or I was undergoing a mental castigation
which rather disturbed me. Indeed, like a young fool--as eager in
self-reproach as in self-glorification--I was so occupied in inwardly
calling myself hard names, that even when my host gave me a commission
for my new picture, 'The Return of Columbus,' at two hundred and fifty
pounds, together with an order to paint himself, Mrs Reay, and
half-a-dozen of their children, I confess it with shame, that I
received the news like a leaden block, and felt neither surprise nor
joy--not though these few words chased me from the gates of the Fleet,
whither I was fast hastening, and secured me both position and daily
bread. The words of that beautiful girl were still ringing in my ears,
mixed up with the bitterest self-accusations; and these together shut
out all other sound, however pleasant. But that was always my way.

I went back to London, humbled and yet strengthened, having learned
more of human nature and the value of events, in one short fortnight,
than I had ever dreamed of before. The first lessons of youth
generally come in hard shape. I had sense enough to feel that I had
learned mine gently, and that I had cause to be thankful for the
mildness of the teaching. From a boy, I became a man, judging more
accurately of humanity than a year's ordinary experience would have
enabled me to do. And the moral which I drew was this: that under our
most terrible afflictions, we may always gain some spiritual good, if
we suffer them to be softening and purifying rather than hardening
influences over us. And also, that while we are suffering the most
acutely, we may be sure that others are suffering still more acutely;
and if we would but sympathise with them more than with
ourselves--live out of our ownselves, and in the wide world around
us--we would soon be healed while striving to heal others. Of this I
am convinced: the secret of life, and of all its good, is in love; and
while we preserve this, we can never fail of comfort. The sweet waters
will always gush out over the sandiest desert of our lives while we
can love; but without it--nay, not the merest weed of comfort or of
virtue would grow under the feet of angels. In this was the
distinction between Mrs Arden and Julia Reay. The one had hardened her
heart under her trials, and shut it up in itself; the other had opened
hers to the purest love of man and love of God; and the result was to
be seen in the despair of the one and in the