“Yes, how appropriately has the great bard of Time, termed Hope ‘silver-tongued.’  And then, its soothing accents are felt and acknowledged in the darkest hour of human trial.  When about to sever every earthly tie—­when on the eve of parting with every object rendered dear by nature and association—­when the gloomy portals of the silent tomb open to receive us, then comes Hope to paint the joys of heaven.  Our reunion with those we have loved and lost—­perfect freedom from sin—­the society of angels, and the spirits of the just made perfect; the presence of our Saviour, and an everlasting home in the bosom of our God.”

A look of unutterable peace and joy settled on the face of Mary as she finished speaking and sank back, her hands clasped, and her eyes raised as though in communion with the spirits above.

Dr. Bryant’s eyes rested with a sort of fascination on her countenance.

“You have this hope; yes, already your soul turns from earth and its vanities to the pure, unfailing fount of heavenly joy.  Oh! that I, like you, could soon find peace and perfect happiness?  I have striven against the bitter feelings which of late have crept into my heart; still, despite my efforts, they gather rapidly about me.  I look forward, and feel sick at heart.  Turbid are all the streams of earthly pleasures, and fully now I realize those lines, which once seemed the essence of misanthropy—­

  ’I thought upon this hollow world,
  And all its hollow crew.’

For a time I found delight in intellectual pursuits, but soon wearied of what failed to bring real comfort in hours of trial.”

“You need some employment to draw forth every faculty:  in a life of active benevolence and usefulness, this will be supplied.  Do not give vent to feelings of satiety or ennui; your future should be bright—­no dangers threaten, and many and important duties await you in life.  God has so constituted us, that happiness alone springs from the faithful discharge of these.  Every earthly resource fails to bring contentment, unless accompanied by an active, trusting faith in God, and hope of blessedness in heaven.  Wealth, beauty, genius are as naught; and fame, that hollow, gilded bauble, brings not the promised delight, and an aching void remains in the embittered heart.  One of our most talented authors, now seated on the pinnacle of fame, assures us that

’The Sea of Ambition is tempest tost,
And your hopes may vanish like foam.’

* * * * *

’The Sun of Fame but gilds the name,
The heart ne’er felt its ray.’

Pardon me if I have ventured too far, or wounded your feelings:  it was not my intention, and I have spoken half unconsciously.”

“Thank you, Miss Irving, for your kind words of comfort and advice.  Fear not that ambition will lure me:  I know its hollow, bitter wages, and cannot be deceived.  Yet there is a lonely feeling in my heart which I cannot dispel at will.  Still my plans for the future are sufficiently active to interest me; and I doubt not that a year hence I shall feel quite differently.  If I could always have your counsel and sympathy, I should fear nothing.”