“It is, indeed, a lovely prospect,” said her companion, gazing thoughtfully upon the scene before her—and as a pensive smile lit up her expressive features, she continued—“Invariably after visiting an institution of the kind, such a weight of sadness seems to oppress me, that my mind is little calculated to enjoy the beautiful.”
“Sadness, Ellen! What is it possible you can find here to make you sad! For, laying aside the beauties of nature, have we not seen with what care and neatness every thing is arranged—what a regard to comfort. And then not only are the physical wants of the inmates provided for, but the mental and religious seem not forgotten.”
“Mental, Lucy! Where the mental?”
“Why,” said her companion, slightly coloring, “did we not see those spacious school-rooms for the children, and the chapel, where public services are held every Sunday?”
“Why, Lucy, you cannot possibly suppose some eighty or a hundred children, placed under the care of one instructor, and that one, perhaps, taking no interest in his duties further than to secure a livelihood, as likely to derive much benefit from such a course of mental instruction. But,” added she, in a more lively tone, observing the embarrassment of her companion, “but, dear coz, those little ones formed not the burden of my thoughts—for children, you know, like flowers, though crushed to the earth by the pelting storm, the drops which weigh down their trembling petals, reflect but light and love. And however the foreshadowings of their destiny may creep upon the soul, it requires but one bright smile to chase all gloom away. Bless their sunny hearts! this earth would be a dreary waste without them. But, Lucy, what makes me particularly sad, is that whenever I visit a place of the kind, I see so little of joy and gladness; so much of sorrow and concealed despair expressed in the countenances of its inmates.”
“But, Ellen, is it not always thus wherever we meet the unfortunate?”
“This is precisely what oppresses me—to see their physical condition so materially altered, while the diseases of the mind remain unchanged. I may be, Lucy, like ‘the Charming Woman,’ talking of things which I do not understand, but still it is no heresy for me to express my thoughts, at least to yourself, dear coz. It seems to me, could we but raise the veil which shrouds the human heart, and witness there its temptations, its hopes, its fears, its anguish; its struggles to free itself from the incubus of passion which weighs it to earth; its ardent longings for the soothing dews of Heaven to cleanse and heal its poisoned wounds; yes, could we but look into the heart of the veriest wretch that breathes, and trace throughout the searing hand of sin, and then into the depths of our own bosom, it might be that the only difference we should find between that blackened, noisome thing, and our own boasted purity would prove but the absence of temptation! And yet, when we see around us all the exertions which are made for the relief of the poor and distressed, the imperfection of the work seems not so much a lack of will, as a lack of knowledge of its cause. Had there been but one-fourth the time devoted to man’s spiritual, that has been to his physical being—to the habits, dispositions and sagacity of the inferior animals—or even to the investigation of unorganized matter—how different would have been the result.”
“Ellen,” said her cousin, “can you believe that every heart craves the pure aliment of Heaven! Are there not some, who, place before them what inducements you might, would still prefer the grosser joys of earth?”
“Lucy,” answered she, while from her deep blue eyes beamed Heaven’s own purity—“look at those beautiful islands, like so many emeralds embedded in the deep. Those cultivated fields, rich with the burden of a coming harvest. Should the dews of Heaven cease to refresh them what would they present? One barren, scorching waste, from which the eye would turn with pain. Our body, too, deprive it of its proper sustenance, how soon would it sicken and die! And thus, if the soul be immortal (and surely it must be so, since it is a breath of Deity!) then must it ever crave the food of immortality, though the poor trembling wretch, led blindfold by his passions, may not know for what he so longingly sighs, nor why his earthly pleasures, as soon as tasted, become a nauseous drug. But see, uncle is waiting for us.”
The foregoing conversation was held between the daughter and niece of a wealthy merchant of one of our populous cities. His daughter, Lucy, the younger by two years, possessed, together with great personal beauty and love for the beautiful, an active and playful imagination, which, like the first glad rays of the morning sun, that sport around the mountain’s brow, gilding its summits with a thousand varied hues, but never penetrate the depths below—while from Ellen’s stronger and more highly cultivated intellect (though possessing in a less degree the light attractiveness of morn,) there radiated the glowing and vivifying influence of its noontide intensity. Lucy, with her merry laugh, sunny smiles, and playful wit, was the delight of her father. Ellen was his support! She prepared his favorite dishes—she charmed him with her conversation, and soothed him with her song. Often was the old gentleman heard to exclaim—“Never was a man so blessed in his children! My merry Lucy forms the sunny spot in life—but my beautiful Ellen gives to life its charm.” Though few beyond her own domestic circle, and the poor, were ever heard to call her beautiful! To a common observer, or (in the circles of fashion) as she moved by the side of her lovely cousin, there appeared little in Ellen’s face or figure to call forth admiration; although, as mistress of a large fortune, flatterers were not wanting. But, as one gazed upon her animated countenance, as with witching kindness she endeavored to chase from the brow of her aged uncle, some cloud of anxious care, or bent over the couch of distress in the home of the wretched, and, with the soft low tones of sympathetic melody seemed to quell the raging storm in the bosom of the blasphemous inebriate, such a halo of purity seemed to encircle her broad, thoughtful brow, that the gazer turned away a better and a holier being.