Words of Cheer for the Tempted, the Toiling, and the Sorrowing | Page 7

all clouds are gone." With feelings much changed from
what they were a few months previous, Mary Clinton sought the
window, and with loving and devoted eyes dwelt upon the night and
stillness of the heavens--so boundless and so pure. The moon was full;
near it was one bright cloud of silver drapery, upon the edge of which
rested a single star. "So shall it be with me," she murmured, "be the
clouds that float over the heavens of my soul bright or dark, the star of
holy trust shall linger near, ever bringing to my bosom--peace."
About two years after, on a winter evening, there was a large company
assembled at Mr. Clinton's dwelling. It was in compliment to Alice, for
that day completed her twentieth year. As she moved from one spot to
another, her sweet face radiant with happiness, Aunt Mary's eyes
followed her with a devoted expression, which betrayed that the lovely
being was her dearest earthly treasure. The merry girl was now a
glad-hearted, but thoughtful woman. An innocent mirthfulness lingered
around her, which time itself would never subdue, except for a brief
season, when her sweet laugh broke out with a natural, rich suddenness;
there was a catching joy in it, that could not be withstood. She was the
gentle hostess to perfection; with tact enough to discover congenial
spirits, and bring them together, finding her own pleasure in the
cheerful home thus made. She possessed the rare but happy art of
making every body feel perfectly at home, one knew not why. For a
moment, Alice stood alone with her little hand resting upon the
centre-table. Behind her, two rather fashionable young men were
talking and laughing somewhat too loud, and jesting upon sacred things.
A look of pain passed over the face of the fair listener as she slowly
turned round, and said in a low but earnest tone, "Don't, Theodore!
Excuse me, but such trifling pains me." The young gentlemen both
appeared mortified. "Pardon me! Alice," exclaimed Theodore Temple,
"I will try to break that habit for your sake. I was not aware that it
pained you so much--a lady's word is law!" and he bowed gallantly.
"No, no! Base your giving up of the habit upon principle, then it will be
permanent. Much obliged for the compliment"--Alice bowed with
assumed dignity, and her sweet face dimpled into a playful smile, "but I
have no faith in these pretty speeches. Remember, now, I have your
promise to try to break the habit; you will forfeit your word if you do
not; so you see your position, don't you?" Thus saying, and without

waiting for a reply, the young lady left them.
"I believe Miss Clinton is right, after all," remarked Temple's
companion. "What is the use of jesting on such subjects? We never feel
any better after it, and we subject ourselves to the displeasure of those
who respect these things. I pass my word to give it up, if you will,
Temple."
"Agreed!" was Theodore's brief answer. Without saying how mingled
the motive might have been, which induced the young men to forsake
the habit, they did forsake it permanently. Aunt Mary's lonely life was
at last smiled upon by a sunbeam--and that sunbeam was the soul of
Alice, which she had turned to the light. For that cherished being Mary
Clinton could have offered up her life, and there would have been a joy
in the sacrifice. Strongly and nobly were their hearts knit
together--beautiful is the devotedness of holy, unselfish love! Blest are
two frank hearts, which may be opened to each other, pouring out like
lava the tide of feeling hoarded in the inward soul--such revelations are
for moments when the yearning heart will not be hushed to calmness.
But "there is a moonlight in human life," and there is also a blessing in
that subdued hour which whispers wearily to the loving one, of
weaknesses and sins, with a prayer for consoling strength to triumph
yet, leaving them in the dust. Thus was it with Mary and Alice Clinton;
their souls were open as the day to each other. They travelled along
life's pathway with earnest purpose, fulfilling the many and changing
duties that fell upon them, ever catching rich gleams of joy from above.
And sorrows came too! but they purified, and taught the slumbering
soul its rarest wealth--its deepest sympathies with all things good and
heavenly. It seemed a slight thing that took away the desolation from
the heart of Mary Clinton--she turned away from self, and devoted her
efforts to the eternal happiness of another. Is there one human being in
the wide world so desolate, that he may not do likewise? Only a mite
may be cast in, but God has made none