“Mend stockings, or turn my room upside down, and then arrange it neatly,” said Alice in a speculative tone.  “There is nothing in the house to interest me; there is Patty in the kitchen, I have just been paying her a visit.  She is as busy as a bee, and as happy as a queen.  I believe poor people are happier than the rich, in such weather as this, at least.”

“Because they are useful, Alice; go busy yourself about some physical labour for an hour or two, then come back to me, and I predict your face will be as sunshiny as ever.  I am in earnest—­you need not look so incredulous!”

“What shall I do?” asked the young girl laughing.  “I don’t know how to do a single thing in domestic matters.  Mother says I shall never work.  It would spoil my fairy fingers, I presume, a terrible consequence!”

“But seriously Alice, you are not so entirely incapable of doing anything, are you?”

“I am positively, but I can learn if I choose.  I believe I will sweep my room and put it in order, as a beginning.  That will be something new:  now I will try my best!” Alice sprang from her chair, and tripped from the apartment quite pleased with the idea.  A smile broke over Miss Clinton’s features, after her niece had left her alone.  “How easily Alice might be trained to better things, by love and gentleness,” she said half aloud.  “Oh! if she would only love me, and turn to me fondly.  How I would delight to breathe a genial prayer over the buds of promise in her youthful heart, and fan them to warmer life.”  More than an hour flew by, as Mary Clinton sat in thought, devising plans to awaken her favourite to a true sense of her duties—­to a knowledge of her capabilities for happiness and usefulness.  We may be useful with a heart full of sadness; but we can rarely taste of happiness, unless we are desirous to benefit some one besides ourselves.  A quietness came over the lonely one as she mused—­a spirit of beautiful repose; for she forgot all thoughts of her own enjoyment, in caring for another.

“You are quite a physician, Aunt Mary, to a mind diseased,” exclaimed Alice, breaking her revery as she came in with a smiling face, after the performance of her unaccustomed labour.  “I am quite in tune again now.  I believe there is a little philosophy in being busy occasionally, after all.”

“There is really,” replied Miss Clinton, raising her deep blue eyes to Alice’s face, with their pleasant expression; “and there is also philosophy in recreation—­in abandoning yourself for a time to innocent gayety.  An hour of enjoyment is refreshing and beneficial.”

“Why, Aunt Mary!” said Alice in some surprise, “I had no idea that you thought so.  You are always so industrious and quiet, I imagined you disapproved of the merriment of ordinary people.  When we have a large company you almost always retire early.  Why do you do so, aunt, may I ask you?”