BLASTS AROUND OAK HALL. 389 
 
 Blanche, and he began to wonder how he ever could have been 
 fascinated by the mere charms of her girlish beauty, when con- 
 trasted with the noble loveliness of Edith. 
 
 The veil had fallen. The mists of passion had vanished, 
 and in the clear light of a purified nature, the image of his 
 early love returned, to set up her reign in his heart with a 
 purer, deeper, holier affection. His visits were frequent at 
 Hazel Glen, and occasionally Edith and little Mary visited 
 Miss Fortescue at Oak Hall. They were warm friends now, 
 for Josephine had learned to venerate the character of her 
 model of Christian excellence, and depended upon Edith's 
 advice in all her plans for the good of her neighborhood; 
 and it made Edith very happy to hear the praises of Gerald 
 and his sister in the cottages of the humble and poor. 
 
 Gerald always seemed happier when Edith was a guest at 
 his table, and he ever paid to her that deferential respect which 
 he considered her due. Late one afternoon they had been 
 walking together in some of their accustomed places of resort, 
 for Edith was fond of out-door exercise, even in winter. They 
 had been conversing upon the charming scenery of Europe, 
 and Gerald had been recalling many lovely pictures among 
 the Pyrenees. Unconsciously to Edith, they strayed on until 
 she found herself again with Gerald near the old elm tree. 
 
 "Let us be seated awhile," said he. And again they sat 
 under the same tree, which had witnessed so much of joy and 
 grief in their early days. 
 
 " What a changing world is this !" said Gerald. " Twenty 
 years ago, dear Edith, we sat here in the days of our youth. 
 Do you remember the sunset hour when we were both so happy ?" 
 
 " Do not pain me, Gerald, by those recollections. Their 
 memory is vanishing. Their bitterness has all passed, and it 
 would be better for us both to forget them entirely." 
 
 "I have a reason, my dear friend, for recalling their 
 memory ; they were the brightest, dearest, holiest hours of my 
 life. O that they could be renewed again ! I have seen much 
 of the world ; many of its loveliest and purest women ; but 
 my heart turns back to Edith Clifford, as my beau ideal of
 
 390 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 woman as she should be ; and could I but hope to regain what 
 I have forfeited so madly, I should be the happiest of men." 
 
 Edith's lips quivered as she listened to Gerald, and her dark 
 eyes filled with tears as she replied, "Do not awaken those 
 sad memories, Gerald : it is a buried affection ; do not rudely 
 disturb its ashes." 
 
 " And why should it be forever buried, Edith ? I was once 
 misled and captivated by mere beauty ; but now my heart 
 returns to its allegiance, and I love you with a deeper, purer, 
 more enduring love, than I have ever felt before for woman." 
 
 " Do not distress me by these professions, Gerald," replied 
 Edith. " My choice is made ; my lot is appointed. Once I 
 loved you with all a woman's holy devotion ; but I was mis- 
 taken. It was not Gerald Fortescue, as he really was, but an 
 imaginary being, whom I loved so fondly. I was disappointed. 
 Love died, and friendship for my sister's husband took its 
 place. I rejoiced in your prosperity. I believe that we shall 
 dwell together in a higher, holier world ; but on earth I can 
 love no more. "We are both declining in life now, Gerald. 
 See, here are a few silver hairs mingling with my locks, and 
 warning me of the lengthening on the dial-plate of time. Let 
 us be friends, Christian friends, Gerald, aiding each other in 
 all holy deeds, and preparing for that world ' where there is 
 neither marrying, or giving in marriage.' " 
 
 Gerald Fortescue bowed his head and wept, in sorrow more 
 bitter than when he looked upon the beautiful remains of his 
 youthful wife. It was a sad trial to Edith to see a man weep 
 so bitterly. 
 
 " I cannot stay here, Edith, if you cast me off," replied 
 Gerald. " My heart has been gradually returning to its early 
 love, and I had hoped that the declining portion of our life 
 would have been spent together. But it is so. I deserve this 
 for my weakness. Even to be your friend, Edith, is a high 
 honor, but to be your husband, would have been too much of 
 earthly happiness. I will return to Europe, and devoting 
 myself to my profession, and the duties of a useful Christian, 
 I will seek for the peace which I have lost."
 
 WINTER BLASTS AROUND OAK HALL. 391 
 
 " And now, Gerald," said Edith, as she laid her hand upon 
 the thin locks of his bowed head, " may God ever bless, defend, 
 and keep you. May he pour into your heart the balm of 
 heavenly consolation, and bring you home to his everlasting 
 kingdom." 
 
 "How different, Edith, is this hour," said Gerald, "from 
 that which, twenty years ago, we passed under this old tree, 
 when the glory of that very sunset was in harmony with the 
 dreams of happiness in which we then indulged. Listen now, 
 Edith, to the howling of the wintry blasts. "Watch the cold 
 dark sky, in which there shines no cheering stars, and you 
 have a faint picture of the desolation which reigns within my 
 bosom." 
 
 "Do not say so, Gerald," replied Edith. "There should 
 be no such feelings in a Christian's heart. God wills that 
 you shall serve him in another sphere from that which you 
 would choose ; and there is always blessedness in his service. 
 My duty is plain before me. An aged, dependent father, 
 two dear orphan children, a blind, youthful sister, and a whole 
 neighborhood, claim my services ; and, Gerald, it has made me 
 happy to bless them. My saddest days were my youthful 
 ones. Riper years have brought me the real sunshine of my 
 life. When seeing others happy, and looking forward ' to the 
 rest which remaiueth for the people of God,' I enjoy constant 
 blessedness." 
 
 " Noble woman !" said Gerald, " I will try to imitate your 
 piety. But, Edith, remember what I have always said, that 
 you were ever above me ; and whenever you approach me, I 
 feel like one looking up from the foot of a lofty hill, where I 
 am lowly and depressed, to the summit, where you stand 
 smiling and serene, beckoning me onward." 
 
 " And will you not come, Gerald," replied Edith, " and seek 
 for higher and holier attainments?" 
 
 " I will try, my friend, and you must be my helper." 
 
 Slowly they returned to the house. Edith mourned over 
 Gerald's disappointment ; but, convinced that she was in the 
 path of duty, she was at peace. In a few more weeks,
 
 392 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 Gerald came to Hazel Glen to say farewell to the beloved 
 inmates. It was a sad parting ; for there was no hope in the 
 future for this life, as Gerald then thought. But Edith knew 
 better ; for as she believed him now to be a real Christian, she 
 knew that blessedness always follows the faithful perfor- 
 mance of duty. 
 
 The winter wore away. Edith was busy as ever in her 
 daily life of usefulness and peace. Lilly aided her in all 
 gentle offices of love. Emily was a neat little assistant in 
 housekeeping. Frank bid fair to be a bright, intelligent 
 boy, and little Mary was a sweet, affectionate child. Sur- 
 rounded by those beloved ones, Edith's was a blessed household, 
 where angels kept watch and Jesus daily dwelt. Early in the 
 spring, Adele, her husband, and little Edith, paid a visit to the 
 home of her childhood. Adele's natural joyousness, subdued 
 and softened by Christian principle, made her an exceedingly 
 lovely and interesting companion. Lionel was very proud of 
 his lovely wife and child. And when Ralph, Madge, and her 
 little George were added to the family group, Edith was com- 
 pletely happy. Madge had published another book, which estab- 
 lished her fame, although still writing under a fictitious name. 
 
 " Really, Madge," said Adele, " where do you find your 
 model husbands?" 
 
 "I did not have to go far from home," replied Madge, as 
 she looked affectionately upon her husband. " Ralph is my 
 model ; only I fear that I have not done him justice." 
 
 " "We have been highly favored," replied Adele ; " for I do 
 not think two such husbands could be found as ours. Really, 
 Edith, when you see our domestic felicity, I wonder that you 
 are not tempted to follow our example." 
 
 " I have my calling, Adele. It rejoices my heart to see you 
 happy, and I accept cheerfully the lot which my Heavenly 
 Father has appointed. I have a sweet home circle, which I love, 
 and to whose comfort and happiness I am necessary. I have 
 never yet regretted my youthful vow to my dying mother. It 
 has brought blessings to many, and I desire to thank God for 
 grace to fulfil it."
 
 WINTER BLASTS AROUND OAK HALL. 393 
 
 The seeds of piety which her young hand had sown, 
 watered by bitter tears, had produced the ripe fruits of 
 autumn. "First the blade, then the ear, then the full corn 
 in the ear." The ripened harvest of holiness which appeared 
 BO richly in Edith's character needed not only the early 
 sowing of the seed, but the breaking of the fallow ground by 
 the rough ploughshare; not only the sunshine and the dew, 
 but also the rain from heaven, and the dark winter nights, 
 when its heavy snows spread a white sheet over the young 
 grain. 
 
 All of this beneficent process had been carefully con- 
 ducted and watched in the heart of Edith Clifford by the wise 
 Husbandman, aud now appeared, hanging in heavy clusters 
 on the branches of her daily life, the rich returns of autumn 
 fruits, as from year to year the mortal tended slowly to dissolu- 
 tion, while the spiritual immortal germ daily expanded, until, 
 made perfect, it would bloom hereafter in the Paradise 
 above.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 EVENING. 
 
 HE summer storm has its errand of mercy, in 
 ^ the pure atmosphere which it opens around 
 us; as, also, the rough ploughshare, breaking 
 and crumbling the soil, in the harvests which 
 follow ; the darkness of night its end, in the rosy 
 streaks which harbinger the rising day; and the 
 stormy waves, which often agitate the bosom of 
 the peaceful river, are followed by the calm flow of 
 a gentle stream, as it seeks the bosom of the mighty ocean. 
 Edith's bark had sailed but for a little while upon the smooth 
 stream of youth, where flowers bloom upon its smiling banks, 
 and the bright sunshine illumines every object ; for, over noisy 
 rapids, she had plunged, as it were, suddenly, into the 
 deeper stream of life, where she had buffeted many storms 
 and encountered many rocks and shoals; now, at forty- 
 five, she had reached more quiet waters; her bark sailed 
 smoothly and happily on ; the sunlight of heaven, and not 
 of earth, shone around her path, revealing in the distant 
 clouds the palace in the skies whither her feet were surely 
 tending. Some blossoms of earth smiled around her; for, 
 surrounded by her sisters and their sweet children, her 
 warm affections sent out their tendrils and clasped them in 
 one loving embrace ; and richly had she been repaid. 
 
 Nearly forty-five! A most dreaded, fearful period, to 
 394
 
 EVENING. 395 
 
 that woman, who, failing to gather around her those natu- 
 ral ties which the heart seeks, makes no circle of love in 
 which she moves. Not so with Edith Clifford. She had 
 nearly reached the evening of life: but who ever thought 
 of attaching the odium of "old maid" to her honored name? 
 Blessed with excellent health, she looked ten years younger 
 than she really was ; her noble figure was one of matchless 
 symmetry, her countenance wore an expression of cheerful 
 serenity, her fine eyes beamed with intellect and love, her 
 rich dark hair, but slightly streaked with silver threads, lay 
 folded around her noble 'head. 
 
 Clad, generally, in her favorite garb of black, or gray 
 silk, she could never enter a room without the question 
 being passed around, " Who is that noble-looking woman ?" 
 If among the better classes, the answer would frequently 
 be, "It is Edith Clifford, the guardian spirit of Hazel 
 Glen ;" or, if among the poor, the tearful grateful answer, 
 was, often, "It is Miss Edith, the friend of the poor and 
 helpless." 
 
 "She is an 'old maid,' is she not?" was sometimes the 
 inquiry. 
 
 " She has never married ; but if you call her ' old maid ' in 
 derision, you are speaking to the wrong person," was ever the 
 response of her friends. 
 
 Amidst the universal respect and love of the inhabitants 
 of her little province, she exercised an influence that gave 
 her entire control of the families who loved her. 
 
 Her father is now seventy-five; his hair is silvered and 
 his step infirm, but he leans upon his daughter with a lov- 
 ing independence, and he returns sweet, reverential care and 
 affection. Daily growing in grace, which he traces all back 
 to her holy example, his feet are tending to the tomb, but 
 upon his hoary head is that crown of glory which the 
 righteous wear. Often, in the twilight hours, he talks 
 about his Mary, and the loved ones who have gone before 
 him, and looks forward, with unwavering hope, to his home in 
 heaven.
 
 396 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 Old nurse is dead ; long since gathered t sme to the rest 
 of those who sleep in Jesus. Miss Arnold is advanced in 
 years, but still teaches the children of the household; for 
 Edith must have her beloved governess near her. Hers is 
 a green old age, for her home is a happy one, and she has 
 never know anything of the bitterness of servitude in that 
 Christian family. 
 
 The church upon Mount Pisgah is still the resting-place 
 for the weary pilgrims of Hazel Glen. It has prepared 
 many saints for glory ; and amid its shaded churchyard 
 sleep many, who shall awake to bless the gentle ministry which 
 planted the little sanctuary on the hill-top of their earthly 
 home. 
 
 The good pastor is still among them. He is identified as the 
 spiritual father of many; and loving his humble country 
 parish, he never thinks of change. He has received scores into 
 the flocks of the Redeemer, and he hopes yet to welcome their 
 children to the table of the Lord ; and, as he listens, Sunday 
 after Sunday, to the church-bells, which calls him to his holy 
 labors, he trust that the same bell will toll for his departure, 
 when his work on earth is done. 
 
 Forty-five! Edith looked forward to her birthday with 
 calm, happy feelings. She felt a longing desire to see all her 
 beloved ones together once more beneath her own roof, and 
 had conceived the idea of a family tryst on the approaching 
 day. 
 
 Gerald had returned twice to America since he had parted 
 with Edith so sadly. He was now a great artist, and had 
 lately announced his intention of returning to Oak Hall, to 
 wander no more. 
 
 Adele, now a happy Christian wife, with three children, 
 had experienced some of life's vicissitudes, for she had parted 
 with two of her darlings, and laid them to sleep in the 
 family vault of the Percys, beneath the care of the Re- 
 deemer. 
 
 Madge, still at Woodbine Cottage, as a home of choice, 
 for the summer season, was now the mother of two lovely
 
 EVENING. 397 
 
 children, George and Blanche; and, although two sweet 
 infants slept beneath the sod, she was a happy, useful Chris- 
 tian. Writing to all the families in time, Edith summoned 
 them to celebrate her birthday, in the beautiful month of 
 October. 
 
 Gerald arrived first. Now in the very prime of his day3, 
 he presented rather an imposing appearance. His form 
 was fine ; he had parted with some of the soft brown locks 
 which^once lay upon his beautiful forehead, now gleaming, 
 in its purity, above eyes which had lost much of the dreamy 
 look of early youth, and was now replaced by an expression 
 of earnest thought, beaming out of their dark blue depths. 
 A sad, sweet smile played around his mouth, which spoke 
 of suffering. Gerald had returned greatly improved ; in 
 all that was good and elevating, he took a deep interest; 
 and Edith, and his sister, both hailed his presence as a 
 strong support in their works of benevolence. 
 
 Lionel, Adele, and her young family, followed: Edith, a 
 young gir.l of thirteen, Lionel, a boy of eleven, and little 
 Madge, a child of four, composed her household circle. She 
 was no longer young ; the ripened years of middle life 
 adorned her character, and her trials had .subdued all its 
 impulsiveness, and made her a faithful mother to her chil- 
 dren. 
 
 It was now the lovely month of October, when Hazel 
 Glen appeared in all the beauty of the season in America. 
 The skies wore no more the misty haze of a summer sun. 
 All along the shady glen the trees were clad in the gorge- 
 ous colors of autumn. The little church assumed a look of 
 brighter loveliness, as it stood embowered in its green, 
 crimson, and yellow hues. The squirrel sported with more 
 active gambols among the forest trees, and the birds were 
 still singing their sweet carols among the trees of the glen, 
 ere they took their departure for warmer climes. The 
 family party were seated on the piazza, watching for the 
 arrival of Madge and her family, whom they expected on 
 the evening before Edith's birthday. Gerald was admiring
 
 398 EDITH MINISTRY. 
 
 the beauties of one of the most splendid sunsets which OUT 
 country affords. From the piazza, there was a full view of 
 the glorious clouds, which, in masses of every shape and tint, 
 glowed over the whole landscape. While they stood watch- 
 ing the changing clouds, the well-known carriage approached, 
 and George and Blanche waved their hands out of the win- 
 dows, and bowed and smiled to the party on the piazza. 
 
 "There is dear Aunt Edith," said little Blanche; "is she 
 not a sweet, good aunty, mamma ?" 
 
 "Yes, my love; there are few so lovely as she," replied 
 her mother. 
 
 By this time they had reached the house. They soon 
 dismounted, and were received with open arms by the dear 
 family group. Edith looked around her with a bright, joy- 
 ous smile and said, " How many are left of those we love !" 
 
 " Really, Edith," said Madge, " I cannot realize that this 
 is your forty-fifth birthday ; you are so bright and blooming 
 yet, so joyous and sunny, that I cannot look upon you as in 
 the decline of life." 
 
 " Well, Madge, I cannot see how I shall ever grow old. I 
 live so much in my dear family, that I am constantly renew- 
 ing my youth in these beloved children." 
 
 " By-the-by, Edith, have you seen Ralph's last book ?" 
 said Madge; "it has received many encomiums, and is 
 about to be republished in England. My dear husband is 
 quite a famous author, now." 
 
 "And my little wife, too," said Ralph, fondly; "her books 
 are exercising a sweet and holy influence in many a house- 
 hold circle ; and around the fireside of our country, the 
 morals of ' Margaret Crawford ' are everywhere quoted." 
 
 Edith smiled as she replied, " And this famous authoress 
 is what was preparing in the lonely garret of Ravenswood, 
 where our odd little Madge used to hide herself with her 
 favorite Shakespeare." 
 
 Tears started in Madge's beautiful eyes as she replied, " I 
 have learned lessons concerning the treatment of such chil- 
 dren, from dear Ralph. Often, when I was called cross, I
 
 EVENING. 399 
 
 was only sad ; and if God had not sent me such a friend, I 
 might never have lived in the sweet sunshine of a loving 
 home. I see the same shy traits in Bianche. We are 
 matching her carefully, and trying to guide these eccentricities." 
 
 "Can you guess, Edith," said Ralph, "whom I met the 
 other day, in a book store, in New York ? None other than 
 your old lover, Mr. Percival. He is greatly changed, has 
 never married, and has endured great hardships in his mis- 
 sionary life. He looks quite old, and inquired after you most 
 kindly." 
 
 "Aha! aunty," said -Mary Fortescue, a young girl of six- 
 teen ; " I have often wondered why Aunt Edith never married, 
 for I know that she must have had many offers ; how was it, 
 aunty?" 
 
 A blush passed over her mild countenance as she replied, 
 " God had other work for me, dear. What would have become 
 of grandpa, Aunt Lilly, and my orphan nephew and niece, if I 
 had forsaken them ?" 
 
 "And so many others, dear aunt," said Frank, "of those 
 who live on your bounty, and rejoice in your goodness. I don't 
 know what I shall do without my good aunt, when I go to the 
 great city." 
 
 Frank was now twenty-one, and strongly resembled his fa- 
 ther. He was soon to take his place on the theatre of human 
 life, in the metropolis of the Union. Emily was lately mar- 
 ried, and was also to live in New York, so that Edith's house- 
 hold would be narrowed down to a small circle. 
 
 On the following day was the period when her birthday was 
 to be celebrated, and the great pictures, the work of Gerald's 
 genius, first to be seen. Josephine Fortescue and the good 
 pastor's family were invited to join the family circle. Edith, 
 in a handsome dress of black satin, Madge, Adele, and Emily, 
 in rather more fanciful attire, to please their liege lords, gath- 
 ered around the hospitable board, where a bountiful repast was 
 provided, and Aunt Edith's pies, cakes, jellies, and autumn 
 fruits, received abundant praise. After dinner, the party 
 assembled in the large parlor, tc examine the pictures. They
 
 400 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 were covered with curtains, and when Gerald drew aside the 
 first, all stood in affecting silence, for the elder members of the 
 family understood its full meaning. 
 
 It was called " The Sister's Vow," and represented a young 
 girl kneeling by the bed of a dying mother ; the face of the 
 former was turned upwards, with an expression of pure and 
 lofty purpose ; the mother's hand was laid in blessing on her 
 head, while a sweet smile rested upon the dying features. The 
 upper part of the picture represented an open roof, above 
 which floated fleecy clouds, with smiling angels bending over 
 the departing saint, ready to receive her spirit. The faces 
 were not to be mistaken ; all, with choking voices and tearful 
 eyes, recognized Mrs. Clifford, and her daughter Edith in the 
 bloom of early youth. But little was said. A few whispered, 
 " How beautiful !" But that was all, their hearts were too 
 full for speech. 
 
 The second curtain was removed, and another, entitled 
 "The Sister's Sacrifice," was disclosed. Blanche in all her 
 glorious beauty, stands by the side of Gerald, in her wedding 
 dress. The expression of her face is not altogether that of a 
 happy bride, for her eyes are cast down, with an expression 
 more of sadness than timidity. Edith, with eyes uplifted, 
 stands by his side, with one hand pressed to her heart, the 
 other holds the ring, which she is about to hand to Gerald. 
 Her gaze is upward, fixed upon a glittering crown, which is 
 faintly seen, through the misty clouds, in the hands of angels, 
 one of which resembles the lovely face of Mrs. Clifford. Edith 
 appears to be trampling upon an image of herself, which, 
 with face upturned, lies beneath her feet, accompanied by other 
 misty faces, with an imploring expression, representing the 
 temptations which she has overcome. The expression of her 
 lofty countenance tells its own story. Not one could speak, 
 save young Mary Fortescue ; and the tribute of perfect silence 
 was more eloquent than words. Mary whispered to her aunt 
 Madge, " Is that lovely creature my mother ? Why is Aunt 
 Edith there? What is she trampling under her feet? What 
 does the picture mean ?"
 
 EVENING. 401 
 
 " Do not ask now, Mary ; it has a wrrowful history," replied 
 her aunt. 
 
 Another curtain removed, disclosed the third, called " The 
 Sister's Recompense," which represented a family scene of a 
 bright cheerful character. Edith, in the bloom of mature 
 womanhood, in her favorite dress of black satin, with a 
 brighter, happier face than she had ever worn in the days of 
 her youth, stood, surrounded by her family ; her aged father, 
 holding her hand, looks upon her with affectionate reverence ; 
 her blind sister, on the other side, is leaning fondly upon her ; 
 Frank and Mary, two blooming youths, are seated at her feet, 
 and old Uncle Peter is represented as advancing with a pack- 
 age of letters from the absent ones. The window is open, look- 
 ing out upon a sylvan scene. On the summit of Mount Pisgah 
 is observed the little church, with groups of persons wending 
 their way up the hills and over the distant fields to the house 
 of God. In the beautiful clouds above are seen the faces of 
 angels, among whom we trace a shadowy resemblance to the 
 mother, Frank, Eveleen, and Blanche. Edith had retired for 
 a few moments, almost overpowered by these vivid pictures of 
 the trials of her life, and those who remained could scarcely 
 express all their admiration of these beautiful productions. 
 They were to remain awhile at Hazel Glen, and then carried 
 to New York for exhibition, their beauty to be admired, but 
 their history only known to the family circle at the Glen. 
 
 The day passed delightfully, for the joyous spirits of the 
 younger portion soon dissipated the appearance of sadness. 
 The weather was yet so balmy that the young people enjoyed 
 out-door sports; and up the hill-side, down the glen, and 
 through the woods, might be heard the merry shout and laugh 
 for most of the day. Towards evening, they returned to the 
 house, the little girls crowned with wild autumn flowers, and 
 the boys with hats full of nuts, gathered from the trees of the 
 forest. In the evening, Edith received from each dear rela- 
 tive some valuable gift, expressive of their love ; and the cotta- 
 gers, who had heard of the celebration, had sent their contribu- 
 tion of a handsome Family Bible, and the little children a
 
 402 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 Prayer Book, for "dear Miss Edith," which they gratefully 
 offered for her acceptance. A few more weeks, and Adele 
 turned her face homewards ; but, ere parting, another gather- 
 ing of the family met at the Glen. After evening prayer, 
 they sang, to Lilly's sweet music, the following tender, appro- 
 priate melody : 
 
 " When shall we all meet again? 
 When shall we all meet again ? 
 Oft shall glowing hope expire, 
 Oft shall wearied love retire, 
 Oft shall death and sorrow reign, 
 Ere we all shall meet again. 
 
 " Though in distant lands we sigh, 
 Parched beneath a hostile sky, 
 Though the deep between us rolls 
 Friendship shall unite our souls; 
 Still in fancy's rich domain, 
 Oft shall we all meet again. 
 
 " When the dreams of life are fled, 
 When its wasted lamps are dead ; 
 When in cold oblivion's shade, 
 Beauty, power, and fame are laid; 
 Where immortal spirits reign, 
 There shall we all meet again." 
 
 Forty-five ! Edith is now approaching the evening of life ; 
 and here we leave hor. She has dignified the state of single 
 life ; let readers, who may be contemplating the probabilities 
 of the same state, never allow themselves, for the mere weak 
 terror of the title of " an old maid," to take upon them the 
 solemn duties of a wife, for any other reason than that of 
 pure and holy love; and let none weakly despise the state 
 of maidenhood, who witness the self-denying lives of so many 
 useful, holy women. 
 
 Perhaps, it has often been asked, why such numbers of 
 pure and noble females have remained in the lonely state of 
 single blessedness, when so many of the vain and frivolous 
 have taken upon themselves the high and holy duties of 
 married life ?
 
 EVENING. 
 
 To this it may be replied : Providence has wisely willed 
 it so. Often by a succession of suffering, of which the world 
 dreams not; sometimes, from wronged and disappointed 
 affection; sometimes, for high and noble sacrifices; but 
 always, under the guidance of a wise and beneficent Pro- 
 vidence. 
 
 It were vain for man to attempt to answer all the reasons 
 for the wonderful dealings of our Heavenly Father; but 
 when we see these noble women presiding over orphaned 
 households, and cheering the declining days of an aged 
 parent, we have some answer for the mystery. 
 
 Go ask the humble cottager, who stood by the death-bed 
 of a beloved companion or child, soothing the last hour and 
 wiping the death-sweat from the brow ? Go ask the faithful 
 pastor, who sustains his labors, and comforts him in the hour 
 of trial ? Go ask the aged pilgrim, who provided those com- 
 fortable garments for those weary limbs? Who taught the 
 little ones their first whispered prayer, and sang to them of 
 Jesus' dying love ? Who placed upon the hill-top that little 
 sanctuary whose spire constantly points to heaven? Who 
 rang the first silvery chime of the church-bell, which, Suuday 
 after Sunday, through the shady glen, and over the distant 
 hills, calls the worshippers to the house of God? In the 
 whispered blessings that comes to us from the families of 
 the poor and ignorant in Hazel Glen ; in the prayers which, 
 night and morning, ascend from family altars, for their 
 benefactress; in the dependent love of the white-haired 
 father, who leans upon a daughter's arm ; in the veneration 
 with which her sisters speak her name, and in the warm 
 love of her orphan nephew and youthful niece, we have some 
 of the reasons why God appointed Edith Clifford to such a 
 holy, heavenly ministry. 
 
 Her noonday sun has passed its meridian, and is gradually 
 sinking towards the west. The twilight shadows descend, 
 at first softening, then dimming, the outline of objects, once 
 seen distinctly in the glare of day. The darkness of age 
 slowly draws on, the midnight hour of death is near, and
 
 404 EDITH'S MINISTRY. 
 
 Edith waits, in faith and patience, for her rest, in another and 
 more glorious home. 
 
 When the evening shadows have fled away, the midnight 
 of death rolled off, and the sleep of the grave at an end, 
 then shall dawn the faint harbinger of the glorioua morning 
 of immortality. 
 
 Edith waits for the rosy clouds, tinting the distant portals 
 of the palace of the New Jerusalem, until, under the bright 
 effulgence of an eternal noon, the golden turrets of the ever- 
 lasting city shall glitter in the full blaze of immortal glory. 
 She sees it with the eye of faith, and waits, in joyful antici- 
 pation of that hour, when the wheels of Providence, so 
 intricate and yet so full of eyes, shall all be explained; 
 when the tangled thread of life shall be unwound, and the 
 skill of the Great Architect of human destiny be admired 
 and adorned. 
 
 Edith waits in joyful hope, for that hour when, the end of 
 divine discipline accomplished, she shall be presented, fault- 
 less, before the throne of God. 
 
 She waits for the reaping-time, when she shall present 
 her ripe sheaves to the glorious Husbandman ; and with the 
 beloved ones who have crossed the flood, and the pilgrim 
 band who are yet members of the church militant, she shall 
 leave the shades of evening far behind, and bask in the 
 noonday sun of unfading glory; and, waiting thus in faith and 
 patience, Edith Clifford is truly and supremely blest. 
 
 THE END.
 
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