and not identify herself with this beautiful suffering shadow; but now
she had come from her ideal world, and was forced, for a time, to
forget both the shadow and herself. Close to her father's old
farm-house, and in the woods of Sliver-Crook, she saw what, described
in a romance, would have been pathetic enough, but which, seen in
reality, called out from her heart the good rational sympathy which,
though buried in sentimental rubbish, was not dead.

"Do you really think," said she, bending over Emma, "that you must----"

Emma smiled, as she replied, "What difficulty we find in pronouncing
that word! One would think that there was a sting in the very _name_ of
death: and so there is, Miss Sliver, until God gives us the victory,
through Jesus Christ."

"Jesus was a beautiful character," said Susan, taking up Emma's Bible,
beside which the red-covered novel lay blushing as if in an agony of
shame. "I have often felt," she continued, "a strong desire to visit
the places hallowed by his personal ministry; the garden where he kept
his sad night-watch, Miss Lindsay; the Mount of Olives, and the
clear-gliding Kedron. O," continued Susan, enthusiastically, "I should
like to stand where the Marys stood, on the dreadful day of his
crucifixion, and visit the tomb where they went, bearing sweet spices.
O, wouldn't it be delightful?"

"Yes," replied Emma, languidly; "but we should not find him there
now,--upon Calvary, or the Mount of Olives; by the sweet-gliding
Kedron, or in the Garden of Gethsemane,--unless we were like him, meek
and lowly, and such can find him anywhere, Miss Sliver. The spirit of
Jesus would hallow _this_ book, making it blessed and holy like the