Woman As She Should Be | Page 9

resembles this, I first learned where true bliss was to be found."
"A valuable lesson truly, Miss Wiltshire, and one which I would feel thankful if you could impart to me, for I assure you I am sadly in need of it. Dissatisfied with the world, I still see so much hypocrisy in the church,--there are so many, even among those who minister in holy things, who seem by their actions wedded to the vanities which they profess to renounce, that I turn away with a feeling akin to disgust, and am almost ready to believe that the piety which characterized the first professors of Christianity has totally disappeared."
"Perhaps you have not been looking for it in the right place, Mr. Bernard. There are many whose religion consists in outward observances, while the heart is given up to its idol; but, granting there was not one in the world who was really the possessor of true religion, 'What is that to thee?' The claims of Heaven are not less binding on you, because not recognized or responded to by the multitude, for each must render an account of himself, whether the offering of the heart, the only acceptable one, has been presented, or whether we have turned coldly away from the voice of the charmer, charm it ever so wisely."
There was silence for a few moments, which was broken by an observation from Arthur.
"Do you know of whom you remind me, Miss Wiltshire? Of a distant relative of my mother's, who resided with us for a time, when I was but a boy. She was a young woman then; I, a wild, heedless boy; but her look, her smile, her very words, are indelibly impressed on my mind. What a lovely example of all Christian graces was she, for in her they seemed blended, like the exquisite tints of the rainbow, into a perfect whole. Her gentle reproof,--her winning manner ever alluring us to that which was right,--her unwearied endeavor to make all around her happy,--these, combined with every womanly charm, made her appear, in my eyes, more than human; and when death came, much and deeply as I lamented the loss, I could scarcely wonder that Heaven had reclaimed its own."
There was a pause, and then Arthur added,--"That I have not gone to the same extent in folly as others, I believe I owe to her, for when tempted, by my gay companions at college, to join them in the pleasures of sin, her look of mild entreaty seemed ever before me, deterring me from ill; and I often think, had she lived, I might to-day have been a better and more useful man."
Agnes had been an attentive listener. "I do not wonder," she said, as he ceased speaking, "that you so highly estimate woman's influence, for you have largely benefited by it; but though dead, she yet speaketh. Do you remember what Young says respecting dying friends? That they are
'Angels sent on errands full of love, For us they sicken, and for us they die.'
We sometimes wonder at the mysterious Providence which often suddenly removes the excellent from earth; while the wicked are allowed to remain; but may it not be graciously ordered thus, to excite in us an ardent desire for that preparation which shall enable us to greet our friends on the shores of the better land. Oh, without such a hope what would life be.
'It lifts the fainting spirit up, It brings to life the dead.'
How often should I be ready to sink in despair," and Agnes's lips quivered with emotion, "were it not that I am permitted to look forward to that inheritance which is incorruptible and undefiled, and which shall prove an abundant recompense for those 'light afflictions which are but for a moment.'"
"But you," said Arthur, half inquiringly, "are, I trust, a stranger to those afflictions.
'Rose-leaved from the cold, And meant, verily, to hold Life's pure pleasures manifold.'"
"My childhood and youth has, indeed, passed amid flowers and sunshine," was the reply; "and if the future appears now to point to a more gloomy and thornier path, I will not repine to tread it, for
'Here little, and hereafter much, Is true from age to age.'"
Arthur, as he was about making a reply, was interrupted by his sister, who came to request Agnes to play for her a favorite tune, and their conversation, with the exception of an occasional word now and then, was ended for that evening.

CHAPTER V.
"The only son of his mother, and she was a widow,--" Arthur Bernard, as he attained to manhood, seemed to realize, in person and character, all a fond mother's fondest anticipations. His stately form, as he mingled among his compeers, did not tower more above them, than did his lofty mind, stored with sound principles, and embellished