bloom for eternity. Thou wilt lose the fervor and purity of thy love,
the promptness of thy obedience, the consolation of thy trust. The
holy calm of thy closet will become irksome to thee, and thy power of
resistance will be diminished many fold, for this is the first great
temptation. But Helen will not beware. She forgets her Saviour. The
melody of that rich voice is dearer to her than the pleadings of
gospel memories.

Two years previous to the scene just described, Helen Allston hoped
she had been converted. For a time she was exact in the discharge of
her social duties, regular in her closet exercises, ardent, yet
equable, in her love. Conscious of her weakness, she diligently used
all those aids, so fitted to sustain and cheer. Day by day, she
rekindled her torch at the holy fire which comes streaming on to us
from the luminaries of the past--from Baxter, Taylor, and Flavel, and
many a compeer whose names live in our hearts, and linger on our lips.
She was alive to the present also. Upon her table a beautiful
commentary, upon the yet unfulfilled prophecies, lay, the records of
missionary labor and success. The sewing circle busied her active
fingers, and the Sabbath-school kept her affections warm, and rendered
her knowledge practical and thorough. But at length the things of the
world began insensibly to win upon her regard. She was the child of
wealth, and fashion spoke of her taste and elegance. She was very
lovely, and the voice of flattery mingled with the accents of honest
praise. She was agreeable in manners, sprightly in conversation, and
was courted and caressed. She heard with more complacency, reports
from the gay circles she had once frequented, and noted with more
interest the ever-shifting pageantry of folly. Then she lessened her
charities, furnished her wardrobe more lavishly, and was less
scrupulous in the disposal of her time. She formed acquaintances among