d a great preacher! What shall I say? At first it seems as
if nothing could express my joy and satisfaction. The sapling that is
shaken to its root by the winds of heaven, keeps silence I imagine. But
O Aunty, if my smallness makes me quake, it also makes me feel. What
gates of thought have been opened to me! What shining tracks of inquiry
pointed out! I feel as if I had been shown a path where angels walked.
Can it be that such words have been uttered every week of my life and I
in ignorance of them? It is like the revelation of the ocean to
unaccustomed eyes. Henceforth small things must seem like pebble stones
above which stretch innumerable heavenly vistas. It is not so much that
new things have been revealed to me as that old things have been made
strangely eloquent. The voice of a daisy on the hill side, the breath of
thunder in the mountain gorges, the blossoming of a child's smile under
its mother's eye, the fact that golden portals are opened in every life
for the coming and going of the messengers of God, all have been made
real to me, real as the voice of the Saviour to his disciples as they
walked in the fields or started back awe-stricken from the stupendous
vision of the cross. It is a solemn thing to see one's humble thoughts
caught by the imagination of a great mind and carried on and up into
regions you never realized existed.

"I was so burdened with joy that I could not forbear asking Mr.
Sylvester if he did not feel as if the whole face of the world had
changed since we entered those holy doors. He did not respond with the
glad 'Yes' for which I hoped, and though his smile was very kind, I
could not help wondering what it was that sometimes fell between us like
a veil."

"O Aunty, how my heart does yearn towards Mr. Sylvester at times! As I
see him sitting with clouded brow in the midst of so much that ought to
charm and enliven him, I ask myself if the advantages of wealth
compensate for all this care and anxiety. But I notice he is much more
cheerful now than when I first came. Ona says he is in danger of losing
the air of melancholy reserve which made him look so distinguished, but
I think we can spare a little of such doubtful distinguishment for the
sake of the smiles with which he now and then indulges us."

* * * * *

"I feel as if a hand had gripped my throat. Cousin Ona spoke to Mr.
Sylvester this morning in a way that made my very heart stand still. And
ye