17th.—­Mrs. Persico got home to-night [10] and what a meeting we had! what rejoicing!  How beautiful she looked as she sat in her low chair, and we stood and knelt in a happy circle about her!  A queen—­an angel—­could not have received love and homage with a sweeter grace.  Sue Irvine cried an hour for joy and I wished I were one of the crying sort, for I’m sure I was glad enough to do almost anything.  Beautiful woman!  We sang to her the Welcome Home, Miss F. singing as much with her eyes as with her voice, and Mr. and Mrs. Persico both cried, he like a little child.  Oh, that such evenings as this came oftener in one’s life!  All that was beautiful and good in each of our hidden natures came dancing out to greet her at her coming, and all petty jealousies were so quieted and—­why, what a rhapsody I’m writing!  And to-morrow, our good better natures tucked away, dear knows where, we shall descend with business-like airs to breakfast, wish each other good morning, pretend that we haven’t any hearts.  Oh, is this life!  I won’t believe it.  Our good genius has come back to us; now all things will again go on smoothly; once more I can be a little girl and frolic up here instead of playing Miss Dignity down-stairs.

May 7th.—­This evening I passed unavoidably through Miss ——­’s room.  She was reading Byron as usual and looked so wretched and restless, that I could not help yielding to a loving impulse and putting my hand on hers and asking why she was so sad.  She told me.  It was just what I supposed.  She is trying to be happy, and can not find out how; reads Byron and gets sickly views of life; sits up late dreaming about love and lovers; then, too tired to pray or think good thoughts, tosses herself down upon her bed and wishes herself dead.  She did not tell me this, to be sure, but I gathered it from her story.  I alluded to her religious history and present hopes.  She said she did not think continued acts of faith in Christ necessary; she had believed on Him once, and now He would save her whatever she did; and she was not going to torment herself trying to live so very holy a life, since, after all, she should get to heaven just as well through Him as if she had been particularly good (as she termed it).  I don’t know whether a good or a bad spirit moved me at that minute, but I forgot that I was a mere child in religious knowledge, and talked about my doctrine and made it a very beautiful one to my mind, though I don’t think she thought it so.  Oh, for what would I give up the happiness of praying for a holy heart—­of striving, struggling for it!  Yes, it is indeed true that we are to be saved simply, only, apart from our own goodness, through the love of Christ.  But who can believe himself thus chosen of God—­who can think of and hold communion with Infinite Holiness, and not long for the Divine image in his own soul?  It is a mystery to me—­these strange doctrines.  Is not the fruit of love aspiration after the holy?