which we keep the
diagonal line. Solitude is impracticable, and society fatal. We must
keep our head in the one, and our hands in the other. The conditions
are met, if we keep our independence, yet do not lose our
sympathy. These wonderful horses need to be driven by fine hands. We
require such a solitude as shall hold us to its revelations when we
are in the street and in palaces; for most men are cowed in society,
and say good things to you in private, but will not stand to them in
public. But let us not be the victims of words. Society and solitude
are deceptive names. It is not the circumstance of seeing more or
fewer people, but the readiness of sympathy, that imports; and a sound
mind will derive its principles from insight, with ever a purer ascent
to the sufficient and absolute right, and will accept society as the
natural element in which they are to be applied.

AKIN BY MARRIAGE.

[Continued.]

CHAPTER III

When little Helen was not far from nine years old, her mother, (as she
had learned to call Mrs. Bugbee,) whose health for a long time had
been failing, fell sick and took to her bed. Sometimes, for a brief
space, she would seem to mend a little; and a council of doctors,
convened to consider her case,--though each member differed from all
the others touching the nature of her malady,--unanimously declared
she would ultimately recover. But her disease, whatever it was, proved
to be her mortal illness; for the very next night she came suddenly to
her end. Her loss was a heavy one, especially to her own household.
She had always been a quiet person, of rather pensive humor, whose
native diffidence caused her to shrink from observation; and after
Amelia's death she was rarely seen abroad, except at meeting, on
Sundays, or when she went to visit the poor, the sick, or the
grief-stricken. It was at home that her worth was most apparent;
for plain domestic virtues, such as hers, seldom gain wide
distinction. Her children's sorrow was deep and lasting, and the badge
of mourning which her husband wore for many months after her death was
a truthful symbol of unaffected grief. From the beginning, he was
warmly attached to his wife, whose affection for him was very great
indeed. It would have been strange if he had been unhappy, when she,
who made his tastes her study, also made it the business of her life
to please him. Besides, his cheerful temper enabled him to make light
of more grievous misfortunes t