stain her, all must be well; never again
would she be nervous, irritable, or sarcastic. Poor Magdalene! she was
creating heaven for herself upon earth; she was borrowing angels'
plumes before the time; she had forgotten the conditions of humanity,
"the body of the flesh," which weighed down greater souls than hers.

There are Gethsemanes of the spirit to the weary ones of earth, hours
of conflict that must be lived through and endured. Nature that
groaneth and travaileth cannot find its abiding place of rest here. To
the end of time it seems to be written in enduring characters that no
human lot shall be free from suffering: sooner or later, more or
less,--that is all! Magdalene had still to learn this lesson
painfully: that she was slow in learning it, proved the strength and
obduracy of her will. True, she was rarely sarcastic,--never in her
husband's presence, for a word or a look from him checked her, and she
grew humble and meek at once. It was her unruly nerves that baffled
her; she was shocked to find that irritable words still rose to her
lips; that the spirit of restlessness was not quelled forever; that
thunder still affrighted her; and that now and then her mind seemed
clouded with fancied gloom.

She once spoke of this to Miss Middleton, with tears in her eyes.

"It is so strange," she said. "Herbert is different, but I am still so
unchanged."

"The conditions of your health are unchanged, you mean," answered
Elizabeth, with that quiet sympathy that always rested people. "This
is the mistake that folk make: they do not distinguish between an
unhealthy mind and a diseased soul: the one is due to physical
disorganization, the other to moral causes. In your case, dear Mrs.
Cheyne, one may safely lay the blame on the first cause."

"Oh, do you think so?" she asked, earnestly. "I dare not cheat my
conscience in that way: it is my bad temper, my undisciplined nature,
that ought to bear the blame."

"No; believe me," answered Elizabeth, for they had grown great friends
of late, "I have watched you narrowly, and I know how you try to
conquer this irritability; there is no black spot of anger in your
heart, whatever words come to your lips. You are like a fretful child
sometimes, I grant you that, who is ailing and unconscious of its
ailment. When you would be calm, you are strangely disturbed; you
speak sharply, hoping to relieve something that oppresses you."

"Oh, yes!" sighed Magdalene; "and yet Herbert n