been saved from the
curse of a granted prayer. Pray rather that you may live to atone by a
life of meekness and humility for past errors. You ought not to be
willing to die with so great a purpose unaccomplished, since God does
not now _will_ you to depart. You mistake physical debility for
resignation, weariness of life for desire for heaven. Oh, Mittie, not in
the sackcloth and ashes of _selfish_ sorrow should the spirit be clothed
to meet its God."

Mittie lay for some time without speaking, then lifting her melancholy
black eyes, once so haughty and brilliant, she said--

"I will tell you why I wish to die. I am now humbled and
subdued--conscious and ashamed of my errors, grateful for your
unexampled goodness. If I die now, you will shed some tears over my
grave, and perhaps say, 'Poor girl! she was so young, and so unhappy--we
remember her faults only to forgive them.' But if I live to be strong
and healthy as I have been before, I fear my heart will harden, and my
evil temper recover all its terrible power. It seems to me now as if I
had been possessed by one of those fiends which we read of in the Bible,
which tore and rent the bosom that they entered. It is not cast out--it
only sleeps--and I fear--oh!--I dread its wakening."

"Oh, Mittie, only cry, 'Thou Son of David, have mercy on me--' only cry
out, from the depths of a contrite spirit--and it will depart, though
its name be legion."

"But I fear this contrition may be transitory. I do pray, I do cry out
for mercy now, but to-morrow my heart may harden into stone. You, who
are so perfect and pious, think it easy to be good, and so it is, on a
sick bed--when gentle, watching eyes and stilly steps are round you, and
the air you breathe is embalmed with blessings. With returning health
the bosom strife will begin. Your thoughts will no longer centre on me.
Helen will once more absorb your affections, and then the serpent envy
will come gliding back, so cold and venomous, to coil itself in my
heart."

"My child--there is room enough in the world, room enough in our
hearts, and room enough in Heaven, for you and Helen too."

She spoke with solemnity, and she continued to speak soothingly and
persuasively till the eyes of the invalid were closed in slumber, and
then her thoughts rose in silent prayer for that sin-sick and life-weary
soul.

Mittie never alluded to Clinton in her conversation with her mother.
There was only one being to whom she now felt wil