ISABELLE DERMOTT was a lovely child. She had just attained her seventh year. From her birth she had occasioned her parents groat solicitude on account of the peculiar delicacy of her constitution. Her mind was precocious; and until within a few months, she had been withheld from mental labor. Now, however, she had commenced attending school, and was advancing rapidly in her studies.
When the question for the day had been asked and answered, Mrs. Dermott began the lesson by the inquiry,—
"Anna, what is that within you which thinks and feels?"
"My soul."
"Yes, your soul, or spirit. Can we see it?"
"No, mamma," replied Helen, gravely.
"Do you remember that dreadful thunder shower last summer, when Isabelle was so much alarmed?"
"I do!" "And I!" "And I!" called out one and another.
"You know, Helen, I told you to look for the next flash of lightning. It came as I was speaking, and almost blinded you. The air was full of electricity, which causes the lightning; but you could not see it until it flashed. Just so it is with God, who is a Spirit. He is everywhere, and makes himself known by what he does. He is in the air we breathe, in the sunshine and in the storm, in the merry warbling of the birds, in the pleasant gurgling of the brooks, in the sighing of the forest, and in the blooming of the tiniest flower. It is God who swells the buds in the spring, clothes the trees with foliage, forms and ripens the pleasant fruit, causes the sun to shine, and the rain to fall.
"'He causeth the grass to grow for the cattle, and herb for the service of man . . . The young lions roar after their prey, and seek their meat from God.'