"A valuable lesson truly, Miss Wiltshire, and one which I would feel
thankful if you could impart to me, for I assure you I am sadly in need
of it. Dissatisfied with the world, I still see so much hypocrisy in the
church,--there are so many, even among those who minister in holy
things, who seem by their actions wedded to the vanities which they
profess to renounce, that I turn away with a feeling akin to disgust,
and am almost ready to believe that the piety which characterized the
first professors of Christianity has totally disappeared."

"Perhaps you have not been looking for it in the right place, Mr.
Bernard. There are many whose religion consists in outward observances,
while the heart is given up to its idol; but, granting there was not one
in the world who was really the possessor of true religion, 'What is
that to thee?' The claims of Heaven are not less binding on you, because
not recognized or responded to by the multitude, for each must render an
account of himself, whether the offering of the heart, the only
acceptable one, has been presented, or whether we have turned coldly
away from the voice of the charmer, charm it ever so wisely."

There was silence for a few moments, which was broken by an observation
from Arthur.

"Do you know of whom you remind me, Miss Wiltshire? Of a distant
relative of my mother's, who resided with us for a time, when I was but
a boy. She was a young woman then; I, a wild, heedless boy; but her
look, her smile, her very words, are indelibly impressed on my mind.
What a lovely example of all Christian graces was she, for in her they
seemed blended, like the exquisite tints of the rainbow, into a perfect
whole. Her gentle reproof,--her winning manner ever alluring us to that
which was right,--her unwearied endeavor to make all around her