the gloom which overshadowed her path. Although suffering for want of the invigorating influence of active employment, at times she manifested a sweet cheerfulness, or a glad exuberance of spirits, soon, however, chastened by her touching melancholy. Hers was “a tearful grace," as though she stood "between the rainbow and the sun." As her friend returned over those hills, her heart. lingered with the dear one behind, so pure in her aspirations, so gifted for usefulness, so strictly conscientious, so sincerely religious, yet so saddened by her views of self, and the want of some ennobling object of pursuit. For a spirit so burdened, there is light, there is healing, only with Him who can be "touched with the feeling of our infirmities." "Thou who didst sit on Jacob's well The weary hour of noon, The languid pulses thou canst tell, Thou, from whose cross in anguish burst The cry that owned thy dying thirst, VISITS. A WINTER OF DISCIPLINE. "Lie not down wearied 'neath woe's weeping willow; FROM the subjoined letter, we see that, although Henrietta's mind had not recovered its tone, yet she shows a consciousness of the nature of her disease, and of the needed remedy. The letter is addressed to her sister E., then expecting to go on a mission to Africa, but afterwards prevented by ill health. "Dorset, May 9th, 1835. (Her And what What have filled up "Do you remember twenty-four years ago, to-day? O! count by virtues; these shall last with "How few virtues could I count ! How few temptations have been resisted! How little of self-denial have I practised! How little of real happiness have I ever found! So little, that I would not retrace the way, if it must be by the same steps. I have indeed known many pleasures, but they were pleasures for which I can feel no sympathy now; the results of an illusion that has vanished away. And shall I keep on wasting life, till its energies are all spent upon solicitudes unworthy an immortal spirit? I don't like to think so, and yet I fear it. The spell has been broken only from the past. It still holds its power over the future, ready to gild any of its pleasures, and magnify them into objects worthy of pursuit. It is only when they are reached or past that I shall see them as they are. I am making too little of my life; I know it and feel it too sometimes. How could you be making more of yours than to be a missionary to Africa? It seems so as if a missionary might get away beyond all ambitious motives, and labor purely for the sake of doing good, that I should almost like to go myself. And yet I know that a proud heart and an indolent nature may be carried to Africa as well as elsewhere. I feel but little confidence in my own desires to go. I am afraid the romance of the thing would be most attractive to me. Love to Christ is, I know, the only safe motive. If you feel this leading you, there is nothing to fear. It will inspire you with all the strength you can need in any emergency. But, though I can say go, my feelings about it are not all glad ones. It is a great thing to leave one's home for aye. It is a great thing, too, to have a part in the rewards of the missionary's labors. I wish I could feel more as you write, and I should be doing more where I am, or anywhere. I feel no impulse to act, and so I do nothing, and say nothing, while others around me are feeling, doing and saying. "I am not such an ingrate, sister E., that I can be insensible to a generosity that gives three letters for one. It is, to be sure, a generosity quite superior to anything I have ever practised; still, placing the value I do upon letters, I can tell something how to appreciate it. "My hydrangea is growing as fast as it can, with so little sunshine. Most of my flowers have perished of the last winter's cold. The vine-rose is dead. Will you bring me another? My flowers are about all the society I have. Tell brother my vanity has not suffered at all from his compliment about the letter. To say it was the best, was not saying much, after all." Early in the spring of the following year, Henrietta and her friend M. met in the place where their acquaintance was first formed. Here a few letters. were exchanged. From the extracts given, it is evident that Henrietta was still under the cloud. Besides, she suffered as one of reserved manners, yet acute sensibilities, almost invariably suffers from the feeling of being misunderstood. "Andover, West Parish, Tuesday morning. "I don't know that you will believe me, M., but I was going to write before your letter came. I wanted to tell you how the sight of your countenance has revived me. It was such an exhilarating stimulus as my poor, broken spirits have not known these many months. I can almost think this dismal wintry world looks pleasant. I can almost believe now that it will be warm and green again. "The last has indeed been a sadly sober season to me. The chill has reached my heart. But it is beginning to thaw out, and I am anticipating the time when its pulses shall be as glad and free as ever. M. has come. I have seen her face, and shall see it again; and then all that talk. How can I wait so long? We will have weeks of talking and reading and enjoying. But, remember, I shall claim part here, where nobody comes to interrupt good times. You see I keep my old notions, notwithstanding the change of place. And so you think I have not mended my manners much? I tell you, M., it is a hopeless case. I don't mean to try any more. Why not just as well pass for an iceberg, since you know you are not one? Some people would think you must have penetrated to great depth, to have discovered warmth. There are more things in the soul than are dreamed of by everybody. Chills sometimes indicate fever, as well as freezing. But I can't stop to philosophize this morning. * ** I don't blame you for being vexed, - it is too bad. But, if you have fallen into the hands of this story-telling world, you need not expect any mercy. Of course I 1id not believe it. * * * "I have seen 'Paul Felton.' What an admirable picture for that kind of person! It is some time since I read the story, and my brain has recovered from its first feverishness, else I could not stop with saying so little. I discovered the secret of his attractions, and did not wonder as some people would." “DEAR M.: I am wanting a letter so very much, that I have sat down to write for one. To you this will be no small indication of the earnestness of my desire. Your letters do me an abundance of good. If I could only have one every day, I should be glad once a day at least. I have not made you that call, because I could not. I am coming next week to open the door and look in.' 1 "I know you are troubled to think of next summer. should feel all your tremblings and shrinkings and a great many more; and yet I wish the same prospect were before me. It is better to feel all these than that dissatisfaction that follows idleness. This living for nothing makes a very tedious, as well as wasted, life. I could almost flee to such occupation as a resort sometimes. "I am going to Bangor, partly for the discipline, partly for the pleasure, and partly because you will come and spend that vacation with me. The time fixed for our journey is about four weeks hence. How pleasant if we could go together! But you would leave me half way, and then I should have to do as I could for the rest. 66 This, you will understand, is not meant for a letter. It is only for the sake of getting one. "I intend to have as much as one day and one night of the last week with you. But I shall have a great many letters in the mean time." From Andover she went to Bangor, where she spent several weeks with her sister, Mrs. Maltby. There, as elsewhere, she made the impression upon those who saw her most casually "of a peculiar deli |