“Beautiful! beautiful!” fell, ever and anon, from her lips; and she would lift her eyes, and muse upon what she was reading.  As she sat thus, a little child entered the room.  He was crying.

“Mother! mother!” said the child, “I want—­”

But the mother’s thoughts were far above the regions of the commonplace.  Her mind was in a world of ideal beauty.  Disturbed by the interruption, a slight frown contracted on her beautiful brows as she arose and took her child by the arm to thrust it from the room.

A slight shudder went through my frame as I marked the touching distress that overspread the countenance of the child as it looked up into its mother’s face and saw nothing there but an angry frown.

“Every thought is born of affection,” said the old man, as this scene faded away, “and has in it the quality of the life that gave it birth; and when that thought is reproduced in the mind of another, it awakens its appropriate affection.  If there had been a true love of his neighbor in the mind of the gifted one when he wrote the book from which the mother read, and if his purpose had been to inspire with human emotions—­and none but these are God-like—­the souls of men, his work would have filled the heart of that mother with a deeper love of her child, instead of freezing in her bosom the surface of love’s celestial fountain.  To have hearkened to the grief of that dear child, and to have ministered to its comfort, would have been a commonplace act, but, how truly noble and divine!  And now, look again, and let what passes before you give strength to your wavering spirits.”

I lifted my eyes, and saw a man reading, and I knew that he read that work of mine which the gifted one had condemned as dull, and tame, and commonplace.  And, moreover, I knew that he was in trouble so deep as to be almost hopeless of the future, and just ready to give up his life-struggle, and let his hands fall listless and despairing by his side.  Around him were gathered his wife and his little ones, and they were looking to him, but in vain, for the help they needed.

As the man read, I saw a light come suddenly into his face.  He paused, and seemed musing for a time; and his eyes gleamed quickly upwards, and as his lips parted, these words came forth:  “Yes, yes; it must be so.  God is merciful as he is wise, and will not forsake his creatures.  He tries us in the fires of adversity but to consume the evil of our hearts.  I will trust him, and again go forth, with my eyes turned confidingly upwards.”  And the man went forth in the spirit of confidence in Heaven, inspired by what I had written.

“Look again,” said the one by my side.

I looked, and saw the same man in the midst of a smiling family.  His countenance was full of life and happiness, for his trust had not been in vain.  As I had written, so he had found it.  God is good, and lets no one feel the fires of adversity longer than is necessary for his purification from evil.