iled, but soon grave
thoughts entered her mind, and these deepened into sad ones. She thought
of her disappointment and the failure of her plans. To her, not only the
past month but the whole past year, seemed to have been one of fruitless
effort--all broken and disjointed--even her hours of religious duty had
been encroached upon, and disturbed. She had accomplished nothing, that
she could see, but to keep her house and family in order, and even this,
to her saddened mind, seemed to have been but indifferently done. She
was conscious of yearnings for a more earnest life than this.
Unsatisfied longings for something which she had not attained, often
clouded what, otherwise, would have been a bright day to her; and yet
the causes of these feelings seemed to lie in a dim and misty region,
which her eye could not penetrate.

What then did she need? To see some _results_ from her life's work? To
know that a golden cord bound her life-threads together into _unity_ of
purpose--notwithstanding they seemed, so often, single and broken?

She was quite sure that she felt no desire to shrink from duty, however
humble, but she sighed for some comforting assurance of what _was duty_.
Her employments, conflicting as they did with her tastes, seemed to her
frivolous and useless. It seemed to her that there was some better way
of living, which she, from deficiency in energy of character, or of
principle, had failed to discover. As she leaned over her child, her
tears fell fast upon its young brow.

Most earnestly did she wish, that she could shield that child from the
disappointments and mistakes and self-reproach from which the mother was
then suffering; that the little one might take up life where she could
give it to her--all mended by her own experience. It would have been a
comfort to have felt, that in fighting the battle, she had fought for
both; yet she knew that so it could not be--that for ourselves must we
all learn what are those things which "make for our peace."

The tears were in her eyes, as she gave the good-night to her sleeping
daughter--then with soft steps she entered an adjoining room, and there
fairly kissed out the old year on another chubby cheek, which nestled
among the pillows. At length she sought her own rest.

Soon she found herself in a singular place. She was traversing a vast
plain. No trees were visible, save those which skirted the distant
horizon, and on their broad tops rested wreaths of golden