Words of Cheer for the Tempted, the Toiling, and the Sorrowing | Page 2

POWER OF KINDNESS SPEAK
KINDLY HAVE PATIENCE DO THEY MISS ME?

WORDS OF CHEER.
AUNT MARY.

A LADY sat alone in her own apartment one clear evening, when the
silver stars were out, and the moon shone pure as the spirit of peace
upon the rebellious earth. How lovely was every outward thing! How
beautiful is God's creation! The window curtains were drawn close, and
the only light in the cheerful room, was given by a night-lamp that was
burning on the mantel-piece. The occupant, who perhaps had numbered
about thirty-five years, was sitting by a small table in the centre of the
room, her head leaning upon one slender hand; the other lay upon the
open page of a book in which she had endeavoured to interest herself.
But the effort had been vain; other and stronger feelings had
overpowered her; there was an expression of suffering upon the gentle
face, over which the tears rained heavily. For a brief moment she raised
her soft blue eyes upward with an appealing look, then sunk her head
upon the table before her, murmuring,
"Father! forgive me! it is good for me. Give me strength to bear
everything. Pour thy love into my heart, for I am desolate--if I could
but be useful to one human being--if I could make one person happier, I
should be content. But no! I am desolate--desolate. Whose heart clings
to mine with the strong tendrils of affection? Who ever turns to me for
a smile? Oh! this world is so cold--so cold!"
And that sensitive being wept passionately, and pressed her hand upon
her bosom as if to still its own yearnings.
Mary Clinton had met with many sorrows; she was the youngest of a
large family; she had been the caressed darling in her early days, for
her sweetness won every heart to love. She had dwelt in the warm
breath of affection, it was her usual sunshine, and she gave it no
thought while it blessed her; a cold word or look was an unfamiliar
thing. A most glad-hearted being she was once! But death came in a
terrible form, folded her loved ones in his icy arms and bore them to
another world. A kind father, a tender mother, a brother and sister, were

laid in the grave, in one short month, by the cholera. One brother was
yet left, and she was taken to his home, for he was a wealthy merchant.
But there seemed a coldness in his splendid house, a coldness in his
wife's heart. Sick in body and in mind, the bereft one resolved to travel
South, and visit among her relations, hoping to awaken her interest in
life, which had lain dormant through grief. She went to that sunny
region, and while there, became acquainted with a man of fine intellect
and fascinating manners, who won her affections, and afterwards
proved unworthy of her. Again the beauty of her life was darkened, and
with a weary heart she wore out the tedious years of her joyless
existence. She was an angel of charity to the poor and suffering. She
grew lovelier through sorrow. A desire to see her brother, her nearest
and dearest relative, called her North again, and when our story opens
she was in the bosom of his home, a member of his family. He loved
her deeply, yet she felt like an alien--his wife had not welcomed her as
a sister should. Mary Clinton's heart went out toward's Alice, her eldest
niece, a beautiful and loving creature just springing into womanhood.
But the fair girl was gay and thoughtless, flattered and caressed by
everybody. She knew sadness only by the name. She had no dream that
she could impart a deep joy, by giving forth her young heart's love to
the desolate stranger.
The hour had grown late, very late, and Mary Clinton still leaned her
head upon the table buried in thoughts, when the bounding step of
Alice outside the door aroused her from her revery. She listened, almost
hoping to see her friendly face peeping in, but wearied with the
enjoyment of the evening, the fair young belle hastened on to her
chamber, and her aunt heard the door close. Rising from her seat at the
table, Miss Clinton approached a window, and threw back the curtains
that the midnight air might steal coolingly over her brow. Her eye fell
upon the rich bracelet that clasped her arm, a gift of her brother, and
then with a sad smile, she surveyed the pure dress of delicate white she
wore. "Ah!" she sighed, "I am robed for a scene of gayety, but how sad
the heart that beats beneath this boddice! How glad I was to escape
from the company; loneliness in