D no demand upon every faculty given us by the Almighty; that we have no right to pay tithe of our wisdom, our care, our joy, our consolations, so that others may partake thereof There are, I think, but few utterly shut up in themselves, utterly unwilling to bestow, if it be but a kind word or gentle smile, upon a fellow-wayfarer. We have all taints, and blots, and plague spots, hot and cold prejudices, fevers, and brain-sick fancies; we have all something of the tyrant in our natures, willing others to do our will, periodical blindnesses, and a proneness to the use of hard unchristian judgments; but we get over these: Nature struggles and conquers. Indeed, I cannot re cal one other so utterly heartless, so intensely selfish, so dead to every feeling of propriety, as well as humanity, as was Mrs. Lyndsey; I do not believe that when first I knew her she would have acted as she did on the morning when she left her husband and her child: disappointment, and the perpetual bickerings which had arisen between them, had hardened her naturally unfeeling nature into brutality. She packed up the dragon in the tenderest manner, and quitted Violet-cottage with as little concern for the future of Mr. Lyndsey and Helen as if she had been going, to use her peculiar expression, "to fetch a walk upon the Heath." She talked, too, about returning "when Mr. Lyndsey's affairs were wound up :" and when Helen, after her mother had entered the post-chaise, impelled by one of her sudden impulses, rushed to embrace her, Mrs. Lyndsey put her coolly aside, telling her to take care and not break the dragon! 168 CHAPTER VIII. "It is my youth that, where I stand, The sounds that round about me rise I see what meets no other eyes, Though mine are dim with tears." HENRY TAYLOR. WHEN the shock of this heartless scene had subsided, and the cottage enjoyed an unusual tranquillity, I spoke to Helen of the future, though she, too, regarded me as a 'NOBODY,' and gave voice to her ideas freely. I fancied that of late, at times, she had reservesthoughts that trembled on her lips, yet rushed back, not in distrust of me, but distrusting themselves. I was deeply grieved to find that although perfectly aware of her mother's prejudices, she entertained a decided dislike to her aunt, Mrs. Middleton; she feared her as a stern, severe woman. She was jealous of my love for Florence; and if she remembered Mr. Middleton at all, it was as a man devoted to country amusements, which she, in her wilfulness, pronounced coarse and unintellectual. She imbibed her notions of a country gentleman from books supplied to her mother by a circulating library--books she ought never to have read. It was in vain that I reminded her of her mother's ancient dislike to her aunt -a dislike that had increased in proportion to my dear and cherished friend's desire to be of service to her brother: a service which literally would have been one of love. Yet Helen would revert to her mother's words, things of mere impure sounds, like the whisperings of an evil dream, which ought to have passed away, and which she insisted she thought not of; yet she did remember them!-and they influenced her, though (and a most unhappy circumstance it was)—she was perfectly acquainted with her mother's wilful and habitual mis representations. This was to me another sad proof of the enduring mischief of careless speaking. Words that are but breath enter into the heart, and dwell therein, although the speaker may have no moral influence; this is more especially the case with the young, whose memory is in action long before judgment has birth-before they have the power either to compare or to combine. I believed Helen to have much clearness of observation; and so she had; yet the impression against Mrs. Middleton had taken deep root. I reasoned with her, and she admitted the force of my reasoning; yet, the next moment, she went back to the words-the foolish, evil words her mother had spoken. I told her, however, I should immediately write to Mrs. Middleton; I showed her, that in the present state of her father's mind, and under existing circumstances, nothing could be arranged without her assistance; and she heard me, listened to me, agreed that all was true, quite true, yet that she would die sooner than be obliged to them. I asked her, would she suffer her father to die rather than seek their aid? and |