ad two years ago.
She was more lenient in her judgments, more charitable in her opinions,
more softened in her pride; changed more than she ever realized until
she began the self examination on this point. To be sure she had desired
to change in these respects, since she had seen a glimpse of the
possibilities of Christian life. She had denied all qualities of
character in herself that seemed undesirable, and had affirmed
charitableness, patience, wisdom, but that she could ever have changed
her mind on this subject seemed incredible and utterly inconsistent.

And yet, what could she say to him? She had no answer, certainly no
encouragement. The only thing she could do would be to tell him frankly
what her thought and judgment had been, without going into details, and
learn the truth of the matter; but that, she would never do. Whatever
injury she had inflicted through her silent, erroneous thoughts should
be as silently redressed by her best and most generous ones.

Over an hour she lay there, no nearer the solution of her problem than
when she began. It was getting late, and she rose hurriedly, shook the
leaves and grass from her dress, and opening her sketch book, set to
work.

An opening to the left in the woods revealed a view of lovely meadows
and wooded hills, clothed in all the gorgeous robes of autumn, with a
misty blue haze enshrouding them, and gleams of a silvery river winding
through meadow and woodland. She rapidly sketched the outlines, studied
the beauteous blending of tints, and wondered meanwhile, what particular
lesson she could learn or give by this beautiful picture. Again she
looked at the scene before her. Suddenly there came into her mind some
lines she had often admired:

"Oh, the peace at the heart of Nature,
Oh, the light that is not of day!
Why seek it afar forever,
When it can not be lifted away?"

Ah, here was the key. "The peace of Nature," typical of divine peace,
"The Light not of day," divine Light itself. How sweet the thought, how
precious the lesson; and the divine Peace and Light _are_ indeed
forever here. Could she throw such a divine message into her prospective
painting? Could she make every form and color, every hint of light and
shadow, tell the sweet story, as this living picture told it? Surely,
the heart that overflows with an inbreathing of the divine, must be able
to teach the common heart of humanity, else what is the use of
inspiration?

On her way b