dy, and of the
maladies to which both are subjected. A cure is hopeless in either case,
unless the patient will accept the remedy. Pain of body is the indicator
of disease, and gives warning that an enemy to life has found a
lodgment; pain of mind is the same phenomenon, only showing itself in a
higher sphere, and for the same purpose. If you are unhappy, surrounded
by all this elegance, and with the means of gratifying every orderly
wish, it shows that an enemy to your soul has entered through some
unguarded gateway. You cannot get rid of this enemy by any change
of place, or by any new associations. Society will not help you. The
excitement of shows; gauds, glitter, pageants; the brief triumphs gained
in fashionable tournaments, will not expel this foe of your higher and
nobler life, but only veil, for brief seasons, his presence from your
consciousness. When these are past, and you retire into yourself, then
comes back the pain, the languor, the excessive weariness. Is it not so,
Delia? Is not this your sad experience?"

I paused. Her eyes had fallen to the floor. She sat very still, like one
who was thinking deeply.

"The plodding housekeeper, whose picture you drew just now--humble,
even mean in your regard though she be--sinks to peaceful sleep when her
tasks are done, and rises refreshed at coming dawn. If she is happier
than your fine lady, whose dainty hands cannot bear the soil of these
common things, why? Ponder this subject, Delia. It concerns you deeply.
It is the happiest state in life that we all strive to gain; but you may
lay it up in your heart as immutable truth, that happiness never comes
to any one, except through a useful employment of all the powers which
God has given to us. The idle are the most miserable--and none are more
miserable in their ever-recurring ennuied hours, than your fashionable
idlers. We see them only in their holiday attire, tricked out for show,
and radiant in reflected smiles. Alas! If we could go back with them to
their homes, and sit beside them, unseen, in their lonely hours, would
not pity fill our hearts? My dear young friend! Turn your feet aside
from this way--it is the path that leads to unutterable wretchedness."

The earnestness of my manner added force to what I said, and constrained
at least a momentary conviction.

"You speak strongly, Doctor," she said, with the air of one who could
not look aside from an unpleasant truth.

"Not too strongly, Delia. Is it n